the Board
"A true strategist moves her pieces before the enemy knows the game has begun."
At the Gilliforth estate, the old master received an unexpected visitor.
"Master, this is a letter from Her Highness the Princess."
"Tsk. You've certainly grown into quite the proper young lady."
The elderly warrior snorted gruffly and extended his weathered hand. Despite his rough tone, his voice carried undeniable strength.
"Hand over Her Highness's correspondence immediately."
*Shhhh.*
As the seal broke and he scanned the contents, Gilliforth's expression hardened into stone.
"Is this... truly accurate? Rebels marching north to assault the royal palace?"
Neril nodded gravely.
Gilliforth consulted the map, cross-referencing the rebel army's estimated size and direction of advance as detailed in the Princess's letter.
He shook his head in disbelief.
"Why now? The timing and scale are extraordinary. Where would they acquire such manpower in these desperate times?"
Most able-bodied young men were currently serving on distant battlefields.
No matter how aggressively one recruited, assembling forces of this magnitude shouldn't be possible.
"A significant portion—including their leadership—are mercenaries hired with coin. They've gathered the masses through ideological manipulation and propaganda. Eliminate the commanders, and the rest will disperse easily enough."
This was no ordinary civil uprising.
"What manner of vermin seeks to poison this kingdom yet again?!"
Gilliforth slammed his fist against the table, unleashing a roar of indignation.
The Princess—who had once been the Regent's puppet—had transformed seemingly overnight, systematically excising corruption's rotten branches one by one.
He'd dared hope Valdina was finally glimpsing the light of dawn, only to discover diseased seeds still attempting to destroy the nation.
Do they not see the young Princess's tireless efforts to resurrect this tottering kingdom?
He felt profound resentment and fury that so many cared only for personal gain.
"Is it the Regent? Is Claudio orchestrating this chaos?"
Gilliforth demanded immediately.
He was acutely aware of the Regent's increasingly precarious position, as voices condemning him echoed even beyond the palace walls.
"..."
"Why do you hesitate to answer? I asked whether it was Claudio!"
Gilliforth was virtually certain.
Only one man possessed both the selfish ambition and the capability to threaten the kingdom's very fate—Joaquin Claudio.
*"Gilliforth is a great man who loves his country more than anyone alive. But he is too upright. Upright things are bound to break, and I don't need a hunter who cannot wait for the prey to walk into the trap."*
Neril, recalling the Princess's exact words, met his gaze steadily.
"If I confirm your suspicions, Master will immediately storm the palace and sever his head. Then every plan Her Highness has meticulously prepared will crumble to nothing."
"You dare—"
"Do you believe it ends with just one Regent? A second or third will emerge soon enough. Swinging a dull blade repeatedly proves useless when you seek to uproot parasites that have burrowed deep into Valdina's foundations for generations."
"..."
Gilliforth paused, drawing a steadying breath.
Reason—settling coldly beneath his rage—forced him to digest his disciple's words.
And he could not deny their truth.
Then Neril added carefully:
"Her Highness commands that the rebels be prevented from breaching the palace—but permitted to advance as far as the castle walls."
"How so?"
Gilliforth couldn't initially comprehend the Princess's peculiar directive.
Wouldn't it be wiser to suppress the rebellion completely, leaving not even a spark to reignite?
If mercenaries are involved, subduing them won't prove simple.
In combat, the difference between battle-hardened warriors and inexperienced troops was immense.
The current palace garrison lacks meaningful combat experience. Stopping seasoned mercenaries will be difficult.
However, there existed forces within the kingdom capable of reinforcing them.
Retired soldiers throughout the capital possess abundant battlefield experience and could supplement the garrison effectively.
Did the Princess's grand design begin when she established the relief center to aid them?
Only then did Gilliforth grasp Neril's meaning—and the staggering scope of what the Princess had accomplished.
I was blind. I failed to recognize the makings of a true sovereign.
A chill of awe ran down his aged spine.
If every single step she's taken has been calculated from the very beginning...
There must be sound reasoning behind this seemingly inexplicable command.
"I understand. Assure Her Highness I won't sabotage her strategy by prematurely striking at Claudio."
His duty was clear—to serve as the Princess's instrument. To become the massive, weighty, yet devastatingly powerful blade she could wield.
The weathered eyes finally opened fully. Gilliforth nodded with slow deliberation.
"I shall make every necessary preparation."
Neril bowed deeply with profound respect.
"Thank you, Master."
After Neril departed, Gilliforth stood alone, surveying the weapons mounted along his wall.
"Hmm... it's been so long..."
He examined each weapon meticulously before finally selecting the most brutal warhammer among them.
A familiar yet eerie tension coursed through his veins as his fingers closed around the grip.
"To think the day would come when this old warrior must lift this instrument of war once more."
His trembling voice carried a note of barely suppressed excitement.
"Neril, are you returning directly to the palace?"
"No. We have one additional stop. Where is Tom?"
Before departing the Gilliforth estate, Neril sought out Tom.
Upon hearing he was at the training grounds, she headed there immediately.
In the practice hall, sweat-drenched trainees sparred vigorously.
"Hey there, friend! What brings you here?"
Tom—who'd been instructing swordsmanship—greeted Neril enthusiastically.
"You lot! You know of the Princess of Valdina, don't you? The one I've talked about until my mouth ran dry?"
Tom had apparently been boasting extensively about once serving a Princess.
"My friend here is her most trusted confidante—serving as both handmaid and personal knight!"
"WOW!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from the training ground.
"Hahaha! See that, you lot? Now do you appreciate how exceptional your teacher truly is?"
Tom basked in the adulation, apparently oblivious to the withering glare Neril was directing his way.
She made no effort to hide her exasperation.
"Tom, I require a favor."
"Her Highness commanded this? What is it? What does she need this time?"
Tom's eyes lit up as he eagerly dismissed the trainees.
Rather than answering immediately, Neril withdrew something from her breast pocket—a small box no larger than a child's palm.
Tom opened it with evident suspicion.
Wrapped in delicate, precious paper lay a lock of brown hair and a tarnished silver necklace.
"What's this hair about?"
"Handle it with utmost care."
"Say... what is this exactly?"
Neril had been equally mystified upon first seeing it—back when Medea had vanished during the hunt.
A Token of Faith*"It's a common superstition from the streets where I grew up. They say if you place a lock of hair and your most treasured possession in prayer, your family will remain safe... Of course, I believe Her Highness will return safely, but... I'm still anxious."*
The girl—who had endured isolation and solitude on the slums' dangerous streets for so long—harbored deep-seated fear of losing those close to her.
Neril had understood this was Saya's method of managing her own anxiety.
When Medea later returned and learned the complete story behind the box, she'd examined it with an unreadable expression.
*"Saya, may I keep this?"*
The Princess had indicated the faded silver necklace Saya shared with her twin brother.
Then she'd offered the bracelet she'd received from Peleus on her seventh birthday in exchange.
Despite Saya's repeated protests, Medea had insisted on the exchange.
Neril recalled the day she'd first brought Saya from Asylum Street.
Neril understood this had been the Princess's way of offering apology to Saya.
Having utilized another's good intentions, she'd surrendered what she treasured most in return.
"Tom, among the rebels currently marching north toward the palace, there's one named Theo."
"A rebel? So there was a specific reason you visited the estate after such an absence."
A gleam of understanding appeared in Tom's expression as he accepted the box.
"Finding the bookkeeper among the rebel leadership shouldn't prove difficult. I need you to deliver this to him discreetly. Be exceptionally careful not to be caught."
"You know my capabilities."
Tom lifted his chin with characteristic arrogance. True to his competitive nature, he showed no trace of apprehension.
"Very well."
Tom's perpetual overconfidence was simultaneously amusing and exasperating. Neril suppressed a weary sigh.
"And from this point forward, there will be no compensation. Remember that."
"What? Truly? Really?!"
Despite being told he wouldn't receive payment, Tom's freckled face lit up like the full moon.
"So... I'm officially the Princess's man now, aren't I?"
His entire countenance radiated pure euphoria.
After months of abandoning all hope—believing it would be meaningful simply to follow the Princess's commands—his deepest wish had finally been granted.
"Just leave everything to me!"
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