“Director Loren Green of the Hobrick Republic Civil Affairs Bureau, due to official duties regarding crop blight in the Southern Archipelago, departed with a merchant ship and accidentally fell overboard en route, with no remains recovered.”
“According to the ‘Hobrick Maritime Navigation Law’, any person missing at sea for more than a day is presumed dead. Thus, the Civil Affairs Bureau officially declares him deceased at the age of 23.”
Livyat slowly read out the announcement of her own death from the sheet of official paper.
How cruel, to have her current self declare the death of her former, boyish self.
From this moment on, she could no longer live under the name Loren Green.
She let out a sigh.
She wondered what expression her parents, who had always been so proud of their youngest son, would wear when they learned of his passing.
She scrunched her nose.
A total of 8,000 Grosso in compensation would be given to her parents—she hoped it would allow them, and her brothers and sisters, to live a little better.
In addition, she decided she would continue sending monthly remittances to her parents, though from now on, she could only do so anonymously.
After handling all these matters, Livyat lay down on her bed and fell asleep.
…
Today was the auspicious day when Julia was promoted to General Affairs Officer of the Shipbuilding Bureau.
Not only was Livyat to accompany her to her new post, but Tesvelan insisted on coming along as well, eager to join the excitement, even though she’d just recovered from illness.
The Shipbuilding Bureau was also located on Seaside Avenue, directly across the pier from the Grand Library.
As they approached the entrance, they saw the subordinate staff lined up outside, awaiting their new superior.
“Lady Julia, I’m Deputy Director Antonroni. Your arrival brings a fresh breeze to our bureau, ha ha! From now on, we’ll have nothing to fear from those old-fashioned Navy types.”
Leading them was a typical Hobrick bureaucrat, greeting Julia’s group with a fawning smile.
“Oh my, is this Princess Tesvelan, and your elven secretary Miss Livyat? Lady Julia, I have long heard of your father’s in-depth cooperation with the elves, which led the Governor to issue the new budget proposal. Truly a policy beneficial to the nation and its people. Lady Julia, please enter your loyal Shipbuilding Bureau—the work is endless, and we must do our best to assist your command.”
How nauseating, Tesvelan thought, witnessing the whole spectacle.
Yet she didn’t notice that both Livyat and Julia seemed to know this deputy, and instead of making things difficult for him, they chatted with him amiably.
After a brief tour of the Shipbuilding Bureau, they entered the General Affairs Officer’s office while the deputy sent the other subordinates back to work.
On a white wall inside the Shipbuilding Bureau hung the blueprint of the Ricardo Dandolo, a battleship so imposing it seemed like a mythical behemoth.
The design featured 120 gunports, arranged along both sides of the deck and on the two tiers of central cabins.
A massive dwarven mithril ram jutted from the prow, seemingly capable of smashing any enemy vessel it met.
The blueprint even stipulated that every crew member be equipped with a short musket, to facilitate swift kills during boarding actions, and both sides of the ship bristled with grappling hooks and ropes.
Without a doubt, if this ship ever sailed the great rivers, no force would dare challenge the Republic’s fleet.
But now, this flagship had been leased to the elves in exchange for funding.
The thought that the flagship might someday bear her own name made Livyat feel as if she was the subject of everyone’s scrutiny.
“Hmph, so this is your main focus from now on? Her Majesty the Queen oversees you in person every day, Lady Julia—don’t let her down,” Tesvelan sneered.
Julia said nothing, studying the blueprint intently.
This warship was beautiful to an absurd degree, like something from legend—the true lord of the seas.
No wonder, years ago, the Governor’s office insisted on laying the keel, even if it meant borrowing heavily from the merchants.
Unfortunately, by the time most of the 120 cannons were finished, the budget had already been wildly overspent.
When last year’s budget proposal was put to a vote, the Assembly refused to increase the shipbuilding budget, which was one reason the Governor decided to suspend construction this year.
Julia’s father, Domenico, had repeatedly advised the Governor to raise shipbuilding funds by public subscription among the noble families and ordinary citizens, but the Governor remained noncommittal.
A ship built for the state, but in the end it would mean owing favors to the great houses—such a thankless task the Governor had no wish to undertake.
To him, this flagship, an endless sinkhole for funds, had become a hot potato during his tenure—especially as he was set to retire next year and didn’t want this matter to explode under his watch.
So why did the Governor finally agree to lease it to the elves for funding?
Julia understood.
With the cost of northern trade soaring, the Governor had decided to relax the trade isolation policy against the elves, and this arrangement followed naturally.
When Tesvelan met with the Governor, she directly suggested this idea.
By the time the elves’ funds arrived and the ship could be completed, the Governor would have long since retired.
And the elves were patient—they didn’t even require monthly progress reports.
As long as the shipyard was still busy with hammering and sawing, it was enough to satisfy everyone.
That was why her father, Domenico, had her take this post as General Affairs Officer—to ensure the flagship wouldn’t arouse domestic dissatisfaction, to maintain the Governor’s budget freeze smoothly.
Tesvelan, Tesvelan, you really do treat your precious Liv like a fool, don’t you.
“What did I say, Lady Julia is a total workaholic. She’s been staring at that blueprint for ages. So boring. Liv, let’s go play somewhere else.”
Tesvelan teased when Julia ignored her completely.
“Don’t say that, Tes. She’s got a lot on her shoulders. Let’s not disturb her,” Livyat said, pulling Tesvelan to her own desk and inviting her to sit, then tidying up the office supplies.
“Heh.”
Tesvelan thought Livyat was becoming more and more like one of those sweet-talking but devious women.
The morning passed, and Julia pored over every document related to the ship, from its proposal, design, budget, and bidding, to the quotation list and the laying of the first keel plank, without resting for a moment.
She realized just how many problems plagued this project—making it this far was nothing short of a miracle.
By contrast, the files for smaller warships showed that the lower the budget, the fewer the problems.
In the end, she concluded that the elves’ investment was really just cleaning up their mess.
But, then, the elves did want a flagship of their own.
Looking over at Livyat’s side, Julia saw Tesvelan idly sketching, while Livyat, seated on a chair she’d pulled over, was reading internal expense documents.
What an awful princess, letting her own queen sit off to the side.
Just then, Tesvelan looked up—not at Julia, but at Livyat—and, waving her paintbrush around, whispered something, causing them both to giggle.
Livyat covered her mouth, looking adorable.
For some reason, Julia felt a twinge of jealousy.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, Livyat looked over, then gave a shy smile, wrote something on a piece of paper, and handed over the drawing.
It turned out Tesvelan had drawn Julia herself, with an exaggeratedly stern expression, and beside her was an imaginatively unfinished ship.
Julia’s first instinct was to throw the picture in the trash.
But next to the sketch was Livyat’s signature.
This was the first time Livyat had signed her new name!
The delicate handwriting stood out on the paper.
Julia hesitated for a long time, but in the end, she decided to lock the picture away in her drawer.
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