Comfort
"Softness is a luxury the vengeful cannot afford."
The Fourth Princess swallowed her shock at Medea's demand.
Sardinia—a small island off the southern coast of Katzen, bordering Valdina—had been a fifteenth birthday gift to the Fourth Princess from her maternal grandfather.
Though modest in size, Sardinia proved immensely profitable thanks to iron mines capable of producing high-grade ore.
The Fourth Princess hesitated, weighing the island's value against the severity of her predicament.
"...That won't work."
"..."
"Tell me something else—to the best of my ability, I'll listen..."
The Fourth Princess's voice grew progressively quieter as she stared at Medea's impassive expression.
"Fourth Princess, did you somehow misunderstand my words as a request?"
"..."
"I forgive you for attempting to murder me. I turn a blind eye to the evidence. I even provide you the means to clear your name—and reveal who's targeting you as a bonus."
The Fourth Princess flinched visibly.
"No matter how I consider it, I don't believe I'm asking for too much."
Green eyes regarded her with arctic coldness.
Silence descended—heavy, oppressive.
A crushing pressure seemed to settle over the Fourth Princess, as though she'd been caught in a serpent's coils, constricting tighter with each breath.
"..."
The Fourth Princess averted her gaze involuntarily.
After a prolonged pause—
"Then do take your time considering, Fourth Princess."
The Fourth Princess bit her lip hard and departed at Medea's gentle dismissal.
Only when she'd walked far enough that Medea's palace vanished from sight did she tear the ornaments from her body and hurl them to the ground.
"AAAHHH! Damn Valdina! I should never have come to this wretched place!"
"I didn't expect the Princess would surrender it so easily."
Neril remarked, examining the deed of transfer for Sardinia bearing the Fourth Princess's official seal.
"It's unfortunate, perhaps, but she must have concluded it was preferable to being stabbed in the back by the Empress."
However, there was one crucial detail the Fourth Princess didn't know.
Sardinia is a golden island—home to vast deposits of mithril.
This fact would only become public knowledge after the Fourth Princess lost the succession struggle and even the First Prince succumbed to his illness.
But by then, Jason would already be Emperor, and the enormous wealth extracted from Sardinia's mithril would flow entirely into his coffers.
Medea had no intention of allowing anything to enrich Jason's treasury.
"But it feels so unsatisfying ending things like this. The Fourth Princess clearly targeted Your Highness—yet instead of punishment, she merely gets to survive."
"Don't worry. Angelique won't escape unscathed."
Mithril was a natural resource beyond price—impossible to purchase with mere gold.
Emperor Perdiccas II would never forgive whoever handed Valdina such strategic advantage, even if that culprit was his own daughter.
By the time she realized the truth, the Fourth Princess would understand she'd been completely deceived by Medea—and would want nothing more than to tear her apart.
"I cannot accept someone who tried to take my life with a mere island as compensation."
Medea intended to inflict far greater despair upon the Fourth Princess.
Her voice carried not a trace of sympathy.
"By the way, Grand Duke Castullo is remarkably sinister beneath that charming exterior."
Neril bristled with indignation. As a knight, she despised those who harbored ulterior motives and sacrificed others for personal gain.
"To think he knew of the danger Your Highness faced but deliberately feigned ignorance for his own benefit..."
She recalled the despicable Grand Duke who'd expressed concern for the Princess with such apparent sincerity in the audience hall.
And yet, he remains human—barely.
Medea leaned back in her chair, exhaustion evident on her features.
The confrontation with the Fourth Princess, combined with memories from her past life resurfacing unbidden, had drained her considerably.
At least, since I returned through the Magic Tower's intervention, neither the Fourth Princess nor Jason have viable excuses.
For a moment, Medea's thoughts drifted.
The Tower. Jason. And the Facade.
After closing her eyes briefly, she opened them again with renewed focus.
"Zeta, inform your master I wish to meet with him."
"..."
But no response came. When she glanced at Zeta, he appeared uncharacteristically flustered.
"What's wrong?"
"That is..."
Medea suddenly realized she hadn't seen any Facade mercenaries since her return.
Even Gallo—who had regularly attended palace functions—had been conspicuously absent of late.
"My master... is not currently in Valdina."
Zeta finally answered after visible hesitation.
Upon returning to the palace, he'd been unable to reveal the truth—that Cesare's condition had deteriorated rapidly.
*"I can't continue like this. Your condition is too severe. You need to see the Master immediately."*
*"Don't be so dramatic, Terence."*
When even Terence found himself helpless, they'd departed urgently for the Magic Tower.
*"Zeta, say nothing to the Princess of Valdina. Continue as you have been. Like a shadow."*
Zeta felt torn.
He couldn't disobey his lord's direct command, yet had no idea whether he could maintain this silence.
"Lord Acares... departed Valdina some time ago."
Zeta added what explanation he could without violating orders.
He left?
Medea paused, processing this information.
The image of the mercenary's languid smile surfaced in her mind.
She knew he was unpredictable by nature, and that traveling between nations was routine for an arms dealer—but she hadn't expected him to depart so abruptly without even a farewell.
"...Will he return?"
Medea's question made Zeta think of his master's current state.
To return to Valdina, he would need to show significant improvement... but given his present condition...
Complex emotions churned within him.
"...Forgive me, Your Highness. I cannot say more."
Medea nodded, understanding Zeta's troubled expression, and dismissed him with a gesture.
"..."
She set down what she'd been fidgeting with on the table.
Two small cylinders—one engraved with a goddess statue, the other with a water droplet sculpture.
When I found this, I commissioned a duplicate just in case. I suspected someone might eventually attempt to seize this sacred relic.
One contained the genuine Dawn's Droplet she'd obtained from the Philosopher's Stone. The other was a counterfeit so masterfully crafted that distinguishing them at first glance proved impossible.
If possible, I'd hoped to approach the First Prince through the Facade rather than the Magic Tower directly.
Now that Cesare had departed, that plan seemed like a distant memory.
Medea opened a small drawer and placed one cylinder inside.
He comes and goes like the wind itself—leaving just as silently.
A subtle emptiness stirred within Medea.
Could I have perhaps... developed feelings for that unruly mercenary?
As night deepened, memories surfaced unbidden—the forest filled with grass's fresh scent, the crackling of firewood, the campfire's warmth. That brief taste of quiet peace.
Medea immediately shook her head.
Enough. I have time to indulge in such useless sentimentality?
In this second life—experiencing things most people only lived once—Medea had learned something entirely new for the first time.
Comfort breeds weakness.
I don't need this. I won't allow myself to expect anything.
The blade she would drive into her enemies' hearts had to remain perpetually sharpened.
Medea roused herself from her reverie and lifted her head.
"Neril, what became of the matter I assigned you?"
Neril approached and reported quietly to Medea.
"You instructed me to monitor the movements of those who appeared in the decree previously. They're returning to the capital."
"What?"
Medea's head snapped up. She stared toward the wall beyond the window.
Her green eyes gleamed with sudden intensity—as though they'd never held any trace of melancholy.
"Neril, I need to venture outside the palace for a while."
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