Even from far away, Daphne could recognize at a glance that silver-haired young girl in the very center, whose cold and detached demeanor was especially accentuated by the sportswear and high ponytail.
That was her Majesty.
"Wow... is that the sportswear Irene mentioned?"
"She looks so cool, and her movements are so crisp. The attire of a Magical Girl is relatively cumbersome, after all. It seems like when I was going to school, I also needed to wear this kind of clothing? But I rarely wore it, as I was always saving the world."
Daphne lay on the windowsill, her originally rosy little face instantly slumping, her tone filled with unconcealable envy.
Because she had to be responsible for the Potion supply of the entire territory, she became the only core member absent from the Royal House combat class.
Watching Delilah over there earnestly guiding Your Majesty's side kicks, Daphne couldn't help but clench her small fists and wave them twice at the empty air.
Daphne, you have to do your best!
As long as I am just a little bit faster and cure these last few batches of patients, I will be able to justifiably put on those pretty clothes and go learn combat martial arts together with Your Majesty and the others!
Thinking of that scene where she could spar with Your Majesty while dripping with sweat and take the opportunity to snuggle and recharge, the fanaticism at the bottom of the Lord Saint's eyes burned once again.
She abruptly turned around and bounded back to the front of the experimental bench, her stirring speed so fast it almost drew out afterimages:
"For the combat class! For the comprehensive energy replenishment experiment! Accelerate your boiling for me!"
If Sophia wearing sportswear was a cold, detached, and solemn goddess of the hunt, then Delilah was a blazing God of War on the battlefield.
Her fiery red long hair was tied into an extremely high, extremely neat ponytail, swinging heroically behind her head with her steps.
Her height of around 175 centimeters gave her an absolute sense of oppressiveness among the women.
The slim-fit dark gray sportswear clung to her body. Due to her year-round high-intensity practical combat training, those astonishingly long legs were filled with explosive power; with every step she took, one could vaguely see the undulation of that thin, highly tense layer of muscle on her inner thighs.
The cinched waist squeezed out her awe-inspiring V-line. Her waist-to-hip ratio was extremely outstanding, and her round and perky peach-like buttocks propped up a perfect arc beneath the twill fabric.
Although she was a military officer, her feminine features were still well-proportioned and full; her chest, wrapped tightly in the form-fitting clothing, had a distinct outline yet did not appear bloated in the slightest.
She stood in front of Sophia like a red spear, sharp and loyal.
"Your Majesty, the beginning of the martial path does not lie in the fists, but in the roots."
Delilah's voice recovered the magnetism and strictness unique to a soldier. She walked to Sophia's side. Although her gaze was fiery, her tone was professional beyond doubt.
"Whether it is heavy sword combat or close-quarters life-and-death struggle, all power originates from the ground," Delilah said this while personally demonstrating. "Spread your feet shoulder-width apart, sink your center of gravity slightly, and point the balls of your feet inward. This is called a force-bearing stance, which can ensure that you will not instantly lose your balance when encountering an impact."
Sophia did as instructed, but kept feeling that her center of gravity was slightly off.
She had absolutely zero foundation.
Normally, she absolutely didn't need to do any heavy labor; the heaviest thing she held was probably a cup filled with milk or juice. Even with those, if she held them a moment longer after finishing her drink, someone would come over in trepidation to take them, deeply afraid of tiring out this Girl Queen.
"Your Majesty, do not let your waist be stiff; it must be relaxed but not slouched."
Delilah circled around to Sophia's back, her gaze lingering on the Girl Tyrant's round and full back of the head.
"Your Majesty, please allow this minister's insolence," Delilah said in a low voice.
Before Sophia could even react, her pair of hands, which bore thin calluses and were slightly larger than an ordinary woman's, had already steadily supported the sides of Sophia's waist.
Sophia's spine stiffened.
Although she knew this was to correct her movements, Delilah's height difference truly exerted a lot of pressure.
Delilah's entire person almost enveloped her in shadows, her warm breath right by her ear. Especially those hands... even through the thin sportswear, Sophia could feel the heat of Delilah's palms.
"The sequence of power transmission is: exert force from the toes, twist the ankles, drive the knees, and finally whip it out through the waist and hips."
In order to let Sophia experience this 'twisting' power, Delilah pressed even closer.
She was almost half-embracing Sophia; her other hand pressed down on Sophia's shoulder, her fingertips exerting slight force.
"Your Majesty, please attempt to attack forward. At the instant of striking out, there must be an explosive rotation from the waist."
Delilah explained while using her body to guide Sophia's rhythm.
With every punch Sophia threw, her body would rub slightly within Delilah's embrace due to inertia.
That wild aura belonging to a top-tier warrior, mixed with the faint fragrance of soap, instantly surrounded Sophia.
The sportswear was not made very thick, so Sophia could clearly feel Delilah.
"Here, sink a little more."
Delilah's hand slid an inch downward along Sophia's waistline, pressing down right above those excellently proportioned buttocks, her tone serious.
"Your pelvis must be stabilized, otherwise your kick will lose its accuracy."
Irene, who was practicing basic stances on the side, watched this scene and was so angry she almost crushed the solid wooden ball in her hand.
"Delilah, you despicable redhead! Does correcting movements require sticking your entire body onto her? You are clearly just using your height advantage to forcibly get close! I also wanted to teach Your Majesty the force exertion techniques from when measuring circumferences!"
Delilah completely ignored her, even jutting her chin towards Irene's direction.
"Your Majesty, look at her!" Irene yelled.
Seeing this, Willow hurriedly grabbed Irene's arm. "My good Miss Inventor, calm down. After we have learned it, we can also teach Your Majesty! But the premise is that we must master these combat techniques before Your Majesty learns them."
Irene took a deep breath, trying hard to calm her chest, which was heaving violently due to anger. She looked at Willow's 'seeing through everything' auntie-like smile, gritted her teeth, and sank her waist back down.
"You're right, Willow," Irene's voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, yet carried a trace of ruthlessness. "Once I have trained to become Mason's number one combat Inventor, I will also justifiably help Your Majesty correct her posture... the kind that corrects from her fingertips to her hair strands!"
However, the contrast on the training ground quickly caused this psychological balance of Irene's to completely collapse.
This red-haired General Delilah played 'double standards' to the absolute extreme.
"Irene, your center of gravity is too high, sink down! If you want to be pushed around by the enemy army on the battlefield like a roly-poly toy, then continue to maintain this posture."
Delilah stood three paces away, holding a thin wooden rod used for correcting movements, and coldly scolded without even turning her head.
As for Willow, although she was a tiny bit gentler, it was still limited to verbal guidance: "Willow, increase the inward angle of your legs a bit more; imagine your feet are tree roots plunging into the soil."
But the moment she turned around to face Sophia, that solemn and chilling instructor's aura was instantly melted away as if blown by a spring breeze.
"Your Majesty, the core tightening force here is not right."
Delilah once again became like a tall red shadow, naturally pressing herself behind Sophia.
She didn't even use that wooden rod, but instead once again reached out that pair of hands carrying warm body temperature, her fingertips trembling imperceptibly, sticking flawlessly onto Sophia's slender lower back.
"The muscles here must be pulled taut so the power can transmit along the spine."
Delilah murmured in a low voice, that magnetic voice right by Sophia's ear, as if making some sort of hidden declaration.
Sophia, who was almost 'embraced' in Delilah's arms, was currently in an extremely delicate state.
Her current feeling was not merely as simple as being taken advantage of.
Although this body had perfect proportions, it was truly too pampered.
Just maintaining this force-bearing stance for a quarter of an hour caused Sophia's thighs to start trembling as if electrified.
Furthermore, Delilah... she was pressing too tightly.
That unique heat found on a top-tier warrior continuously transmitted over through this breathable sportswear, making Sophia even feel that this ice- and snow-covered Drill Ground was a bit hot and dry.
Sophia pressed her lips tightly together, her pale golden pupils reflecting the cold light of the snowy ground.
Even if her legs were so sore and weak she could barely stand, she still maintained that cold and detached expression of keeping strangers away, because she was the King of Mason, a goddess of the hunt who absolutely could not reveal a sorry state in front of her subjects.
"Your Majesty, when kicking, do not be afraid of losing your balance; this minister will support you."
Sensing the slight trembling of the young girl in her embrace, the dark fire in Delilah's eyes burned even more vigorously.
One of her hands steadily supported the dimples of Sophia's waist, while her other hand slid down along the lines of Sophia's slender calves and grasped that ankle which could be encircled with one hand, forcibly guiding her to execute a precise side kick.
Irene mechanically repeated the kicking movements while keeping her peripheral vision fixed in a death stare on Delilah's 'dishonest' hands, letting out extremely low-voiced curses from her mouth.
"Despicable... too despicable."
"What power transmission, what force analysis; she clearly just wants to use the opportunity of teaching martial arts to touch Your Majesty all over from head to toe."
"Willow, quickly look, that redhead's hand definitely lingered above Your Majesty's buttocks for over three seconds just now! In my precision measurement science, this counts as a severe operational violation!"
Willow looked at Irene somewhat helplessly; while wiping the sweat from the corners of her forehead, she still had to be responsible for soothing this Inventor who was about to go berserk.
"Miss Irene, focus a bit more," Willow reminded in a low voice. "If you get distracted again, Lord Delilah's wooden rod will end up whacking the back of your hand later. Look, although Your Majesty is somewhat troubled, she didn't push Lord Delilah away. This shows that Your Majesty's subconscious also trusts this kind of orthodox protection."
"What orthodox or unorthodox, I am the most orthodox!"
Irene was about to bristle with anger. What exactly were these people doing while she was working hard!
What garbage Princess of Orr running over in the dead of night to kiss Your Majesty's feet, and this redhead who had impure motives the moment she appeared is now starting to hug Your Majesty's waist again!
She should have researched the black muskets earlier, and then when this redhead inexplicably appeared on the side of the road, instead of letting Your Majesty pick her up, she should have just blown her away with one shot!
Sensing the gazes behind her, Sophia turned her head and immediately saw Irene's resentful gaze.
Therefore, she gave Irene a slight smile.
"Your Majesty, she smiled at me!" Irene felt like she had recovered again.
Upon hearing this, Willow placed her gaze onto her Queen's face, and then discovered that the corners of Your Majesty's mouth had surprisingly truly raised by an angle of 0.01 percent.
One and a half dual-hours later, Sophia was already dripping with sweat.
"We shall stop here for today. Your Majesty has excellent talent."
Delilah withdrew her hands, her eyes carrying a lingering infatuation.
She even quietly rubbed her fingertips together, as if reminiscing about that warm and moist touch from just now.
"Thank you for your hard work."
Sophia took the towel handed over by Willow and wiped her face.
Although Delilah pressed very tightly just now, she indeed truly learned the force exertion for that precise knee strike.
"Your Majesty has sweated so much, your body is probably weary. This servant will go prepare some hot herbal water right now to help Your Majesty loosen up your muscles and bones."
Willow considerately stepped forward, conveniently taking that soaked towel, her movements natural and gentle.
Sophia nodded, her pale golden pupils sweeping past Delilah and Irene, who were still secretly competing with each other on the side.
"Mm, thank you for your hard work too. Delilah, Irene, Willow, remember to go drink some hot soup after finishing your training, don't catch a cold."
Having said that, the silver-haired Girl King turned around.
Delilah stood in place, her gaze pinned dead onto that silhouette from behind. Only when that touch of silver completely disappeared at the end of the long corridor did she slowly lower her head and look at her palms; a certain trembling warmth seemed to still linger there.
At the same moment, thousands of miles away at the border of the Kingdom of Leighton, another major drama concerning survival was playing out.
When the black musket merchant caravan led by Vasha stepped into the capital of Leighton, what greeted them was not the imagined prosperity, but a suffocating dead silence.
The air here was permeated with the bitter stench and foul odor of cheap burning mugwort; that was the clumsy attempt of the commoners trying to imitate Mason's epidemic prevention measures in their despair.
Corpses hastily wrapped in straw mats could be seen everywhere on the main streets. Sick people huddled together in twos and threes in dark corners, emitting groans like lingering ghosts.
"So this is Leighton..."
Vasha sat on her tall steed, pulling at the specially made Black Rose mask on her face.
Her icy eyes held only a kind of apathy that saw through the affairs of the world.
Compared to the vitality brought about by Order in Mason, this place was more like a giant tomb that was slowly rotting away.
The merchant caravan stopped in front of a shop in the city flying a tiny Black Rose flag.
This was the shop Mason had planted in Leighton, and also a chess piece that Sophia could not discard in her heart.
When the Mason shopkeeper, whose face was sallow and forehead still bore cold sweat, pushed open the door and saw that perfectly aligned, imposing black guard unit carrying black muskets on their backs, as well as the coldly beautiful and dazzling Vasha leading them, this tough man who had struggled in the business world for half his life surprisingly slumped limply onto the steps on the spot, bawling loudly.
"Your Majesty... Your Majesty really did not forget us!"
Vasha jumped down from her horse and heavily set a weighty crate of masks, emitting a faint medicinal fragrance, onto the wooden steps.
"Put away your tears."
Vasha's voice was as cold as iron, yet carried an unshakable sense of stability.
"Your Majesty has decreed: Wherever the Black Rose flag reaches, the God of Death is not allowed to knock. Take these and distribute them to every Mason shop assistant here. If anyone dares to rob you, the black muskets will teach them how to behave."
"Masks? Were these invented by Miss Inventor?"
"This is wonderful, Your Majesty really did not forget us."
"Those masks not only have stitches, but they also carry the afterglow of the Holy Light! Your Majesty is not doing business; she is using this method to announce to the neighboring countries that as long as you submit to the Black Rose, even if you are in hell, she can reach out and yank you back! This kind of protection that crosses borders, this is true divinity!"
Seeing the happy appearance of the merchants, Vasha began to distribute the supplies again.
Originally, these Mason merchants did not lack food or drink in Leighton, but alas, the epidemic was now running rampant. Even Leighton locals didn't dare to go out recklessly, let alone the people of Mason.
They had not eaten a full meal for several days.
A quarter of an hour later, Leighton Palace.
The King and Queen here had long since lost their former majesty. The Queen tightly clutched a silk scarf, coughing incessantly, her eyes filled with terror.
When Vasha, dressed in a black and gray tactical uniform with a short blade hanging at her waist, took great strides into the hall, that oppressiveness belonging to the Envoy of a powerful nation pressed down on all the nobles present so much that they couldn't lift their heads.
"Princess Vasha of Orr... no, Envoy Vasha of Mason," the King of Leighton's voice was hoarse. "Have you brought the things we requested?"
"Ten thousand thickened masks."
Vasha did not perform a kneeling salute; she merely bowed slightly, perfectly combining the noble arrogance of a former princess with the cold ruthlessness of a current high-ranking executive.
"The price has already been negotiated beforehand."
"But... our National Treasury has already..."
The King of Leighton revealed a difficult expression. Originally because of the plague, their finances were already nearing collapse.
"Can we use land, or future trade taxes..."
"Mason does not accept empty promises."
Vasha interrupted his words, her eyes revealing a burst of firmness, while the image of Sophia under the moonlight surfaced in her mind.
"However, Your Majesty instructed before my departure that if there is not enough ready cash, you can use the land at your borders as collateral for the debt, along with a portion of this autumn's high-quality cured meat, furs, and cotton cloth to offset the debt."
Vasha took a step forward, looking down at this trembling King, her tone filled with temptation: "Your Majesty is very merciful; what she wants is a neighbor who can survive, not a ruin piled high with corpses. Sign it, and these life-saving things are yours right now. Otherwise... I imagine you wouldn't want to personally experience the tragic state of the Kingdom of Orr, right?"
The King of Leighton gazed at Princess Vasha before him, his heart shaken.
Too terrifying... this woman was merely a quiet vase when she was in Orr before; how did she surprisingly turn into an elegant hungry wolf under Sophia's command?
What magic power exactly did Sophia possess to be able to make everyone thoroughly transform into the war and trade machines in her hands within just a few short days?
How is this selling masks? This is clearly using linen cloth and thread to slowly sew together our Leighton's indenture contract!
"If you develop a specific cure later on..."
"Your Majesty will prioritize selling it to Leighton," Vasha said.
"Then we will... sign."
The King of Leighton dejectedly lowered his head and tremblingly stamped his seal onto the agreement.
Vasha received the agreement and properly placed it into the inner pocket of her chest, feeling that heavy achievement.
She turned her head to look out the window towards the direction of Mason, the corners of her mouth curling into an imperceptible arc.
"Your Majesty, Vasha has obtained the first generous gift for you. When I return with carts full of supplies... will you reward me once more with that kind of intimacy under the moonlight?"
While Leighton was experiencing a trade harvest, the Kingdom of Qubi, which skewed inland and had rugged terrain, also welcomed a special guest.
Unlike Vasha's aggressive, cold beauty, Valery, as the Old Chancellor who had served two generations of monarchs, wore a well-tailored black formal suit when he appeared in the Council Hall of the Kingdom of Qubi. His grizzled beard was meticulously groomed, and his hand rested on a silver-headed cane that symbolized his status.
He did not look like a merchant here to discuss business, but more like a wise man descending with a divine oracle.
The King of Qubi sat on a stone chair draped in thick furs. Due to the year-round severe cold and the recent plague, his complexion looked scarcely better than a dead man's.
"Chancellor Valery, we have already received Mason's masks. But this is not enough... What we want is that Divine Miracle capable of making patients' fevers break within a few quarter-hours."
The King of Qubi stared intently at Valery.
Valery smiled faintly, unhurriedly taking out a roll of parchment from the briefcase he carried with him.
"Your Majesty, Divine Miracles are expensive. Lord Saint's Holy Light requires a massive amount of magic power to nourish; that is Your Majesty's blood, sweat, and tears."
Valery lowered his voice, his tone revealing a kind of deeply calculating pity. Since you all feel that it is a Divine Miracle, then I will wrap it in a holy shell. Directly selling medicine is too tacky; what we are going to sell is a first-tier admission ticket.
"However." Valery suddenly shifted his tone, his voice becoming exceptionally earnest. "Your Majesty Sophia, considering the many years of close interdependence between Qubi and Mason, is willing to give Qubi a promise. As long as a large batch of stable specific-cure Potion is successfully developed, the first unloading point for Mason's merchant caravans will definitely be right at the main gates of the Royal City of the Kingdom of Qubi."
The ministers of the Kingdom of Qubi breathed rapidly.
In the face of the plague, a future promise is a life-saving straw.
"But the development of the Potion requires a massive amount of experimental costs."
Valery smoothly unfolded the map of the Kingdom of Qubi, his aged finger accurately pointing towards that barren mountainous region that had always been regarded by the Qubi people as an ominous land of black stones.
"I heard that there are some pitch-black stones here that produce a lot of smoke when burned? These stones might have some use in Alchemy experiments. Since Qubi's National Treasury is currently tight, Your Majesty Sophia is considerate of everyone and is willing to exchange the future Potion priority rights for the permanent mining rights of this barren mountain."
The ministers of Qubi looked at each other in dismay, and someone even couldn't help but let out a sneer.
"Those black stones are completely useless other than smoking people's faces black; they are not even as durable for burning as firewood."
"The Queen of Mason actually wants that garbage? It seems she is truly driven mad with anxiety over developing the Potion. Not taking advantage of this bargain delivered right to our door is simply a crime!"
"If you can guarantee the first batch quota of the specific cure..."
The King of Qubi grit his teeth, a gleam of self-perceived brilliance flashing in his eyes.
"I swear upon my honor as the Chancellor of Mason."
Valery smiled like a fox that had stolen a chicken.
Bardess, who had been in contact with Mason many times, stood to the side, feeling that things were going too easily to be right.
Are the people of Mason truly willing to let them trade those pitch-black, worthless stones?
Could it be that those stones are actually very precious?
No, impossible.
Hiss——
What exactly is wrong here?
As the heavy seal of the Royal House fell down with a thud, a permanent mining agreement regarding the coal mines fell into Valery's hands.
He bowed politely to take his leave. At the moment he walked out of the main doors, a trace of unprecedented fanaticism flashed through his murky eyes.
"These ordinary mortals... they completely don't know what those black stones mean! Your Majesty and Irene once casually mentioned that whoever grasps the energy sources will grasp the jugular of the next era. The Qubi people thought they had exchanged a pile of garbage for a life-saving straw, but in reality, Your Majesty used a few illusory promises to take away the opening key! Your Majesty's foresight has already surpassed this continent by several hundred years!"
At this time, Sophia, who was gnawing on a chicken leg in the Palace dining hall and planning out renovation costs, received the victory report sent by Valery.
"...Permanent coal mining rights?"
"This old man Valery is truly ruthless. I only told him to go see if there was any coal, and he directly signed away the other party's entire livelihood and brought it back?"
"As for the so-called first priority for the Potion... Right now, Daphne just needs to come touch her a few more times every day, and that production output could drown the entire Kingdom of Qubi. For this wave of making empty promises, I give Valery a hundred points."
Sophia swallowed a mouthful of chicken meat and looked out at the Drill Ground outside where the wind and snow were gradually stopping, feeling a strange premonition in her heart.
Deep within the Palace of the Kingdom of Orr, it was so dead silent that one could hear a pin drop.
The Old King, who had just awakened from his coma, was currently leaning against layers upon layers of stacked velvet pillows. His originally withered, stick-like hands death-gripped that piece of waste paper drawn with a comical mask; his fingernails dug into his palms due to excessive force, bringing out specks of dark red blood.
"Betrayal... that vase... actually dared to..." the Old King's voice was as hoarse as if it had been ground by sandpaper, revealing a bone-piercing hatred. "Pass the order to the shadow assassins at the border. Regardless of any cost, bring back the head of that rebellious daughter. And those black tubes, the masks, This King wants them all!"
In his eyes, Vasha was nothing more than a chess piece that could be crushed at will, yet now this chess piece had not only jumped off the chessboard, but had even delivered a resounding backhanded slap to his face.
Since there was originally no familial affection to begin with, and now Vasha's existence had ruthlessly slapped his face, he naturally wanted to regain some face.
The border pass.
This was the necessary path to return to Mason. Both sides of the canyon were lined with jagged rocks, and it was shrouded in icy mist year-round.
Vasha rode on her horse, the light armor accentuating her increasingly sharp and fierce aura.
Her icy eyes swept across the surrounding forest, which was somewhat abnormally tranquil, and her hand unconsciously pressed down on the grip of the black musket on the side of the saddle.
"Stop advancing."
Vasha ordered in a cold voice.
Just as her words fell, several arrows carrying a purplish-black glow suddenly shot out from the dense forest; those were the specially made poisoned arrows of the Royal House of Orr's secret guards.
Immediately after, dozens of deathsworn cloaked in black capes leaped out from behind the rocks like ghosts, the longswords in their hands pointed straight at Vasha's throat.
"Princess Vasha, His Majesty the King requests that you return to the country to stand trial!" the leading deathsworn's voice was icy cold.
Vasha did not reveal her former panicked expression, and did not even dismount.
She merely looked coldly at these shadows that once made her feel fear, the corners of her mouth curling into a mocking arc.
"Royal Father, you still do not understand. While you are still addicted to these backward assassination tricks, Your Majesty has already handed the authority of the gods into the hands of us mortals. What you have sent me is not my time of death, but the second grand gift that I shall present to Your Majesty."
"The rule of civilization is, do not attempt to obstruct trade."
Vasha cleanly drew her black musket, the finger pulling the trigger as steady as Mount Tai.
"Bang——!"
A deafeningly loud explosion instantly tore through the dead silence of the valley floor.
The leading deathsworn did not even clearly see what it was before a scorched bloody hole appeared on his forehead, his entire person falling stiffly backward.
"Open fire."
Vasha's tone was as calm as if she were issuing an order to transport goods.
She was terrified to the extreme.
Even if the previous merchant caravans had encountered bandits or roving rogues, it was Delilah who gave orders or handled it. She was now merely imitating Delilah's appearance.
In reality, her hands beneath her clothes were already trembling, but she could not back down.
She knew too well what kind of person her Royal Father was. Since he had sent these people, he definitely did not intend for her to return alive.
Even if she truly died here, it wouldn't matter, but she couldn't.
If she died, and these soldiers died, then the black muskets and those goods on the carts exchanged with Leighton would all fall into the hands of Orr.
This would be a massive blow to Mason.
She knew too well how much blood, sweat, and tears those female workers had spent to make this many masks; these goods were their spoils of war.
Since she had chosen Mason, then she could not back down!
In a flash, the guards on both sides of the merchant caravan uniformly raised their black muskets horizontally.
Originally, these deathsworn thought this was just a group of merchants holding iron tubes, but when gunpowder smoke permeated the air and the dense lead bullets harvested lives like the God of Death's scythe, the terror in their eyes completely solidified.
Swordsmanship, movement techniques, and even that low-tier battle aura were as pale as child's play in the face of this 'law of physics' invented by Irene.
The King of Orr had not expected that Vasha's convoy could actually manage to counter-kill, so he did not send out too many people.
In less than a quarter of an hour, only the pungent smell of sulfur and a ground full of corpses remained in the canyon.
Vasha jumped off her horse, walked in front of that deathsworn Commander who was still convulsing, and stepped on the opponent's sword-holding hand with her soft-soled leather boot.
She bent down, her breathing, which was slightly rapid due to the battle, bringing about a burst of icy, solemn killing intent.
Vasha leaned close to his ear and murmured in a low voice.
"The bloodline of Orr was already washed clean by my own hands on that moonlit night. The current me is Mason's fang. If he dares to reach out his hand again, I will bring the black muskets and personally go back to dismantle his throne."
Having said that, without the slightest hesitation, she brought the knife down with her hand, her movements so clean and crisp that even the Mason guards in the distance couldn't help but feel a chill down their spines.
Witnessing this series of textbook tactical commands and counter-kills by Vasha, the Mason guards' gazes had changed from suspicion to approval.
"However, who betrayed our whereabouts?"
Vasha stared at the direction these deathsworn came from, furrowing her brows tightly.
It seems that it wasn't just Mason who had informants in other countries; the informants of other countries in Mason were also very numerous.
After going back, I definitely must remind Your Majesty to be more careful.
Although these informants currently could not threaten Your Majesty in any way, since they were able to betray her whereabouts now, they could also betray Your Majesty's whereabouts in the future, so precautions had to be taken.
The setting sun went down in the west, and the wheels continued to crush deep tracks into the snowy ground.
Vasha mounted her steed once again, her gaze looking toward the direction of the Royal City.
____
________________________________________
🌸 Help Love Bloom!
Our girls need a little push... and you can help!
💖 Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 50 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter to warm your hearts.
🚀 Community Reward: If we reach 20 supporting members, we'll have a +5 chapter marathon across all stories! The romance won't stop.
👻 Come to our secret corner: Search for GirlsLove on (P). You know that's where the magic happens... 😉