The Otaku Princess (1)
Chris, who had possessed the character in the original story, usually brushed off most things with indifference.
Otherwise, she'd have to freak out every time at sights like a lizard-tailed biped casually strolling down the street, or a pointy-eared elf shoving open the door to a tavern without a care.
But even Chris with her Buddha-like mindset finally cracked when she witnessed a scene that could shatter anyone's composure.
And sure enough, there was a girl with pink hair blooming like a lotus, leaning against the outside wall of a tavern in broad daylight.
"…This is seriously weird?"
Passersby shot her side-eyes one by one, as if to say 'You're the weird one,' but she ignored them, mulling over her doubts.
"The expedition failing is straight out of the original…"
In that case, the party should be knee-deep in blame games by now due to internal discord.
That was the hero party's turning point, after all.
"But why's that kid mixed up in it…?"
More than anything, the saintess carrying the kid on her back was another wild card.
And for good reason—according to the original plot, she should have been the one most gravely injured on that expedition.
Anyone would raise an eyebrow seeing someone who was supposed to be crippled walking around unscathed.
Chris forcibly relaxed her sharpened glare.
"Glare all I want, it's not gonna give me answers…"
Alright, time to think differently.
Instead of pinning the cause on the saintess, pin it on the boy.
That kid had been there when she spotted Isadora at the guild, hadn't he?
If he was the root of all these variables, it explained every deviation.
But she had no proof, and she didn't want to waste time on hunches.
Besides, looking at the boy—beat to hell and carried like baggage by a support job girl—she had zero motivation to dwell deeper.
"…If it were me, I'd bite my tongue and die from the shame."
Maybe the boy felt the same, because he was burying his face against the saintess's back.
'Those guys will flop their next expedition without me anyway, right?'
Soon enough, they'd realize they needed her and come crawling back.
She could judge then.
Chris coolly turned and walked away.
She was busy enough as it was.
She had a plan she'd slaved over for days, and now every preparation was complete.
God, how much blood and sweat she'd poured into this.
Chris sighed, eyeing her ragged cloak and gear.
"I look like a damn beggar…"
Well, she'd spent two full days trekking to and from the Caldein underground ruins, then half a day digging through some nameless alchemist's hole-in-the-wall at the entrance.
'I can even walk straight—count my blessings…'
The sweet payoff? A lure to recruit the Lloyd duke's daughter as a comrade.
To win over that otaku lady, Chris had gone to hell and back to snag The Hero Reinhardt Chronicles… Volume 1 (Upper).
Truth be told, this alone could land her a promising future archmage.
Chris flashed a satisfied smirk and patted her inner pocket.
The leather-bound book brushed her fingertips, sending a quiet rush of accomplishment through her.
Back at her lodgings, Chris took a quick shower and hit the road south to the ducal territory.
The highway linking the capital to the south was one of the empire's vital arteries.
Once past the capital's stone walls, vast plains unfolded, wheat fields rippling like waves in the early spring chill.
Further on, the road curved gently along ancient wagon ruts, lined with milestone markers bearing the imperial crest.
They symbolized the old king who had ordered southern reclamation and paved the way.
In short, even after centuries, merchant caravans, coaches, mercenaries, and pilgrims still traversed it—and Chris's carriage was mixed in among them.
As her carriage pushed further south, the scenery shifted again.
The plains gave way to gentle hills, dotted with vineyards sectioned by low stone walls and farmhouses topped with red tiles—a rustic charm worlds apart from the capital's bustle.
And rightly so; the southern duchy had once been the empire's frontier.
Long ago, this land was a wasteland overrun by monster nests, and despite repeated expeditions, the empire couldn't fully conquer it.
The stalemate broke thanks to the Lloyd family's founder.
Then a knight captain, he led his order south, cleared forests, built fortresses, and from those strongholds, villages and cities gradually took shape.
That's when people started calling it the "Gateway to the Southeast."
In other words, the "frontier" label was ancient history.
With the kingdom's southern trade routes piercing through and eastern merchants passing via here to the capital, the duchy had become one of the realm's most prosperous lands.
That boom was plain from the roadside views alone—especially at the final city's streets, crammed with eastern spices, silks, and glassware, haggling voices nonstop.
Stepping off the carriage, Chris scanned the scene and followed the snaking highway on foot.
It was a region described a few times in the original, but feeling it firsthand was a whole different thrill, making her smack her lips unwittingly.
'…The Lloyds are doing pretty damn well, huh.'
Turning the duke's daughter from this affluent land into an ally? Jackpot security.
Chris's lips twitched.
"Euhahaha!"
Unable to hold back, she burst into a creepy laugh.
A little girl watching her clutched her mom's hand, thumb in mouth, staring in bewilderment.
"Mommy, that big sis is weird. Laughing all alone."
"Shh, don't stare like that!"
The mother-daughter duo hurried out of sight.
"Tch…"
Embarrassed, Chris cleared her throat and resumed walking.
Sunlight filtered softly through the mansion's tall stone windows.
It settled on a small round table in the study corner, illuminating a steaming teacup.
The girl seated there lifted the cup.
Clink.
As the aroma wafted up, brushing her waist-length hair, her amethyst eyes beneath long lashes lifted calmly.
Even at her young age, Mirabel Lloyd, the Lloyd duke's youngest, exuded perfect poise.
True to it, the lady was spending her afternoon tea time alone, handling her duties.
Holed up in the study amid towering rare books and neatly filed documents, sipping her tea.
Then footsteps halted outside the door, and her hand froze midair.
Moments later, the door opened, and her exclusive butler Sebas bowed quietly.
"Milady, I have a matter to report."
"Yes, go ahead, Sebas."
"…A visitor has arrived at the mansion gate. No prior letter, and they haven't clearly stated their identity."
Mirabel's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
With her father the duke and her elder brothers all away.
A visitor showing up unannounced at this time?
After a brief contemplation, she spoke softly.
"Sebas."
"Yes, milady."
"Send them away politely."
The butler nodded.
But Mirabel wasn't done.
"However, ensure they don't feel slighted—gently urge them to follow proper procedure and visit again."
Her amethyst eyes gleamed steadily, and Sebas bowed deeply.
"Understood, milady."
As the butler withdrew, silence returned to the study.
But soon, hurried footsteps crossed the hall back to the door.
Mirabel's gaze snapped to it.
"…Sebas?"
The door creaked open cautiously, revealing the butler again.
His expression was subtly tense, unlike before.
Mirabel tilted her head.
"Is something wrong, Sebas?"
Sebas hesitated before proceeding carefully.
"They left a message for you."
"A message?"
"Yes."
Looking somewhat troubled, he continued.
"The visitor said this."
Clearing his throat, Sebas relayed it verbatim.
"'I've brought the upper volume of Reinhardt that milady seeks…' or so."
For an instant, the study's air twisted.
Something flashed deep in Mirabel's amethyst eyes.
Her fingertips halted above the teacup.
After a silent pause, she murmured softly.
"Finding that… would be a problem."
Silver hair cascaded, veiling half her face.
Sebas, not grasping the meaning, asked cautiously.
"Milady…?"
Mirabel traced the teacup's rim with a finger, lost in thought.
Reinhardt's upper volume.
It was indeed what she sought.
But getting it now was trouble.
A long-ago promise surfaced in her mind.
"Sir Luin, the sequel to this hero's tale… Could you search for it with me later?"
Her cool, sunken eyes slowly turned to the door.
"…Sebas."
"Yes, milady."
"Let them in."