“Oppose! I am absolutely opposed to that proposal! Raising the interest rate, Lord Chionov? I understand your eagerness to show your loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen, but isn’t this a bit too radical?”
“I also object. Now is the time to lower the interest rate and ease loan conditions to stimulate the national loan market and boost the economy…”
“What you’re saying makes sense, but I have to say, I support it.”
The Council Chamber of Noel Palace was always a cacophony of clamor, with the Goshawk Faction and Dove Faction crossing swords every day, their verbal skirmishes as fierce as real blades. Each side opposed anything the other supported, their attitude best summed up as, ‘Keep yelling if you want—I’m not listening, I’m not listening!’ Amidst the noise, there was the occasional spark of insight, but far more often, it was just opposition for opposition’s sake.
Still, there were rare moments when both factions united—namely, whenever Erica spoke up.
“Then, let us now vote on the proposal to increase the annual salary and pension for royal councilors.”
“I agree.”
“I agree as well.”
“Well said. How rare that we’re in agreement.”
“Hand in hand, isn’t this the first step toward peace in our kingdom?”
So sanctimonious, these old geezers. Usually they’re at each other’s throats, but at times like these, they’re thick as thieves.
For those officials who had to deal with them, this was actually convenient. But looking at the bigger picture, these people were undoubtedly a blight upon the nation.
Clang!
Just then, the palace doors burst open with a crash that sounded as if they’d been smashed apart. Everyone turned in astonishment—who would dare barge into Queen Evelyn’s audience chamber with such violence?
Had the revolutionaries stormed the palace? Had the furious masses finally breached the high walls? Erica raised her eyebrow.
“This place is still as crowded as ever with a bunch of useless fools, chirping away endlessly.”
Click, boom—a thick, imposing figure slowly emerged from the dust kicked up as the doors slammed against the wall. The first thing that caught everyone’s eye was a suit of metal plate armor, creaking at the joints, almost twice as wide as Erica.
Rose-red armor, every part bristling with sharp iron spikes, some still caked with dried, rust-brown blood that hadn’t been properly cleaned off. If this was a rose, it ought to be called a blood rose.
A knight? Looks like someone unruly has come back.
“Wow, the Expeditionary Force is back.”
“So the Expeditionary Force has returned.”
The elders of the Goshawk and Dove Factions, who’d just been tearing each other apart, now huddled together as if for warmth, their bodies trembling.
Just as those scornful words implied, the knight in crimson armor matched words to deeds—ignoring the entire group of old fools, striding straight into the audience chamber and raising her massive polearm. The glinting blade pointed not at the elders, but directly at Queen Evelyn La Callista, who was reclining lazily on her throne, chin propped in one hand.
“Y-Your Majesty! Protect the Queen!”
“Guards!”
Chaos erupted, everyone scrambling in panic. Yet Queen Evelyn, staring down the polearm, remained unruffled, her narrowed eyes calmly taking in the scene with a trace of amusement.
The halberd was raised high, then swept down in an arc! The blade that had been pointed at the Queen instead slashed down toward the floor. “Die!” And with a splatter of foul-smelling liquid, a round object rolled across the ground—it was the severed head of a Dove Faction Elder Councilor who’d just been screaming beside the Queen.
“That bastard, that son of a bitch! Supplying weapons to the barbarians at the border—can you believe it? Thanks to this damned traitor, we’ve had to risk our lives fighting those well-armed savages. Ha! And there I was, wondering why on earth they suddenly had catapults?”
The towering knight removed her lion-headed helmet. A thick mane of golden hair spilled out, cascading down like a waterfall. Her sweat-soaked, pale face was revealed—one that bore a subtle resemblance to Evelyn’s.
Which made sense—they were cousins, after all. In fact, she was a collateral member of the royal family.
Ah, perfect, that’s grounds for usurpation! Arrest her at once! Erica shrank back into a corner to watch.
A steel-plated boot kicked the head aside, and the red-armored warrior—Noel’s Headhunter, Emil Lioness—let out a thunderous roar.
“You useless freeloaders! A traitor was right under your noses and none of you saw it? Because of parasites like you wasting the people’s taxes, my job just keeps getting harder!”
Her booming rage silenced the councilors who had just been slicing up state affairs with their tongues. Now they shut up, holding their breath, hoping that dreadful executioner’s weapon wouldn’t visit their own necks.
Erica pressed her lips together, feeling the heavy tension. That slain councilor from the Dove Faction—she’d actually planned to spare him, to turn him as an informant to gather intel on the southern barbarians.
But now he was dead in an instant. Did these people enjoy making her job harder?
Swish—the halberd’s tip swung, now pointing at a certain girl who had been doing her best to remain unnoticed since this all began. The dripping blood was unpleasant, both for its stench and the looming hygiene issues.
“If anyone else is up to dirty tricks, confess now, and I’ll make your death quick.”
As Emil said this, her deep blue eyes locked on the girl. No need to guess who she was addressing.
Honestly, Emil hated her. Emil belonged to neither Goshawk nor Dove Faction, but was a pure militant who worshiped strength—battle was all that mattered.
Emil the Headhunter loathed schemers who had never wielded a blade, those who only spun plots behind the scenes—yes, weak girls like Erica.
But it didn’t matter; Erica hated Emil, too. Mutual hatred—ding ding!—it’s even.
Still, a mature girl sometimes has to bow before brute force, even if she hates the one wielding it.
So Erica bowed and said, “Lady Emil, congratulations on your safe and triumphant return. I’d heard the good news, but I hadn’t expected you back so soon.”
“Hmph, they were a bunch of pushovers. Weaklings, just like you.”
“I see. Still, this is the presence of Her Majesty. Please, put your weapon away.”
An “ohh” rippled through the crowd; everyone seemed amazed that someone dared talk back to the terrifying Emil. But Erica wasn’t getting cocky—she knew Emil wasn’t so easily handled.
“Put down my weapon? Not a chance. Get out of the way. Not that I enjoy hitting women, but you’re an exception, witch.”
Such a cheap provocation. Erica had been completely immune to this level of goading for three months now—the witch had received her rabies vaccine, congratulations!
The elders watching on grew paler and paler, and one couldn’t help but worry they’d wet themselves from fright.
‘Shouldn’t someone step in?’
‘Who could possibly stop them?’
‘Even Lady Erica can’t? Come on, Erica, do something…’
Everyone busily observed and guessed at each other’s reactions. But it was no surprise—Emil and Evelyn were the twin pillars upholding the kingdom and its current order. No one could really rein them in—well, except for one.
“Emil, that’s enough. You’ve dirtied the audience chamber’s floor.”
“Aiya, since my dear cousin says so, fine. Just a joke, that’s all—why is everyone so stiff over a little joke?” Emil rested her halberd on the ground, laughing, while Evelyn merely shook her head and said, “What a pointless joke.”
Taking advantage of the moment, Erica quickly ordered the guards to carry off the headless elder. She definitely didn’t want Evelyn getting a taste for blood after seeing that corpse.
“Emil, how was the expedition?”
“They barely had any real army together, just a rabble. It was a breeze—one swing, dozens of heads flew, didn’t even need the straw training dummies, ha!”
“Mhm.”
“But those savages screaming at the top of their lungs—it was actually pretty funny. They steal our land, loot and burn, did they never imagine they’d have a day like this?”
“They deserve their punishment.”
“Exactly. If only you had been there, Evelyn. We could have caught that barbarian chieftain who got away.”
Emil gestured animatedly, lamenting, while Evelyn frowned, sharing the regret. “Indeed.”
“But that chieftain was a bastard. He sacrificed the captives to the demons.”
“Demons? Are there really demons? The monsters beyond the barrier?”
‘Dear heavens, demons…’
The word “demon” caused a commotion all around, but Erica stayed calm. After all, in her previous life’s light novels, “demons” had long lost their shock value—they were just NPC-level threats.
“We already slew it, but unfortunately, the chieftain escaped. One day, I’ll catch him and hack him to pieces at the graves of my fallen soldiers—or perhaps make her pay her blood debt with her own flesh…”
Hey, is this really how sisters talk? Isn’t this a bit much?
Erica had tried to keep Evelyn away from anything that might trigger a bloodthirsty streak, but Emil’s cold and ruthless ways made it hard to swallow. As the saying goes, “Those near ink become black.” If Emil infected Evelyn with her own murderous madness, what then?
She had deliberately sent Emil on a long campaign to get her out of the way, but how did she clear it in just a month? She’d expected it to take at least two years—this was more like speedrunning for achievements.
Now another headache loomed. Erica rubbed her brow.
Could she find another chance to send Emil off again? Scanning the map of Noel’s neighboring lands in her mind, she remembered—wasn’t Fanatic Sandman causing trouble out west…?
“You just returned from the expedition, Emil. Rest well—I’ll prepare a grand banquet in your honor.”
“Ahh, only my dear cousin understands me! Come, let big sis give you a hug.”
Evelyn didn’t mind that the armor was still dusty and bloodstained, hugging Emil tight and even patting the armored back with a thump. The two cousins, both beautiful women, looked a picture of harmony—a pleasing sight indeed.
But with the two most infamous bad girls in Noel joining forces, it could only spell disaster for their enemies.
And for Erica as well.
The Headhunter, Emil Lioness, reappeared in more comfortable clothes. Even dressed in a gorgeous gown, she was no less alluring than Evelyn, and it was no surprise she turned heads at every banquet, relentlessly pursued by men.
“You’ve got more to you than I thought.”
“Kyaa, Lady Emil, that’s not allowed—”
“Not allowed? And what if I don’t care? Are you going to stop me?”
Emil had an arm around a dancer on each side, leering like a rakish young lord. She claimed to like both men and women, but her preference seemed to lean toward women, which was why female dancers were specifically arranged to keep her occupied.
Meanwhile, Erica, holding her fruit wine and keeping her distance, quietly stuffed herself with food, hoping things would stay peaceful.
“Come, come, everyone drink up!” Emil, resplendent in her party dress and boisterous as ever, called out like the true host. The palace was in the midst of a feast to honor the return of the expeditionary force.
Alchemists’ fireworks burst in the sky, dazzling the eye, while court musicians played entrancing songs and the dancers twirled with grace.
“Ha ha, fill them up! Another round!”
“Heh, come, come watch my dance steps.”
“Ahh! My lady, you’re so dashing and charming!”
Though it was long past midnight, no one showed the slightest sign of sleepiness. Glasses were filled and raised again and again… Erica, having barely sipped her low-alcohol fruit wine, was starting to feel her stomach churn. She had just about gotten used to the stench of blood lately, but the harsh smell of alcohol still made her gag.
As a high schooler from the 21st-century Celestial Empire, she had never touched a drop. Only after a year of endless banquets had she forced herself to learn to take a few ceremonial sips.
Whether in this world or back in the modern age, not drinking always caused trouble. Those old fogeys would mock her: ‘Oh, Lady Erica, won’t drink? Are you refusing to honor us old men?’
Screw that—of course I’m refusing! Erica longed to snap back, but she couldn’t. She had to admit, not being able to drink was a fatal weakness.
“Erica, you must have had a hard time managing everything at court. Here, let me pour you a drink—down it in one!”
Already so drunk she could probably distill wine with her breath, Emil waved her over, half a bottle of the kingdom’s famous Bashkir mead in hand.
“Haha, no need, thank you. I’m a follower of the Spice Faith. Our doctrine forbids overindulgence in alcohol, so I’ll just accept your good wishes.”
“Hm? I know the doctrine. It doesn’t forbid drinking, just getting drunk, right? Relax, one glass won’t hurt—”
“No, truly, I must decline.”
“….” Emil’s smile faded, and in that instant, the lively banquet hall fell into dead silence.
The violinist stopped playing mid-string, the wind musicians pulled back their instruments in shock, even the jingle of the dancers’ jewelry cut off as if someone had pressed pause.
“What’s this, Erica? You’d refuse a glass from me—a warrior who just fought and bled for the peace of this kingdom?” In a flash, Emil’s mouth, previously curled in a smile, became razor-straight and cold, her voice stern, all traces of drunkenness gone.
Which was why Erica always tried to keep her distance from this lunatic.
“Lady Erica, will you really refuse Lady Emil’s toast?”
“A mere witch, daring to refuse the goodwill of Grand Duchess Emil Lioness, second in line for the Lioness Duchy?”
The muscle-bound loyalists at Emil’s side looked ready to draw their swords, but Erica knew this was Emil’s ploy—she did this every time she returned, deliberately spoiling the mood.
Stealing a glance at Evelyn, “…sigh.” As usual, Evelyn was dozing off in her high seat, used to going to bed early and now half-asleep from the ongoing banquet.
No outside help then—completely on her own. Perhaps that was why Emil dragged out the party so late: her upturned mouth made that clear.
“I’ll have a drink then.” Erica stepped forward, head held high, gazing calmly at Emil as she took the brimming glass.
“Thank you, Lady Emil.”
With a sweet smile and her bangs brushing her brow and nose, she looked up at Emil. Emil’s eyes flashed, and she lifted her own glass with a grin. “Good, have a drink! Show me your spirit, girl!”
She’s a month younger than me and she calls me “girl”? Erica scoffed inwardly, but she took the glass and drained it in one gulp.
Gulp, gulp… Has anyone called liquor an icy fire before? The cold, burning liquid slid down her throat, leaving a searing trail, then settled in her stomach like a blaze. She didn’t get it—how did anyone enjoy this tasteless stuff?
“Mm…” The moment her glass emptied, her legs started shaking, and the world spun. Coughing, she covered her mouth with her hand, eyes starting to glisten with tears.
“Wow, not bad! You drink better than I thought—I’m impressed.”
Only then did Emil break into a sunny smile, and her cronies started clapping and cheering, rallying the mood.
“Fill them up! Let’s drink!”
“Who’s going to sing something for us?”
“Golden hook dart, golden hook dart, golden hook Audevy~”
“Hey, what kind of song is that?”
As if nothing had happened, the party returned to its boisterous rhythm. Erica’s head was spinning, her vision blurring… Who was—
A large, rough-palmed but otherwise elegant hand landed on Erica’s bare shoulder, exposed by her dress. The hand gripped ‘gently,’ ‘gallantly’—but Erica snapped awake, pushing the intruder away and steadying herself against the table, teeth gritted. It was Emil.
“Aiya, I was just concerned—you can barely stand.” With that, the hulking muscle-woman moved in to ‘help’ Erica.
“N-no need, I’m fine, Lady Emil.” Erica let go of the table, staring coldly at Emil, who just chuckled, shrugged, and withdrew her hand. “No offense, Gardener Erica.”
But even standing still, the dizziness didn’t fade, her stomach heaving. This was why she didn’t want to drink—who knew what stupid things she’d do while drunk.
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me.”
Before the alcohol hit her full force, Erica lifted her skirt and hurried toward the door, feeling someone follow behind but too sick to care. She could only hope not to collapse in the garden.
“Ugh…”