“Where are the Noelle Royal Guards? Hurry up and cut off that man’s head for me!”
At this moment, everyone inside and outside the Palace was witnessing this bizarre and absurd scene with their own eyes.
“Y-Your Majesty!” The Court Finance Minister, Qiaonov GlenSol, lay prostrate on the floor, having drawn the ire of the lords due to the excessively high royal taxes.
And the Finance Minister before them was the one pushed out, bravely—or perhaps foolishly—offering counsel to the Queen.
“Your Majesty! I beg you, just this once, please listen to your subject’s advice.”
The Finance Minister knelt on the ground, while the so-called ‘courtiers’ were in a frenzy—some watching for amusement, some gloating, some trying to reason; the myriad expressions of the masses were on full display.
Oh, and of course, among the group of middle-aged and older men with thick beards on the Execution Hall dais, there was one outlier—a beautiful young girl leaning lifelessly against a pillar.
She wore an ornate Court dress, in a style wholly different from everyone else.
Even the Queen, who behaved more like a rogue than a monarch, had grown used to this girl’s odd actions and commands.
The ministers, well-acquainted with absurdity, simply let her words pass in one ear and out the other.
After all, the first rule of survival at Court was to stay out of trouble and mind your own business.
But an execution at the front of the hall?
Well, now, you really can’t say you’ve seen that before. No one had.
The officials and guards witnessing this scene began to stir, the guards clutching their swords, exchanging nervous glances in secret:
‘Cut off a head? His? Mine?’
‘Is this for real? Don’t let us get secretly silenced after we swing the sword.’
‘Hmph, cowards! Why’s everyone in front of me backing away? Watch me step back too.’
‘Hey, hey, refusing the order? Who would dare say that to the mad Queen?’
To Erika, the Queen had always been a figure from games or light novels—a woman with a glittering, jeweled Royal Crown, who always carried herself with untouchable dignity and regal authority.
That was her fixed impression of a Queen.
Yet, a year ago, she truly met a Queen—namely, Evelyn la Calista VIII, who stood before her now.
Some readers, seeing the name, might already realize she wasn’t a Queen of the real world, but rather the notorious villainess from the recently popular light novel, “Flower of Evil.”
Ah, yes, a villain.
Evelyn la Calista, in the story, was no merciful and motherly Queen, but a thorough tyrant.
According to the novel, Evelyn was a beautiful girl with black hair and black eyes, remarkably attractive, but her succession to the throne was ranked extremely low.
As fate or the author’s hand would have it, though she had more than a dozen siblings ahead of her, they all died within a year.
The novel offered little detail here.
Thus, at just seventeen, Evelyn suddenly became the sovereign of a nation.
Wasn’t this a light novel heroine’s plotline?
Evelyn, once last in line for the throne, was forced to ascend as the only surviving royal, saving a collapsing dynasty and making unprecedented achievements!
How splendid, truly splendid.
But what happens when a royal daughter who thought she’d never inherit the throne—one who behaved recklessly, like a hooligan—suddenly holds absolute power?
‘Sergeant Jack, what now?’
‘No idea, Ruth, are you going?’
‘You go, I go.’
‘This isn’t executing thieves—we’re talking about Count Qiaonov. Who’d dare behead a noble like him?’
Thus, the royal guards merely rested their hands on their sword hilts, exchanging looks in hesitation and doubt.
“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear my order? If your swords are rusted to the scabbards, I’ll do it myself!”
Evelyn, clearly impatient with the guards’ sluggishness, strode forward and, with a “swish,” drew a sword from the dazed guard standing by the throne.
“This cold, heavy feeling… Ever since I donned the Royal Crown, it’s been a long time since I wielded a sword… It’s truly been too long.”
The blade in Evelyn’s hand gleamed coldly, humming as she moved, as if thirsting for the taste of blood.
And then, the Evelyn in the story would display her masterful Kingdom Swordsmanship, severing the old man’s head in a single stroke!
Wow, what a clean, decisive blow—let’s all applaud!
That was the original course of the story.
This was the first time Evelyn, in the story, experienced killing; afterward, she would go on a bloodthirsty rampage, eventually deposed and sent to the gallows.
This villainess would meet her doom, and as a reader, Erika had felt a sense of satisfaction.
But at least for Erika now, it was obviously different.
“Qiaonov, hmph, in my boundless mercy, I allow you to atone with your death. So, do you have any last words?”
“Swish—”
With the sword resting against Qiaonov’s neck, the slender white hand holding it did not tremble in the slightest, generously granting him a chance to speak, “I grant you time for last words. I, Evelyn la Calista VIII, have always been magnanimous.”
Even as the Queen spoke again, Qiaonov raised his head from the ground, his expression calm—resigned to death.
The old man believed he was blameless and had given his all for the country, but this Queen was clearly the omen of a ruined nation.
What could he do?
Better to die with dignity.
Come to think of it, Erika had seen many people with this expression lately, and from their mouths usually came words like these:
“The glorious land empire of Noelle, with five hundred years of history, is toyed with by a foolish woman and a sycophantic Witch of Misfortune. After death, I’ll have no face to see my ancestors. Please lay my body far from their tombs.”
“W-What?!”
Evelyn’s expression shifted rapidly.
Her stunningly beautiful face twisted in anger, but no one would find it “charmingly contrasting”—after all, she held the power of life and death over everyone present.
Her changing face only sent chills through those who saw it.
“Fine then, as you wish. I’ll personally chop your corpse into mince and scatter it to the piranhas of the Naric Trench!”
As she raised her delicate hand, sword gripped tight, everyone seemed to sense the end—eyes squeezed shut, faces covered, murmuring prayers.
Surely, they all thought the loyal old courtier’s blood would soon stain the Court floor.
“No one can stop this she-tyrant.” —
That’s what they were all likely thinking.
However, in this butcher-like Execution Hall, there was but one person who could stop the rampaging Queen.
“Your Majesty—”
A clear, melodious female voice rang out in the grand hall, and the Queen, who had been about to swing her sword in a crescent arc, suddenly halted.
She furrowed her delicate brow, turned, and asked the speaker:
“What is it, Erika?”
“Though it may be impertinent, I believe that executing Lord Qiaonov so easily will fail to serve as a sufficient warning. Oh, with your wisdom, Your Majesty, I’m sure you understand this already.”
The crowd saw the Queen’s sword arm slowly droop, the blue veins on her hand receding beneath her pale skin.
Good.
At least she had prevented Qiaonov from dying like a stray dog.
Yes, Erika had successfully stopped the nobles from using Qiaonov’s death as a rallying cry for rebellion.
Queen Evelyn spoke softly, “Erika, my Gardener, my only confidante—unlike those other fools, your words are worth hearing.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“So, Erika, what is your reason for stopping my execution?”
Erika could sense that this seemingly uncontrollable mad princess, Evelyn, was showing a patience and earnestness with her that she’d never give to anyone else.
At the same time, she could clearly feel the veiled glares from many at Court—their eyes filled with resentment and hatred.
How could she not notice?
She wasn’t a fool.
But there was nothing she could do about it.
She, Xiao Jun, had transmigrated about a year ago into the body of “Erika”—the very Witch of Misfortune at the Queen’s side who would one day help lead Noelle to ruin.
That’s right, the transmigrated Xiao Jun.
How she wished someone could explain why, as a model youth of the new era, she’d landed in such a predicament.
But now wasn’t the time to ask for answers—it was time to give one.
Erika decided to loudly recite the key line she had long memorized for breaking the deadlock before this day’s incident unfolded: “Court Finance Minister Qiaonov. How dare you! How dare you defy the Queen’s absolute power and profane the Royal Crown—how foolish!”
Her voice rose and fell like a performance in an opera, having become a habit even more ingrained than DNA.
“Ahem, very good, continue.”
“If you personally execute one who challenges royal authority and despises the monarchy—that’s not a punishment, but a reward.”
“Hm? Death would be a reward for him?”
“Exactly! To have his filthy blood stain the Queen’s pure, holy arm—if that’s not a reward, then what is?”
Sure enough, Evelyn’s wrinkled, annoyed expression eased a little: “Hmm… True, I’ve been thinking the same.”
“Indeed, such a hasty execution cannot serve as an example to the Court. Great and wise Evelyn, Your Majesty, surely understands this better than anyone.”
A loud voice was important, but enunciation and clarity mattered more. She’d found it awkward at first, but after a year of acting the part, it was now second nature.
As Erika spoke these rehearsed lines, she also carefully observed Evelyn’s every expression.
Seeing Evelyn nod, she sheathed her sword, folded her arms, and nodded again, “Yes, yes, I too find that simply chopping off his head would be dull. So, Erika, continue and share what you think I have in mind.”
What am I supposed to “realize,” you idiotic villainess!
Erika, fuming inside, pulled at the corner of her mouth, but refrained from cursing.
When the noise died down, she paused a moment.
This little pause was crucial; dealing with Evelyn required knowing how to seize the crowd’s attention to boost the impact of one’s words.
It had taken her an entire year just to master that skill.
She glanced around—the hidden stares all around her were dark and hostile.
She didn’t need anyone to say it aloud: ‘Sycophantic traitor licking the Queen’s feet, hope you choke to death on bird droppings on your way out’—that’s what they were all thinking, probably.
But too bad—Erika had no intention of waiting to die, for even if she died here, there was no guarantee her soul would return to the high school boy Xiao Jun’s body in the 21st century.
Thus, to survive in this Court, the girl’s voice flowed on: “Your Majesty, I know you’ve already brought Count Qiaonov’s daughter, Clara, to the Court.”
“So I brought Qiaonov’s daughter here…?”
Evelyn asked in confusion, as if the teacher had just called on her to hand out the homework.
But as Erika snapped her fingers, a group of suspicious figures in black robes dragged a slender, blonde girl from the side of the Palace, tearing her fine dress roughly.
“No, stop!”
“Cl-Clara!”
Seeing this, the previously composed and dignified Qiaonov went pale, eyes wide, “Clara—!”
His expression twisted so much he seemed barely human, sending chills down anyone’s spine.
He had surely never expected his beloved only daughter to be brought here.
He was ready for his own death, but had hidden his last secret where no one could see.
But Erika—the Witch of Misfortune—already knew that secret was hidden near the southern desert city of Keltas.
Of course, she knew it from the novel.
Qiaonov was clever; he’d probably already guessed his daughter was being used as a hostage—and maybe even had the crime ready to be pinned on her.
The old man must have been terrified, not knowing what the Witch of Misfortune, Erika, would do to his helpless daughter after his death—so much so that even dying would seem unbearable.
A father could face death calmly for himself, but not the thought of broken glass in his child’s hand.
So, in the end, Qiaonov would surrender his pride before the Queen to apologize, while Erika would accept his plea on the Queen’s behalf, thus saving the Court Finance Minister from execution—that was the hard-won solution Erika had arrived at after days of racking her brain.
So far, things seemed to be heading that way.
Right now, in this Court, only she could dictate the sorrow and joy of everyone present.
This way, the crisis of death hanging over her would vanish—what a victory!
Forcing down her inner delight, the girl’s delicate, lovely face revealed a sly smile.
“Clap! Clap!”
Evelyn stabbed her sword into the ground and began to applaud in rhythm, “Just as I thought, Erika. You’ve seen through me entirely. That’s why, in front of everyone, you exposed Qiaonov and his daughter Clara’s depraved crimes, didn’t you?”
“Ah?”
Wait, I haven’t…
No, I never thought of that at all!
“As expected of Erika, my only confidante—you truly understand me.”
Hey, you damn fool, stop raising flags—who ever imagined that?!
‘Wow, incest, huh?’
‘Now? Right here?’
‘Terrifying, that Witch of Misfortune!’
Erika could feel the murderous glares from around her.
They all believed that Evelyn was clueless, and it was the Witch who was tempting her into sin.
“Aagh!”
Erika felt as though she would pull all her hair out.
She had just barely saved Qiaonov, tried to change the subject, but Evelyn only made things worse—insisting on swimming in molten lava!
‘Evelyn, you madwoman, that’s your death flag flashing on and off!’
Erika was falling apart inside.
Why did Evelyn run so gleefully toward death?
Was the wheel of fate so immutable, the roles so inescapable, that nothing could change them?
Just as in fantasy tales, the Demon King could never avoid being slain as the final boss—no matter how one struggled, mere mortals couldn’t defy fate?
Even if Erika broke her back acting the parent in every way, was Evelyn destined to be a villainess?
And in the eyes of others, what would happen to the sycophantic Witch Erika by her side?
If Evelyn, as the villainess, was executed, what about her?
No question—the fate of the Witch would be no better than that of a tyrant.
But fate?
What a joke.
She would never lose to something like that.
Think! Think about the next step.
There must be a way—hadn’t she managed to survive the last year?
“Your Majesty…”
But, whether by luck or misfortune, Qiaonov, holding his daughter after their last meeting before death, knelt with tear-filled eyes before the Queen, “Lady Evelyn, my Queen—please, show mercy to this old servant. Spare my life. I deserve to die, but my innocent daughter…”
“Uuu, father…”
The scene of the nearly sixty-year-old father and his ragged daughter embracing and weeping was enough to bring tears to everyone’s eyes, and pushed the mood to a new peak. Even those Palace guards who’d steal candy from children, with hearts dirtier than a sewer, couldn’t bear to watch the Queen’s cruelty any longer.
‘Excuse me, when does the shift end?’
‘New guy, we just started, okay.’
Facing this tragic, hopeless scene, the soldiers could only avert their eyes, showing helpless, bitter expressions beneath their helmets.
On the high dais, only Evelyn alone smiled softly, “Huum, what should I do? Daring to offend me is no small crime, how to deal with it…?”
She looked just like a child, gleeful as if Santa Claus had climbed down the chimney and asked, “What gift do you want when you fall asleep?”
“Um, Your Majesty, foolish Erika has a humble suggestion—”
“Oh, really?”
Evelyn seemed like someone who would listen attentively to her confidante, but certainly not to the other nobles or ministers—only to her beloved Gardener.
Watching Evelyn’s indulgent expression, Erika once again felt the sensation that had flooded her heart every day for the past year—she had become the capricious Queen’s only confidante.
What a fate, haha.
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