"Trained well."
Sophia, draped in her black fox fur, stood on the high platform of the City wall, looking down at the steaming Drill Ground below.
These newly conscripted subjects, although having never received orthodox knight training, and who just days ago were merely farmers and hunters holding hoes and hunting knives, were exactly as Valery had anticipated.
They possessed a wealth that the private soldiers of the nobles, raised in greenhouses, could never hope to match: ultimate endurance and brute strength.
The hunters who climbed Eagle's Nest Mountain year-round had legs as steady as old tree roots plunging into the soil.
The farmers who did heavy labor year-round had calluses on their hands thick enough to grind off the burrs of lead bullets.
They did not care for any elegant swordsmanship; what they cared about was how to last an extra quarter of an hour under the whipping of Delilah's black-lacquered long staff.
"Ha! Hah!"
Amidst the uniform shouts, the recruits were sweating profusely in the cold wind.
Every single movement was extremely simple, yet filled with destructive explosive power.
However, what made these soldiers' eyes gleam green with envy was not the fragrant mutton bone soup, but the hundred brand-new black muskets neatly stacked on the central platform of the Drill Ground.
Irene had practically locked herself in the West Tower for the past two days, working tirelessly without sleep or rest, only managing to rush out these one hundred guns.
Added to the original batch, this meant that among the thousand soldiers, fewer than two hundred would be able to possess this godly instrument of civilization capable of blowing off an enemy commander's head with a single shot.
Delilah held her long staff, her fiery red high ponytail swaying in the wind.
Her cold gaze swept across those faces flushed red from training, and her voice exploded across the grounds like thunder:
"Do you see those black tubes?
That is Your Majesty's trust, and Mason's sharpest fangs!
This General asks you, do you want them?!"
"We want them! We want them! We want them!"
The roars of a thousand people shot straight to the heavens, even shaking the dust off the City wall.
"You want them? Then exchange them with your sweat! Fight for them with your lives!"
Delilah pointed her long staff, her tone chilling.
"Only the hundred individuals with the most accurate shooting, the fiercest close-quarters combat, and the most flexible tactics will be worthy of carving their names onto those black tubes!
The rest will only be able to fight with longswords like ordinary soldiers!
Tell me, do you want to be heroes, or do you want to be bait?!"
"Heroes! Long live Your Majesty! Long live the black muskets!"
That scorching hot atmosphere almost melted away the accumulated snow on the Drill Ground.
This extreme competition drove the soldiers almost to the point of madness.
Some even frantically practiced the motion of pulling a trigger during their breaks, fantasizing about how they would look when they obtained a black musket, even if what they held was merely a dead branch.
Sophia looked down at those fanatical faces, turning her head slightly to whisper to Willow beside her:
"This Queen originally thought this kind of high-pressure training would make them complain endlessly, but to think...
They actually desire this heavy glory even more than This Queen imagined."
Willow covered her mouth and chuckled lightly.
"Your Majesty, in their hearts, being able to obtain a weapon personally distributed by you is a glory that can be passed down to their children and grandchildren.
Moreover, everyone has seen that only the black muskets can allow an originally frail commoner to instantly slay a fully armed Orr warrior. Who wouldn't want this kind of power to control their own destiny?"
Sophia took a sip of hot tea, her gaze profound.
"Since they want them, then let Delilah make the screening even stricter.
This Queen's musket regiment only wants the strongest monsters."
Soldiers capable of using the black muskets must not only be able to adeptly use them in combat, but also possess the ability to protect them.
Every single one was a rare wealth, and losing even one would be a significant loss.
Just then, a gentle yet hurried knocking sound shattered the tranquility on the high platform.
Vasha pushed the door open and entered. Although her complexion was still pale, those cold eyes were filled with composure.
Holding a freshly drawn leather scroll in her hands, she knelt on one knee before Sophia.
"Your Majesty, the deployment map of the Kingdom of Orr... this minister has finished drawing it."
Vasha slowly unrolled the map. It not only marked every secret passage along Orr's borders, but even clearly labeled the weakest drainage systems of that decaying Royal City.
"Royal Father... that old geezer trusts his shadow assassins and that self-proclaimed impregnable iron City wall the most.
He would absolutely never imagine that Mason's furnace fire will start burning right from under his feet."
Vasha raised her head to look at Sophia, her eyes holding a near-sacrificial sincerity.
"This minister requests to lead the first batch of the black musket regiment to infiltrate.
This minister wants to personally watch the Black Rose flag planted at the top of that stench-filled Palace."
Sophia lowered her eyes, her fingertips gently tracing across the city named Orr on the map.
"Infiltrate? No."
Sophia stood up, her black fox fur snapping in the wind. Her voice at this moment became extremely chilling, yet carried an irresistible charm:
"Since we are going, then we shall march openly and honorably through the main gates.
We will use our black muskets to pry open the coffin lid of that old era."
"Your Majesty?" Vasha looked at the gold-crowned Girl Tyrant before her, a hint of admiration showing in her eyes.
"I know Your Majesty is upright, but the people of the Kingdom of Orr... are sinister and cunning. I'm afraid that if we attack head-on, the moment they see our troops, they will have already secretly transferred their main forces away.
Therefore, we cannot do so."
Willow looked at Vasha's appearance of 'I must play the villain for Your Majesty' and knew that Vasha was still unaware of the poisoning incident.
"What you say also makes sense," Sophia then said. "Then we can also follow your plan and conduct a two-pronged attack."
While the Drill Ground of the Kingdom of Mason was bathed in the hopeful morning light, the Kingdom of Orr, a hundred miles away, was sinking into a viscous and chilling darkness.
The windows of the Council Hall in the Orr Palace were kept tightly shut year-round. Thick velvet curtains blocked out all the sunlight, and the room was permeated with a bizarre aura mixing bitter medicine, rotting leather, and cheap spices.
"Trash! You're all a bunch of useless good-for-nothings!"
Along with a mournful roar, the King of Orr's withered, bird-claw-like hand slammed viciously onto the mahogany long table.
With a crack, this precious long table that had been passed down for decades was actually slapped until a crack appeared.
On his nearly transparent, pale face, blue veins bulged out like writhing earthworms.
The corner of his mouth, which was originally slanted due to his stroke, was now twitching violently, hanging with a trail of white foam brought on by extreme anger.
"The shadow assassins... the shadow assassins personally cultivated by This King, were surprisingly entirely annihilated in Broken Soul Valley?"
The King's breathing was as rapid as a worn-out bellows. With bloodshot eyes, he stared fixedly at the few secret spies kneeling at the base of the steps.
"You didn't even bring back a single fingernail of that vase?!"
He did not faint again.
Hatred was like a strong shot of adrenaline, suspending his precariously swaying life.
Right now, his mind was filled with only one thought: destroy Mason, kill that rebellious daughter, and snatch back those iron tubes that allowed even mortals to possess extraordinary power.
Amidst the King's roars, the dozen or so ministers and so-called 'folk experts' sitting on both sides all shrank their necks.
These people each had repulsive features; some appeared shifty-eyed due to greed, while others were covered in sores from delving into insidious Witchcraft.
Finance Minister Morgan, a man as fat as a meat pig, had eyes sunk deep within his fat that flickered with venomous calculation.
"Your Majesty, please calm your anger," he said.
"According to the latest intel sent back by our spies planted in Mason, that little girl of Mason only has about three hundred soldiers in her hands.
Although we lost a few assassins, our country still has eight hundred fully armed elites!"
Poison Master Green, whose face was half-burned by acid, looked exceptionally hideous under the dim firelight, his voice grating.
"Three hundred against eight hundred; this is a one-sided slaughter.
Your Majesty, this lowly one has an idea... we do not need to attack forcefully.
Isn't Mason currently engaging in epidemic prevention? This lowly one has a batch of secretly made rot powder on hand. We just need to send people to blend in with the refugees and sprinkle this medicine into their wells..."
Green let out a series of bone-chilling, wicked laughs:
"When the time comes, their so-called Saint, their so-called Queen, will all rot into puddles of stinking pus within that holy Palace."
"Although Green's method is good, it's too slow."
A one-eyed figure stepped forward from the shadows; it was the mercenary leader of the Kingdom of Orr, nicknamed Poison Scorpion.
That single eye of his revealed a bloodthirsty greed:
"Your Majesty, since Vasha has now become a favored minister of Mason, we can very well utilize this.
Isn't that Little Queen of Mason boasting of her benevolence to remove the title of Tyrant?
We can capture a batch of maids or distant relatives who were previously close to Vasha, and slowly slice them to death piece by piece right on the border in front of them."
Poison Scorpion licked his dry, cracked lips, his tone revealing a morbid excitement:
"If they come out to save them, we will use heavy crossbows to blockade the valley entrance.
If they don't save them, that reputation of a wise ruler the Little Queen worked so hard to build will collapse instantly.
By then, the morale of those three hundred soldiers will also be scattered."
These so-called ministers chimed in one after another. In this mildew-scented room, they discussed how to use the most sinister, most despicable methods to deal with the neighbor who had sent them masks and tried to pacify the disaster.
Listening to these venomous schemes, a trace of satisfaction finally showed in the King's murky eyes.
With trembling hands, he took a scepter carved with a hideous skull from an attendant and leaned heavily on it.
"Deploy all eight hundred soldiers."
The King's voice was gloomy like the freezing wind deep underground.
"Along with all the heavy crossbows in the country, and Green's poison.
This King not only wants Mason's land, but also wants that girl Sophia to kneel before This King and personally wash This King's feet!"
On his exceptionally ugly face, made so by illness, a twisted pleasure surfaced.
"Since they want the furnace fire, then This King shall give them a grand fire that will burn all of Mason to ashes!"
Inside the gloomy Council Hall, the rotting scent seemed to grow even richer due to the smashed table.
Before the King's anger had subsided, a submissive-looking attendant silently walked in.
Holding a silver teapot in his hands, his steps were extremely steady, like a well-trained shadow.
He bowed, first pouring a cup for the King, and then subsequently filled the cups for those ministers and experts with sinister expressions.
Hot steam rose in the dim room, bringing with it a bizarre fragrance.
The King of Orr picked up his teacup; his somewhat dry throat was burning due to his anger.
He took a sip, then suddenly paused, a trace of surprise flashing in his eyes.
"This tea..."
The King took another large gulp. As the clear tea flowed down his throat, it actually brought an unprecedented, trembling sweetness.
"Why does it feel smoother than usual?
The fragrance seeps into the bones; even the knot of depression in my heart has dissipated quite a bit.
Did you change to a new tea?"
The attendant kept his head down, his voice as steady as stagnant water:
"To reply to Your Majesty, this is the usual aged tea; perhaps the brewing time was slightly longer."
"Is that so?"
The King laughed heartily and downed the tea in his cup in one gulp.
"It seems that because This King thought of a brilliant venomous scheme, even this ordinary bitter water tastes sweet!
The Mandate of Heaven aids my Orr!"
Those ministers also raised their cups one after another. This spiked tea, empowered by Daphne's magic power, was not only colorless and odorless, but also gave this group of greedy and corrupt people an illusion of feeling refreshed and clear-headed.
"Your Majesty, regarding those three hundred soldiers mentioned earlier, this minister feels there is no need to rush to deploy troops in the next day or two."
Finance Minister Morgan set down his cup, wiping his mouth, his eyes showing a smug shrewdness.
The King leaned back against his chair, his expression much more relaxed:
"Oh? Morgan, you are usually the most impatient; why have you changed your tune today?"
"Your Majesty, this is called playing cat and mouse."
Morgan chuckled darkly.
"That group of little girls in Mason must be guarding the City wall right now, looking at the northern sky, waiting every second for our iron cavalry to come slaughtering."
"That's right, Your Majesty."
Poison Scorpion also chimed in, a cruel light flashing in his single eye.
"This thing called fear—the longer you drag it out, the greater its power.
They will live in fear every day, unable to sleep peacefully, terrified of when our soldiers might arrive beneath their City wall."
"In your opinion, how long should we leave them hanging?"
The King asked with interest.
"A week at the least, half a month at most; but not a month, that is too long.
Half a month is the most optimal time."
Poison Scorpion sneered, "That kind of unknown pressure can cause the toughest soldiers to break down in their sleep.
Then, when half a month has passed and they think nothing is going to happen, assuming our noble King of Orr has spared them...
Right at that moment, our soldiers will strike directly at their city gates.
Wouldn't those brats be scared enough to wet their pants?"
"Your Majesty, our heavy crossbows have already been transported to the border; we can seal off the canyon at any time."
Another military officer added.
"They must still be desperately writing letters to Leighton and Qubi begging for reinforcements, right?"
A minister mockingly interjected.
"Leighton? The King of Leighton is practically dying of illness himself; where would he have the energy to care about that vase?
As for Qubi, there is even less need to mention them. That old ghost Valery scammed them terribly; it'd be a miracle if they didn't bite back."
"Haha, exactly right.
This is the fate of Sophia boasting herself as a wise ruler—betrayed and deserted by everyone."
"Once their minds have completely broken down, we'll slowly march over."
"When Master Green's powder is scattered into the wind at that time, that will be the true grand spectacle."
"Your Majesty, this minister can already imagine the sight of Vasha being brought back locked in a dog cage."
"That bitch, I will slice her to pieces right in front of all the people of Mason."
"And those black musketeers; won't all those black muskets become ours for the taking?"
"No matter what they do, they will ultimately become Your Majesty's spoils of war."
"Your Majesty, once the secret of the black muskets is in our hands, Orr will be the hegemon of this continent."
"When that time comes, not only do we want Mason, but we will also expand our territory southward."
"This tea truly gets more flavorful the more I drink it. Your Majesty, have this boy fetch another pot."
"Exactly, let's just sit here today and finalize the list for dividing the spoils first."
"Mason's granaries go to me, and the treasury goes to Lord Morgan, how about it?"
"Haha, as for that Little Queen, let's just chop off her head and hang it on the City wall."
"Naturally. This King wants to let her turn into a corpse right upon that holy throne."
The conversation circled within the mildew-scented hall. These people, with twisted faces and unbridled laughter, didn't notice in the slightest that deep within their pupils, a bizarre purple light had faintly surfaced.
That submissive attendant stepped forward once again, gently pouring more tea for everyone.
His slender fingers had thick calluses on the webbing between his thumb and index finger, appearing somewhat unusual in the shadows of the firelight.
After pouring the last drop of water, he silently put away the silver teapot, hugged the tray to his chest, and walked backward out the door.
Walking out of the Council Hall and passing through that gloomy long corridor, he did not head straight back to the tea room.
Passing by a stone pillar, he stopped his steps. His body blended into the darkness as he gave an extremely subtle hand signal to two guards polishing armor in the corner.
It was an index finger slightly curved, drawing a circle across his palm, and then abruptly clenching tight.
The three exchanged glances. Where was there even a hint of the dullness of Orr soldiers in their eyes?
Replacing it was a ruthless and scorching light akin to wild wolves.
They turned their heads, taking one last look at the Council Hall that was still emitting bursts of maniacal laughter. Their mouths uniformly curled into an icy arc, and then they separately vanished into the depths of the crisscrossing corridors.
On the Drill Ground of the Kingdom of Mason, the chilly morning wind was carrying the grim scent of iron rust.
As the morning light faintly broke, the moment Sophia stepped off the City wall's high platform, she saw a gray-black silhouette already darting in front of the wooden targets simulating the enemy forces.
It was Vasha.
At this moment, the slim-fit tactical uniform Vasha wore was already soaked with sweat, tightly clinging to her curves that had grown supple and powerful from long-term training.
What she held in her hands was no longer a lightweight musket, but a narrow, sharp, and entirely pitch-black short blade.
"Ha!"
With a low shout, Vasha's figure dashed out like a startled swan.
Her movements were extremely fast, but unlike Delilah's wide-open and ferocious style, it possessed an almost sinister precision.
With a light tap of her toes, she sidestepped the horizontal sweep of the simulated spear. The short blade in her hand drilled like a venomous snake into the gaps of the thick wooden dummy simulating Orr's iron thorn heavy armor.
Thwack!
Sawdust flew as the short blade accurately sank into the joints of the dummy's armpit armor.
Before anyone could react, Vasha smoothly twisted her wrist, stepped back, spun, and the blade flashed past the gap in the cold helmet visor.
The entire sequence was as fluid as flowing water, so fast it made the back of one's neck turn cold.
As Sophia approached, Vasha was slowly sheathing her blade. In those originally gentle eyes, there only remained a kind of calmness known as utter ruthlessness.
"Your Majesty."
Sensing Sophia's arrival, Vasha immediately knelt on one knee. Although her breathing was somewhat rapid, her gaze remained frighteningly steady.
"You seem to have gained new insights regarding Orr's armor?"
Sophia's gaze fell on those fatal cuts on the wooden target, her tone flat but carrying a trace of approval.
Vasha pursed her lips, a self-deprecating yet chilling arc curling at the corners of her mouth:
"Orr's iron thorn heavy infantry was once Royal Father's proudest asset.
In pursuit of ultimate defense, that type of armor utilizes multi-layered overlapping slipknot structures at the elbows, groin, and below the throat.
While difficult to breach from the front, once drawn into close combat, those slipknots are shortcuts to hell."
She stood up, her fingertips gently caressing that cold wooden target, her tone eerie:
"These past few days, this minister has completely dissected all memories of Orr's armaments in my mind.
The people of Orr are arrogant and inflexible by nature; they are used to hiding behind turtle shells to slaughter the weak.
Therefore, this minister has practiced a set of bloodletting techniques specifically targeting these gaps."
"Your Majesty, this minister doesn't want to merely point fingers from the rear.
When the final battle arrives, this minister requests to enter the fray and personally demonstrate to Mason's soldiers how to slice the throats of those corrupt individuals with a single strike.
Whether it's those important ministers, or... that person."
Standing not far behind Sophia, Victor watched Vasha's almost materialized killing intent, the quill pen in his hand trembling so hard it nearly snapped.
Divine Miracles! This is the true will of an emperor!
Your Majesty not only reshaped Vasha's soul, but even guided her to completely transform that etiquette originally used to serve dignitaries into the most terrifying assassination skills!
This was Your Majesty announcing to the world that under the flag of the Black Rose, the formerly weak could not only gain dignity, but could become the God of Death bringing an end to the old era.
Were those cuts Lord Vasha made merely on a wooden dummy?
She was clearly severing the stale and decaying national destiny of the Kingdom of Orr inch by inch!
Your Majesty didn't even need to dirty her own hands; with just a single glance, these believers she saved would tear to shreds any old bloodlines blocking the way!
Sophia looked at Vasha's fingers trembling slightly from tension, and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
This kind of tactic targeting weak points could indeed greatly reduce the casualties of our soldiers.
Since she wants to be the liquidator, This Queen shall grant her this resolution.
"Trained well, but you still lack a bit of power."
Sophia reached out, lightly brushing away a stray lock of hair from the side of Vasha's face. The slight coolness of her fingertips instantly caused ripples of bewilderment to surface in Vasha's originally cold eyes.
"Starting tomorrow, go have Delilah spar with you.
Her strength can help you perfect your final strike."
Sophia withdrew her hand, turning her head to look towards the direction of Orr in the distance, her golden eyes reflecting the snow's glare.
"Word has come from Mouse's side; they've already started the poisoning.
When they are drowning in hallucinations, unable to extricate themselves, This Queen will lead you all to dance a true war dance before those ruins."
"...Accepting the decree! This minister will definitely not fail the mission!"
Vasha felt the lingering warmth on her cheek. In that instant, she felt the bloodline curse within her body seem to thoroughly dissipate.
A few days later.
The Drill Ground of the Kingdom of Mason finally quieted down from the endless shouting.
Although the thousand soldiers had each tanned three shades darker, their originally sunken cheeks from hunger and illness had been filled out with a rosy, explosive vitality, thanks to the daily supply of rich mutton bone soup and high-intensity training.
The preparations in all aspects had become so meticulous that even the weight of every piece of armor was accounted for.
Standing on the City wall, Sophia watched as the last batch of freshly harvested tender vegetables was transported into the Palace's main kitchen, and a sense of accomplishment characteristic of an infrastructure maniac welled up in her heart.
In this snow-covered February, the subjects of the Kingdom of Mason witnessed true Divine Miracles.
The film-covered greenhouses Irene tinkered out had seen the first wave of cold-resistant beets, onions, and carrots already harvested. Even the tiny green sprouts of the second wave had broken through the moist soil, greedily breathing the warm air inside the greenhouses.
"Heavens... in this season, I'm actually seeing fresh vegetable leaves."
With trembling hands, an old chef received basket after basket of dripping green cabbages, tears streaming down his aged face.
"This is Your Majesty's mercy. Not only did she snatch back our lives, but even the soil must obey her commands and offer up green amidst the harsh winter."
On this day, lunch at the Drill Ground appeared exceptionally different.
Sophia ordered the chefs to cut the freshly deboned mutton into large chunks and pair it with the newly harvested root vegetables and chili from the greenhouses.
Inside the massive iron pots, bright red oil rolled as the spicy, numbing aroma instantly drifted across the entire Royal City along with the cold wind.
When the first bowl of spicy mutton soup was placed before the soldiers, everyone looked at the unfamiliar broth floating with red oil and showed doubtful expressions.
"This is the Spicy Holy Fire Soup bestowed by Your Majesty."
Willow softly announced from the front of the platform.
A bold veteran tilted his head back and took a large gulp.
"Cough! Cough cough cough!"
The next second, the man froze completely. His face rapidly turned red at a visible speed, and even the tips of his ears started steaming.
With wide eyes, he abruptly opened his mouth, desperately fanning it with his hand:
"It hurts! It hurts! It feels like my mouth is on fire!"
The surrounding soldiers broke into a commotion upon seeing this. But a moment later, the veteran couldn't resist taking another sip, and his expression subsequently shifted from terror to shock.
"It feels... so damn good!"
He roared loudly, wiping away the beads of sweat that had instantly seeped from his forehead.
"After drinking it, it feels like a small stove has been stuffed into my stomach; even the chill deep in my bones has been forced out!
How is this pain? This is the power bestowed upon us by Your Majesty!"
"Really? I just feel so much pain right now, not a bit of feeling good."
"It's true, take another sip!"
"So fragrant, so good!"
Very quickly, the thousand soldiers were immersed in this unprecedented thrill.
The blood vessel dilation brought by the chili gave them an unprecedented sense of comfort in the cold wind. The sensation of sweating was simply a luxurious enjoyment in Mason's severe winter.
"Do you feel it? This is Your Majesty's will! That burning sensation is tempering our willpower, allowing us to remain clear-headed even in desperate situations!
Your Majesty is telling us that the people of Mason shouldn't be greenhouse flowers, but should be like this fiery red fruit, making the enemies feel the pain of their souls burning!
After drinking this bowl of soup, I feel like I could run all the way to Orr right now and smash that City wall to pieces!"
"So fragrant, so delicious. What did Your Majesty say that thing was called again? Chili! This is my first time seeing such a thing."
"It's a product of our Mason; it's an invention created by Your Majesty and the Inventor!"
Meanwhile, in the side hall of the Palace, the originally ornate room had been transformed into a highly efficient food processing factory.
Dozens of hired chefs were gathered around enormous ovens, sweating profusely as they worked.
The air was filled with the aroma of wheat and savory saltiness.
A wall of alternating black and white bread—Black Bread, rock-hard and suitable for long-term storage, stacked alongside white bread, soft and enriched with plenty of fat—formed small mountains.
The Black Rose dry cakes, dehydrated biscuits made under Irene's guidance, were not only durable for storage but also mixed with crushed dried fruits and nuts, serving as a top-tier calorie source during forced marches.
Premium lean meat was marinated, air-dried, and then smoked over a fire until every strip was chewy and resilient.
There were also some preserved eggs. Although they were preserved with coarse salt, these were all premium chicken, duck, and goose eggs, purified by Daphne's Holy Light, resulting in a top-notch flavor.
Inspecting these dry rations neatly packed in oil paper, Sophia gave Willow a slight nod:
"Tell the chefs, there cannot be even a fraction of slack in quality.
These items are the soldiers' second lives on the battlefield."
"Complying with the decree, Your Majesty."
Willow replied softly, her hands constantly recording the flow of every single supply item in her notebook.
Two days later.
The morning in the Kingdom of Mason was awakened by the low and powerful beat of war drums.
On the Drill Ground, the thousand soldiers stood like a silent forest of steel, their armor gleaming with a chilling cold light in the faint morning glow.
At the very front were the black musketeers who had survived the hellish screening. Their backs were straight, the black muskets in their hands polished as bright as mirrors, and their eyes revealed a nearly fanatical pride.
Sophia slowly walked up to the commanding platform.
Today, she was not wearing a cumbersome court dress, but a specially made, slim-fit black and red tactical uniform, draped with a black fox fur cloak bordered with gold. Her long silver hair flew like a battle standard in the cold wind.
She swept her gaze over those thousand pairs of eyes brimming with fighting intent. Her cold voice, amplified by magic power, pierced the entire grounds like a clap of thunder:
"Warriors of Mason! Just a week ago, we were still struggling amidst hunger and illness.
Who took the God of Death's scythe away from you? Who planted the green hope in this harsh winter?"
"It is Your Majesty! It is the Black Rose!"
The soldiers' roars were completely synchronized, shaking the lingering snow off the treetops.
"The false king of Orr fears our furnace fire and curses our rebirth!
They vainly attempt to use despicable assassinations and conspiracies to lock us back in the cage of darkness!"
Sophia abruptly drew the sword at her waist, pointing it diagonally towards the north.
"This Queen asks you, are the longswords and muskets in your hands meant for decoration?!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
"Very good."
Sophia's gaze was thoroughly chilling, an arc of pride curling at the corner of her mouth.
"Today, This Queen shall personally lead the expedition!
I will drink the snow water and tread the solid ice alongside you all.
We do not go to destroy; we go to bring an end to that decaying old dream.
March!"
With the crisp crack of a whip, the expeditionary force of the Kingdom of Mason slowly rolled out of the Palace gates.
Sophia's carriage was pulled by four pure white steeds. The body of the carriage was wrapped in refined steel-reinforced armor, and the Black Rose flag flapped fiercely on its roof.
Delilah rode a tall horse, her fiery red long hair like burning fighting spirit, closely following beside the carriage.
Vasha, with a stern expression and cradling her short blade, acted as an inseparable shadow.
Victor sat in an accompanying carriage, his quill pen practically sparking as he wrote.
Irene and Daphne directly squeezed into Sophia's carriage, even though separate carriages had already been prepared for them.
A vanguard of cavalry, dozens of elites, opened the path. Hooves struck the bluestone slabs, issuing a crisp rhythm.
Those soldiers who had earned the right to use the black muskets marched with their heads held high and chests out. They were the soul of this army, every movement filled with a sense of superiority that transcended the era.
The remaining hundreds of ordinary soldiers, though only issued longswords and refined steel shields, had steady eyes and heavy footsteps, looking like a moving Great Wall of steel.
As the carriages drove into the streets of the Royal City, both sides of the streets were already packed tight with commoners who had spontaneously rushed over.
There was no clamor, only a heavy and sacred silence.
Looking at this unprecedented elite army formed by their own children, and looking at that Queen who had saved them from the depths of despair, the people's eyes welled with tears.
"Your Majesty... please, you must return safely!"
An old woman, with trembling hands, pulled out a piece of Black Bread wrapped in a clean handkerchief from her chest.
That was the food Sophia had distributed previously; she had been saving it all this time, and at this moment, she desperately tried to stuff it into the hands of a passing soldier.
"Take it, child!
This is Your Majesty's Gift. Eat it, and you'll have great strength!"
Along both sides of the streets, countless subjects brought out the food they had hoarded at the bottom of their chests.
Some had a few preserved eggs, some had a bag of shriveled flatbreads, and some even tried to toss their families' only warm sheepskin blankets onto the supply carts.
Those originally calm and steady soldiers felt their noses tingle as they looked at the elders and townsfolk on the roadside who, like them, were once lowly, but were now filled with reverence.
They tightened their grips on their weapons, their convictions thoroughly solidifying at that moment.
This battle was not just for Your Majesty, but even more so to ensure that Mason would never have to return to those yesterdays where starved corpses littered the fields.
Watching this scene, Victor's aged face was full of shock.
This was a sacred resonance that transcended authority!
The bread in the hands of the commoners was not food; it was the hope of the Kingdom of Mason!
With a bowl of mutton soup and a bag of grain, Your Majesty had successfully woven the souls of these thousand soldiers and tens of thousands of subjects together.
This kind of scene, where the ruler and subjects are of one mind, and the commoners and the army share the same destiny, could only be evoked by the legendary ancient sage kings.
King of Orr, how can you possibly fight against a Queen who has already turned herself into the will of civilization? From the moment this war began, you had already lost your soul!
Originally, an old man like Victor, who had no powerful skills, didn't need to follow along. However, he had recently been appointed as a chronicler by Your Majesty, who had thoroughly warned him not to fabricate history.
Therefore, he wanted to personally witness this war with his own eyes.
Up on the City wall, Chancellor Valery stood with his hands behind his back. He did not bring his silver-headed cane, looking like an aged stone lion.
He watched the receding Black Rose flag, a flash of confidence and decisiveness appearing in his eyes.
"Go, Your Majesty.
Go, children.
This old man will guard the home here. Even if a single fly from Orr flies in, this old man will personally crush it to pieces."
The backs of the expeditionary force gradually disappeared over the snow-swept horizon. Mason's first nation-destroying war had officially begun.
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