After an unknown amount of time, just as the night was about to fade, the abandoned church finally grew quiet.
When Tia left, her dress was in disarray, her collar slightly open, revealing delicate collarbones and a patch of fair skin.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes were misty with moisture, making her look both soft and seductive.
Mephia was not much better.
Her long hair was loose, a few strands clinging to her sweat-dampened cheeks, and her expression mixed with a contented tenderness.
By the time Tia returned to the Rebel Army’s camp, dawn had not yet broken.
With the help of her Magical Clone, no one noticed her departure.
Three days later, just as Mephia had predicted, Black Blood Fortress fell.
The defenders had done their utmost to hold the fortress, and Mephia, as the commander, had done the same—except she “happened” to fall into the Rebel Army’s ambush, causing the defensive line to collapse.
Because she was ambushed, the Imperial Army was quickly split and surrounded, retreating step by step.
Seeing this, Mephia had to personally cover the rear, protect the remnants as they withdrew, and was finally “forced” to abandon the fortress.
When the news reached the Imperial Capital, it stirred up much criticism.
At the same time, the fall of Black Blood Fortress made many nobles in the capital uneasy, fearing that once the Rebel Army arrived, they would settle accounts.
Thus, some cowardly nobles had already begun packing their luggage, preparing to flee the capital.
After the loss, the Imperial Army withdrew to the Third Fortress.
The Third Fortress was the empire’s most important stronghold—one could say it was the heart of the empire’s defense.
If it were breached, the Rebel Army could drive straight in and reach the Imperial Capital.
Now, inside the Imperial Army’s camp, Mephia sat beside the battlefield sand table, leisurely brewing tea—a stark contrast to the woman who had covered the army’s retreat just days earlier.
In her plan, the fall of Black Blood Fortress was only the first step.
Next would be the Third Fortress, and after that, she would be able to join the Rebel Army and march straight to the Imperial Capital.
That monster sitting on the throne—she would personally cut off his head!
But just as she was contemplating how to make the Third Fortress fall, the tent flap was lifted, and a burly figure burst in with the night wind, causing the candles to flicker violently.
She glanced at the visitor, then furrowed her brow.
“General Buloke, what brings you here?”
The man stopped three steps behind her.
He was a burly middle-aged man clad in golden armor, its plates engraved with intricate imperial crests.
His face was resolute, his brow marked by years of battlefield killing intent, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.
Buloke, the Imperial Grand General, had commanded the entire Imperial Army for thirty years, with illustrious military achievements and immense power over the court.
Yet despite that, he was still the man the Imperial King trusted most—and at the same time, the person Mephia least wanted to deal with.
“The Imperial Army is retreating in defeat. As Grand General, of course I have to come see what’s going on.”
Buloke’s gaze swept over the scattered military reports and maps inside the tent, finally landing on Mephia, his eyes flickering with obscure light.
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, General. This defeat is merely a minor setback. In the battles ahead, as long as we rely on the Third Fortress, the rebels won’t have any chance to advance.”
Mephia raised her hand, pointing to the location marked “Third Fortress” on the map.
Buloke’s eyes followed her finger and also landed on the fortress marked with a red symbol.
Then he smiled meaningfully.
“Is that so?”
He withdrew his gaze and looked back at Mephia.
“Still, I’m not at ease. After all, if the Rebel Army breaks through the Third Fortress, their next step will be the capital.”
“This fortress is the empire’s last line of defense.”
Mephia’s frown deepened.
She said nothing, letting silence spread between them.
The wind howled outside the tent.
After a long pause, Mephia spoke, her voice very soft:
“What do you mean…?”
Buloke looked at her, gave a cold laugh, then produced a rolled-up parchment from his chest, unrolled it, and handed it to Mephia.
It was an imperial decree from the Imperial King.
Clearing his throat, Buloke said gravely, “Princess, His Majesty sent me here to take command of this Imperial Army. Furthermore, he hopes that you will not leave this army in the near future.”
Not leave this army?
That was practically a direct accusation that she was a mole.
In response, Mephia gave a cold snort, lifted her eyes, and met Buloke’s gaze.
“Are you suspecting me, Grand General Buloke?”
She emphasized the last few words, carrying a hint of warning.
In her heart, she knew full well that this decree in her hand was not from the king at all, but from the Grand General before her.
As the Imperial Grand General, his interests were tied to many people’s, so even though he clearly knew the king had lost his mind, he still continued to uphold him.
He was the true enemy of the Rebel Army.
If it weren’t for having to obey the decree, she would never have so easily handed over military command.
Faced with her accusation, Buloke only smiled lightly, full of the arrogance of one in a high position.
“No, no, no. You are the Princess—how could you betray the empire?”
He paused, stepped back, and bowed slightly.
“This is His Majesty’s request. I hope you won’t make things difficult for me.”
With that, he tucked the decree away and walked out of the tent with a smile.
Mephia watched his retreating back, and a faint unease began to stir in her heart.
Grand General Buloke might be a bastard, but he was indeed a military genius.
The Rebel Army, which had been advancing smoothly, would likely suffer a great loss in his hands.
But…
“Princess.”
After Grand General Buloke left, two maids gracefully entered the tent from outside.
Mephia silently clenched her fists.
“Who are you?”
“The Grand General sent us to attend to you.”
Attend to her?
More like surveillance!
Buloke was no weakling.
If she secretly tried to send a message to the Rebel Army, he would likely discover her.
Then if he turned the tables, it would harm the Rebel Army instead.
Thinking this, a complex look flickered in her eyes.
Meanwhile, in a certain residence in the Imperial Capital’s alley.
The candlelight was faint, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
The lingering aura nearby was filled with an eerie magical power.
Magic Mirror sat on a high-backed chair, facing a thick darkness.
Within that darkness were several drifting, indistinct figures.
They merged into the shadows, watching everything, and moreover, these dark figures all emitted a chilling fluctuation of magical power.
They were the councilors of the Witch Council.
Magic Mirror raised her eyes to the darkness and asked softly, “Have you found any trace of Nightingale?”
After a moment of silence, a slightly hoarse voice sounded from the darkness.
“No.”
The voice paused.
“However, it’s not without gain. We have some clues.”
Magic Mirror’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Speak.”
In the darkness, a figure shifted slightly, its outline becoming clearer.
It was a woman with a graceful figure, but she radiated a cold aura.
“Nightingale first appeared in Hela City, and the range of tasks she accepted and executed were all within Hela City. Before this, it was her first time coming to the Imperial Capital.”
Magic Mirror listened quietly, saying nothing.
The woman continued, “Furthermore, according to Rose, she has a connection with the daughter of the Count of Hela City.”
“What connection?”
Magic Mirror asked.
“She is said to care a great deal about that Count’s daughter.”
Upon hearing this, the other figures in the darkness stirred.
Soon, a sharp female voice rang out:
“So what? Do we capture that Count’s daughter to force Nightingale to appear?”
Other female voices began to argue:
“That’s a good suggestion.”
“But what if Nightingale doesn’t care about her? That Count’s daughter is now a member of the Rebel Army. If we act against her and provoke the Rebel Army’s hostility, what then?”
“We’re only capturing a Count’s daughter. The Rebel Army shouldn’t care.”
“Hmph, I hope it turns out as you say. Because if we get dragged into a conflict with the Rebel Army, there won’t be any good outcome.”
At this point, one of the witches spoke with a hint of confusion, asking, “Still, I can’t understand—why did Nightingale steal the Empress Wand? Could it be that she can use the magic power inside the wand?”
A low murmur arose in the darkness.
Magic Mirror gave a cold snort, her tone dripping with undisguised sarcasm:
“Hmph, what a joke. If she really could do that, then why would she run? The wand is the symbol of the Witch Council’s Empress—every witch knows that.”
Hearing this, the figures in the darkness nodded one after another.
Magic Mirror pondered for a long time, then finally stood up and took a step forward.
The candlelight cast her shadow on the wall, stretching it long and long.
“Then let’s do it. Capture that Count’s daughter and force Nightingale to show herself. The Rebel Army’s current goal is to overthrow the empire’s rule. They shouldn’t be stupid enough to make another enemy…”
“Fine, we’ll listen to you.”
Receiving the order, the witch figures dissipated one by one, like melting shadows.
Soon, only Magic Mirror remained in the basement.
She stood in place, looking at the gradually emptying darkness, and murmured softly, “Empress Wand…”
As if remembering something, she shook her head helplessly.
Without an Empress, the Witch Council was just a pile of loose sand.
The councilors were strong, but their hearts were not united.
They could never lead the council to overturn the false rumors imposed on them and restore their glory.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.