Even though David hadn't explicitly stated it, Herta knew all too well how lengthy bureaucratic processes could be. She walked directly to his side, raised her hand to steady his shoulder, and then realized she couldn't quite reach.
Little Herta quickly cast a levitation spell, floated upward, and then pressed her hand firmly on David's shoulder. "Brace yourself," she said. "I'm sending you straight to the capital of France."
"Huh?" David blinked in confusion for a moment, then let out a piercing scream that shattered the air. "Aaaaaaaah!"
Hector and Martin watched as Little Herta dragged David skyward, his screams fading into the distance. They exchanged glances. "Um... Captain," Hector stammered, "what do we do now?"
Martin sighed. "What else can we do? Stick to the original plan. Send someone to London to report the situation, and the rest of us move out to support France!"
Herta didn't know any instant teleportation magic. Queen Elizabeth hadn't "taught" her such spells—or rather, Great Britain in the Main World specialized entirely in combat-oriented magic, with only offensive spells and defensive shields, lacking any functional utility magic.
With no other option, Little Herta resorted to the most primitive method: carrying David all the way to France. Her speed was astonishing; in less than ten minutes, they were soaring over the French capital. Scanning the city, she quickly located the largest castle at its heart—the residence of Napoleon II, the current King of France.
Since Little Herta made no attempt to conceal herself, she and David were immediately spotted by the castle guards upon landing. Dressed in identical uniforms, the guards leveled their flintlock rifles at the pair and demanded sternly, "Who goes there?!"
Normally, anyone appearing unannounced within the castle grounds would be treated as an assassin. David, acutely aware of this, hastily began to explain, "I... ugh—!!!"
The sheer speed of their flight had pushed David to his physical limits. It was a testament to his remarkable endurance that he hadn't passed out mid-air. Now, on solid ground, he felt like he was standing on cotton, his body weightless and his mind swirling.
The moment he relaxed his jaw, he couldn't suppress it any longer and promptly vomited.
The guards all wore blank, slightly disgusted expressions. "..."
After a moment, David wiped the vomit from his mouth with his sleeve, gasping for breath. "I... I am David Wayne, Minister of the Secret Keepers Headquarters in Portland City, Great Britain. I request an audience with Your Majesty on a matter of utmost importance!"
Hearing this, the guards exchanged glances before lowering their weapons, somewhat convinced. After all, what kind of assassin would vomit his lunch the moment he infiltrated a castle?
Besides, David looked so unwell that they wouldn't have been surprised if he fainted on the spot. If he really was an assassin, he was a spectacularly incompetent one.
Led by the guards, David and Little Herta proceeded into the castle. During the walk, David couldn't help but whisper to Madam Herta, "Madam Herta, next time, please give me some warning before you act."
David even suspected Herta might be deliberately retaliating against him, but he dismissed the thought. They had only just met, and he hadn't spoken ill of her behind her back. What reason could she possibly have to seek revenge?
Herta's urgency clearly demonstrated the gravity of the situation. David swiftly banished the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, feeling ashamed. How could I ever doubt Madam Herta? he wondered.
Finally, they arrived at a grand audience hall, the imperial reception chamber of Napoleon II.
At the center of the hall stood a majestic throne, adorned with emblems of power and glittering jewels. Napoleon II, resplendent in his military uniform and crowned with a diadem, sat upon it, his eyes betraying a subtle weariness.
Though only a few hours had passed since the Featherless Bird attack, Napoleon II had already received countless reports of disasters. This was precisely why he had immediately agreed to meet with the two visitors from Great Britain.
This also explained why Little Herta had insisted on bringing David along. It didn't necessarily have to be him; any British citizen would have sufficed. With a British national in tow, she had a legitimate reason to request an audience with the Emperor of France.
Of course, she could have forced her way in, but their mission was to seek cooperation, and such a reckless approach would have been counterproductive.
Napoleon II turned to David and asked bluntly, "A Secret Keeper from Great Britain? Did the Queen send you? What urgent matter brings you here?"
David looked embarrassed. "Well... news of the Featherless Bird attacks in France has only just reached the coastal regions of Great Britain. Her Majesty likely isn't aware of it yet. This trip was..."
Little Herta cut him off. "I brought him here, King of France. Let's get straight to the point. I need you to order all civilians to evacuate to the nearest cities. After that, I'll deploy a thousand Puppets to protect them."
Herta's tone was utterly devoid of politeness or respect. To the people of France, Napoleon II might be a revered figure, but to her, he was merely an ordinary man.
"How dare you speak to His Majesty with such insolence!"
"You little...!"
Napoleon II raised a hand to silence the guards. He frowned at the auburn-haired girl who had suddenly spoken. Even Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain and the Emperor of China would never display such rudeness. He felt deeply insulted.
But more than his wounded pride, Napoleon II was fixated on Little Herta's words. "Are you saying you can repel those monsters and protect a thousand cities?"
"Of course," she replied, raising her right hand. A tiny flame materialized in her palm, swirling and growing until it transformed into a massive fireball over a meter in diameter. "If you still doubt me, I can demonstrate even more powerful magic."
Napoleon II stared in astonishment at the fiery sphere, his pupils contracting. If... if someone could truly save France and countless lives at this moment, he would pay any price. What did a minor insult matter?
After a pause, he asked, "Just who exactly are you...?"