Chapter 9: Do You Fancy Yourself a Knight from the Stories?

In the current Empire, Solene held the Magic Tower, the Church, and the nation's economic lifelines firmly within her grasp. Nearly every Earl was under her thumb, and two powerful Marquis families had aligned with her. This week, the daughter of the Bruce family and the son of the Heather family were to be wed.

Lately, the manor had been teeming with a sudden influx of servants—an old aristocratic ploy. Yet, Solene was not afraid of what these people might see; rather, she worried they might miss something. The more desperate they became, the more she stood to gain.

On the wedding day, Solene took her carriage, bearing her gift, toward the destination—the Heather family’s Marquisate, situated in a place of natural serenity. After passing familiar squares and streets, she finally reached this sanctuary far from the clamor. It was surrounded by rolling meadows and winding rivers; in the distance, servants tended to sheep while maids scattered flower petals, adding vitality to the grand celebration. As usual, the nobility loved using flowers to beautify their image, inadvertently stimulating the floral markets.

When Solene stepped down from the carriage, her attire was simple yet elegant: a pale pink gown draped over her slender frame, a departure from her usual vibrant style. A headpiece of gemstones woven with gold thread was twined through her blonde hair; because of the matching gold, the pink gems looked like suspended starlight, making her appear as sacred and pure as a goddess from myth.

Standing at the entrance to greet her was Hill, who stood expressionless, waiting for Solene’s arrival. In truth, Solene had already overheard the words of the old nobles who had tried to dissuade Hill and her father. Regarding the choice made by Hill’s father—that cunning, selfish old Marquis who had actually been swayed by his rival—Solene offered a soft laugh. These nobles were certainly "united against the outsider."

Many nobles who appeared loyal to Ian had, in fact, already become Solene’s mindless puppets. They still thought she knew nothing. To her, watching these "fish on the shore" struggle was far more entertaining. Only through their continued resistance could her own historical record remain untainted, while deepening the trust the common people felt for her. This would ensure that any future reforms would proceed with exceptional smoothness.

Seeing Solene nod graciously to Hill, the surrounding servants were moved by her display of magnanimity, sighing over her kindness and tolerance. Solene’s gaze swept over the attendants, finally settling on a man with black eyes and dark hair. Did he really think she wouldn't recognize him?

Ian—

Even with his features, hair, and eye color changed, she could recognize him by a single look.

She smiled as she accepted a wine glass from Hill, knowing it contained a lethal poison. These people had risked gathering here just to make her drink this cup, unaware it was useless against her. To keep them from waiting, she tilted her head back and drained the glass in one go. Then, she smilingly tucked a stray hair behind Hill’s ear while smoothing her own curls. Setting down her gift, Solene walked toward the two Marquises to begin a conversation. She watched with curiosity, wondering what excuses these nobles would invent to flee once they realized the poison had failed.

When the procession moved to the local branch of the Church, Ian saw many familiar faces. The gazes the nobles cast toward her were full of awe and greed. What she could never understand was why Sylvia, the First Knight who also hailed from the Lowlands, would support the aristocratic class. When their eyes met, Solene offered a friendly smile, while Sylvia turned her head away expressionlessly.

Solene took a seat beside her. Currently, she was surrounded by nobles secretly plotting rebellion, yet it was not her eyes that trembled with fear, but theirs.

"First Knight Sylvia, I admire how you’ve climbed from the Lowlands to your position today," Solene began.

"Are you not the same?" Sylvia’s voice was low, her grey eyes appearing both cold and stubborn.

Solene smiled slightly. "Have you gone back to see the Lowlands lately? Both the new and old districts have changed immensely. You no longer see scenes of abandoned corpses being gnawed by wild dogs in the streets."

Sylvia remained silent, but the way she continuously rubbed her fingernails betrayed her inner anxiety.

"Let’s talk in the clearing behind the manor after the wedding," Solene wrote as she gripped Sylvia’s hand. After that, she sat quietly, watching the two protagonists take their vows before the statue of the Goddess, saying nothing more.

As the ceremony concluded, the crowd returned to the banquet hall for lunch. The servers passed by one by one. Solene intentionally sat at the table with the rebellious nobles, watching their rigid expressions and fighting back a smile.

Finally, an Earl could stand it no longer. He rose and said to Marquis Heather, "I feel somewhat unwell. I shall take my leave."

Marquis Heather and Solene exchanged a glance. He frowned slightly but eventually nodded in agreement. As Solene watched him with a smile, Count Dana immediately caught his arm, standing up to say, "I have a physician with me. If you are unwell, I have medicine here."

Solene leaned her head on her hand, laughing. "I also have a physician traveling with me. Would Count Oren like to come to my place for a check-up as well?"

"No, no need. I’ll just see Count Dana’s physician."

Clearly, the remnants of the Empress’s faction had leaked her plans to them. Rumors boycotting gemstones were now rampant; not a single gem could be seen in their attire, which consisted entirely of gold ornaments.

Solene nodded, then suddenly grabbed the hand of a passing servant. His black pupils contracted sharply. Solene stared into his eyes and smiled—Ian. He had lost quite a bit of weight; his wrists were much thinner.

The atmosphere at the table grew tense. They had told the Emperor not to come, yet he had insisted. Solene looked at Marquis Heather and smiled. "This servant is quite good. Give him to me."

Facing her request, Marquis Heather naturally would not refuse. If not for her, he and Bruce would have been marginalized by these nobles long ago. Both men were knights who had fought for the Empire for years, only to return to the capital and find their families shunned by the other aristocrats. It was chilling. Now, they listened only to Solene; even the idea of her becoming Empress had been theirs. The two had once knelt before her, swearing that their soldiers would only follow Countess Solene’s command—wherever she pointed, they would strike.

After lunch, Solene stood at the designated spot, waiting for Sylvia. When a grey figure appeared, she smiled.

"You finally came," Solene said.

However, Sylvia’s gaze was cold and calm, like a deep, bottomless lake, exerting an indescribable pressure. "What do you have to say?" she asked, her tone possessing an unquestionable hardness. It was the gaze of someone numbed by killing.

Coincidentally, Solene had killed many as well—she just hadn't drawn blood herself.

"Is it not better to align with me? Why stay with those wastes? Do they truly see you as one of their own?" Seeing Sylvia remain silent, Solene continued, "They will never see those from the Lowlands as their own, because they don't even view people from the Lowlands as human."

Sylvia looked up, a flicker of complex emotion in her eyes. "Is that all you did this for? To kill so many innocent people for that reason?" Her voice rose.

Solene struggled to restrain her fury. "What right does a person who destroyed small nations and cities on royal orders have to accuse me of slaughtering the innocent? When the Emperor ordered the wholesale execution of prisoners, I didn't see you standing up to object. And now you judge me?"

Though she kept her movements composed, her words were laced with anger. Sylvia’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword. "We are of the same nation."

Solene cut her off with a cold laugh. She could guess the rest—some drivel about fighting for the Empire, for both the High and Lowlands. It was farcical.

Sylvia lowered her eyes, her voice deep. "You were too impatient. The Emperor once promised me that if we won the war, he would support the development of the Lowlands. He promised me personally."

"Haha!" Solene covered her mouth and laughed. "You actually believed him? Was there a written agreement? A witness? Anyone can give a verbal guarantee. You are truly too naive," Solene said, emphasizing every word as she stared into Sylvia’s eyes.

Sylvia suddenly drew her longsword, her voice cold. "Since we cannot convince each other, let us settle this with a fight!" With that, she swung her sword at Solene.

However, before Sylvia could get close, a massive burst of magical power erupted, instantly blasting her backward. The spell was so vast and swift it left no room for evasion. Sylvia, who had never seen such a powerful mage, was stunned. Typically, mages were skilled at range but fragile in close quarters, requiring long incantations. Even the best mages in her army were no exception.

Watching Sylvia struggle to stand, Solene smiled. "The current Master of the Magic Tower is my butler. In the past, nobles forbade commoners from learning magic, but now he is loyal to me." As she turned to leave, she paused. "None of this was caused by me alone; it was those nobles who thought themselves superior who sought their own destruction. As one of them, you should know that well. You are both naive and foolish."

Sylvia clenched her fists, falling into deep thought. Her grey eyes trembled as her resolve began to waver. Ultimately, she rejected the nobles' private invitations and chose to return home directly.

In the evening, after the banquet, Solene brought Ian back to the manor. In the carriage, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and whispered, "Do you want to be my lover?"

"You don't even know my name," Ian said. His voice had taken on a Lowland accent—whether it was intentional or a magical effect was unclear, but one thing was certain: he had been to the Lowlands. It was indeed a good place to hide. Having stayed there and witnessed the desolate land and the simple people, did he, for a moment, understand her?

Solene smiled and asked, "What is your name?"

"Abel."

"Very well, Abel. Will you be my lover?" Solene leaned close to his lips, watching him tenderly.

Abel did not answer with words; he simply met her halfway, their lips and teeth tangling. This time, it wasn't the gentle touch of the past, but a frantic, biting hunger.

"You're in quite a hurry," Solene panted, her lip having been bitten.

"Do you not like it?" Abel looked up at her with those black, gem-like eyes. It was a familiar, pleasing gesture.

Solene smiled but didn't answer directly. Instead, she changed the subject. "Are you also from the Lowlands?"

At the mention of the "Lowlands," Abel stiffened slightly and lowered his gaze, nodding.

"We are of a similar age. You must have seen the Lowlands back then—it was like hell. It’s much better now, isn't it?" Solene said softly, leaning against his shoulder.

"It is much better," Abel whispered. He had heard the people there talk about the old days; they were all exceptionally grateful and loyal to Solene.

"The first time I entered the Upper City, I was sitting in a carriage just like this. I pulled back the curtain and saw a blonde, blue-eyed child surrounded by a crowd as he played in the street. The people around him forbade other commoners from using that road. How cold it must have been for those forced to take the long way home in winter... Tell me, isn't that person hateful? I hate him most of all. I’ve always hated him."

Solene toyed with Abel’s hand, her tone weary.

Abel was silent for a while before saying softly, "Perhaps that child didn't know." Back then, he had only been thinking of picking a special birthday gift to please his mother, never realizing his actions affected anyone else.

A faint blue light flickered within Abel’s black pupils as he looked down at Solene, who had closed her eyes against his shoulder, looking exhausted.

Everything seemed to be a mistake of destiny.