Chapter 11: Each to Their Own Battlefield
Chapter 11: Their Respective Battlefields
Dare, dare, dare, dare.
Empress Berta was currently engaged in battle.
A battle to elegantly suppress the rising fury within her.
Ah, how easy it would be to simply unleash her anger.
She could flip the table before her right now. The gilded plates, carefully arranged for her afternoon tea, would shatter. Scalding tea would splash everywhere. The maids would drop to their knees in prostration. And if that wasn't enough, she could even take a whip to them.
But she couldn't.
Such vulgar behavior was beneath the dignity of the Empire's Empress.
Still, that bastard Ludwig.
The Minister of the Imperial Household, who had been her eyes and ears within the palace, was now imprisoned. He had been framed with the absurd charge of colluding with demons before fleeing to the battlefield.
And as if that weren't enough, he had even dragged her precious son along with him.
"My son, do you truly not understand your mother's heart? The Crown Prince intends to use you as a hostage."
"There must be some misunderstanding, Mother. His Highness would never do such a thing."
The fool who had once chased after the Saintess now suddenly fancied himself a statesman, and now he had even lured her son away.
She couldn't just let this slide. Who knew what kind of schemes he might hatch with her naive son in his grasp?
"Henrietta, how is the task I assigned you progressing?"
"The draft is complete, Your Majesty."
The head maid presented a document.
《The Tears of the Saintess Drench the Crown Prince's Palace》
Several days ago, Saintess Ophélie was seen fleeing the Crown Prince's Palace in tears. This occurred immediately after she had spent time alone with His Highness the Crown Prince.
The two had long shared a special relationship, but recent testimonies suggest tensions had arisen over the Saintess's close ties to the Grand Duke of the North, the Tower Master, and the Sword Saint.
Some claim the Crown Prince pressured the Saintess into formalizing their relationship, while others whisper that he could no longer contain his jealousy over her closeness to the three heroes.
What is certain is that this morning, the three heroes visited the Crown Prince's Palace together and remained inside his office for an unusually long time without emerging.
The Crown Prince's Palace has yet to issue an official statement, and the Saintess—
A long red line had been drawn through the final sentence.
"Remove everything from here onward."
The Empress set the draft down on the table.
"Were you planning to include the Saintess's explanation as well? How kind of you to write the Crown Prince's apology for him."
"But she truly did say—"
The Empress smiled slowly.
"The Saintess cried. Three men stormed the Crown Prince's Palace. They remained inside his office for an extended period."
With the tip of her red pen, she pointed to each sentence in turn.
"Is any of this untrue?"
The head maid fell silent.
"The facts alone are more than enough. Let the readers fill in the rest themselves. How cruel to rob them of the pleasure of speculation."
The Empress studied the headline before writing a new one above it.
《Why Did the Saintess Weep in the Crown Prince's Palace? — What Brought the Four Heroes Together?》
"Much better."
The head maid bowed again.
"I will leak this anonymously to every press outlet in the capital."
"Emphasize the insult to the Saintess when spreading it among the Order. For noblewomen, lead with the jealousy angle. Among officials and military officers, let it slip that the Crown Prince detained the three men out of personal resentment."
The Empress lifted her teacup.
"But the versions will contradict each other. Is that acceptable?"
"They should contradict."
Her lips touched the rim of the cup.
"Each time one rumor is debunked, another will take its place."
No matter which version spread, the Crown Prince's reputation would suffer.
Ah.
Now the tea had finally steeped properly.
The magic communication device buzzed loudly, flashing blue.
Konrad stood motionless before it for a long moment.
He didn't need to answer to know who it was.
At this hour, in this manner, with this insistent ringing—there was only one person it could be.
Mother.
Konrad brushed the dirt from his fingertips. Not that it would do much good. The soil of the North clung stubbornly—to his uniform collar, his sleeves, even the sides of his boots.
He took a deep breath and placed his hand on the device.
Blue light spread.
Soon, the face of Empress Berta materialized.
Perfectly coiffed hair. A dress without a single wrinkle. A table set with fragrant tea.
His own appearance, reflected in contrast, struck him as absurd.
The uniform that had never been out of place in the palace now looked worse than a sack of relief supplies. His hair was disheveled, his fingers stiff with cold, and his sleep-deprived eyelids kept drooping.
Less than a day had passed.
Yet life in the palace already felt like a distant memory.
"Konrad."
"...Mother."
His shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice.
"Come back."
It was an order.
An order disguised as concern.
This was nothing new. It had always been like this. His mother issued commands in a gentle tone, and he had never been able to refuse that gentleness.
"That's not possible right now."
The moment the words left his mouth, the eyes on the other side of the communication narrowed.
Konrad felt his throat go dry.
"The refugee reception area still needs to be organized."
"That is not work befitting an Imperial Prince."
Konrad hesitated.
In the past, he would have apologized here.
Apologized for defying his mother's wishes. Apologized for causing her worry. Apologized for his own inadequacy.
But this time, he didn't want to.
Outside the tent, a child wailed. Someone called out for their family. Voices shouted for medics, for wagons to be moved, curses swallowed at the frustration of damp firewood refusing to burn.
He didn't want to leave these sounds behind for the Imperial Palace. He didn't want to trade them for laughter and music.
"No."
Konrad forced the word out.
"Others are fighting demons. Saving lives."
"Yes. That is their duty."
His mother's voice was soft.
This was his mother, yet she felt so unfamiliar.
A mother who cared only for her son's safety in the face of the Empire's crisis.
Shouldn't the 'Mother of the Empire' care for all her children?
Konrad clenched his fists.
"That's why I must do what only a member of the Imperial Family can."
Silence stretched on the other end.
Konrad belatedly realized what he had just done. He had contradicted his mother. Without excuse or apology.
Yet he didn't take it back.
"There's much to be done, Mother."
He bowed his head.
"I must go now."
"My son."
His mother's voice clung to him.
Like a fly trapped in syrup, her voice ensnared him.
"My son!"
In the past, he would have turned back.
But outside the tent, another voice cried out.
"Eastbound wagons! Move the wounded to the inner area first!"
Konrad closed his eyes, then opened them.
"Forgive me."
And he severed the connection.
The blue light vanished.
All that remained was the cold surface of the communication device and the exhausted face reflected in it.
Konrad stared at that face for a long time.
It was his own, yet it felt unfamiliar.
Somehow, he had a feeling he would be seeing it often from now on.
And that thought, strangely enough, pleased him a little.
He pulled his dirt-stained gloves back on.
"Your Highness?"
An aide called cautiously from outside.
Konrad turned his back on the communication device.
"I'm coming."
I leaned back against the bed and closed my eyes.
The only thing I could do until Ulrich arrived was rest.
But this damn novel wouldn't let me.
A human who could mimic the scent of a demon.
Who could pull that off?
If we were just considering possibilities, the Magic Tower was the most likely culprit.
Demonic magi, monster reactions, demonic beast secretions, remnants of ritual magic—only mages could properly handle such things.
And given that the Tower Master had been too busy chasing skirts to properly manage his subordinates, it wouldn't be surprising if things had slipped through the cracks.
Still, Empress Berta's face kept flickering in my mind.
There was a reason empresses always ranked first or second as hidden antagonists in romance fantasies. A burning desire to place her son on the throne, coupled with the means to manipulate an entire nation—anyone who possessed both was always dangerous.
But killing Ludwig alone would have been far simpler than orchestrating something this convoluted. And it would have spared her own son from collateral damage.
Still, for now—blacklist.
Next, the Order.
Wasn't the other great mountain range of hidden antagonists in romance fantasies the religious orders hiding behind the name of God?
What was the Order of Plenty and Peace again?
The group that had pushed Ophélie forward as a fake Saintess when the oracles fell silent. They couldn't be entirely innocent.
And then, the Grand Duchy of the North.
While the Grand Duke was busy playing house in the capital, who's to say someone back home hadn't gotten ideas?
Considering the need to maneuver monsters on-site, the stench from this direction couldn't be ignored either.
Ugh, this damn novel.
Even without the Demon King, this place was already a den of snakes.
I ran through the list again.
And stopped at the name I least wanted to consider.
Ophélie.
The woman who had wrapped the Crown Prince, the Grand Duke of the North, the Sword Saint, and the Tower Master around her finger. The emotions surrounding her had shattered the war effort.
That much was true.
Which was why not suspecting her would be stranger.
What if all this chaos surrounding Ophélie was also—
At that moment, an unfamiliar memory surged into my mind.
Ophélie in her white Saintess robes, trembling hands covered in blood as she knelt beside a wounded soldier. Her face pale and breathless after casting even a minor healing spell. Yet still forcing a smile in front of others.
The memory told me she wasn't the one.
But this wasn't my memory.
If I blindly trusted the recollections of Ludwig, the love-struck Crown Prince, then I was the fool.
"You were right, Your Highness."
The voice of another fool, arriving without greeting, dragged me back to reality.
"Ulrich."
His face was so deathly pale I worried he might collapse.
The crystal rod in his hand trembled violently. I had never seen Ulrich Ravenfelt this unsettled before.
At the tip of the rod, something like a thin black thread writhed faintly.
"It seems the impossible has happened."