As one of the richest nations on the continent, the fertile heartlands of the Zijinghua Empire have always been embroiled in constant warfare.
Especially in the Empire's north.
There, northern barbarians, the scheming Allied States, and the equally powerful Baier Federation constantly plot how to tear a piece from this flourishing purple camellia.
Yet none have ever succeeded, because this man has always stood in their way.
The Lion of the North, Shield of Zijinghua, Commander of the Northern Legion—Duke Reinhardt of the North.
Unlike his scrawny son Farao, Reinhardt was a true lion in both stature and spirit. At the close of the previous emperor's reign, this young man of unknown origins enlisted among a fresh batch of recruits on the northern front.
Typically, an army's strength at the frontline reflects stability at its rear. Under the old emperor's detached rule, the once-formidable Northern Legion had decayed—rife with corruption, cowardice, and decadence. Neighboring nations had massed troops along the border, eager for an excuse to tear the once-feared legion apart.
When the Empress declared war upon ascending the throne, this once-dominant army had long lost its bite, reduced to a toothless lion waving its claws—threatening in gesture, yet posing no real danger.
In a coordinated move by the Allied States, the north's First Legion fell into an ambush. Its legion commander was decapitated by a high-tier Arcana spell, and the noble-born vice-commander—just another spoiled capital brat—panicked, screaming for others to shield his retreat while covering the rear.
As the soldiers reluctantly regrouped and the noble believed himself safe, a massive axe suddenly swung from behind, cleaving him and his mount in two.
The young Reinhardt coldly declared the legion commander alive, issuing a new order: "Cowardice will not be tolerated."
The result? The northern First Legion was nearly wiped out, its sharpest claws ground away.
But their sacrifice shattered the enemy's carefully prepared encirclement, annihilated enemy forces five times their number, captured two enemy generals, and Reinhardt himself beheaded a Tier-7 war mage. The Allied States were forcibly reminded of the terror of the Northern Legion.
A wise, heroic Empress and a fierce, ambitious general—the story practically wrote itself from there. Under the Empress's command, Reinhardt quickly rose through the ranks. The Northern Legion, hardened through war after war, became even more formidable and feared.
Knight, baron, viscount… rising all the way to duke, he took the proud northern name as his own. Reinhardt became the first in Zijinghua history to hold full command over the northern armies.
Yet once all problems are solved, the solver becomes the greatest problem.
The Northern Legion had become a tail too thick to sever.
Years of war forged them into an unrivaled, closely knit force, loyal to their duke above even the Empress herself. Reinhardt was no longer the reckless youth—now he was silent and intimidating.
Many believed that, had a weaker emperor taken the throne, this lion would long ago have marched south. Most saw him as the guardian of the north. But to some, the pressure he exerted on the Empire equaled that he inflicted upon foreign armies.
But Linen knew more.
Having read the original, he knew the Lion of the North still feared his mother—the Bloodstained Red Dragon who had raised him with her own hands.
Yet Linen also knew Reinhardt's loyalty was not absolute.
The now-annihilated South family, once led by a patriarch driven mad after years beneath the Empress's thumb, had concocted a plan bordering on insanity.
Their scheme: conspire with the elite northern legion to allow the Allied States and barbarians to invade, then have the Northern Legion slaughter the coalition—everyone welcoming the "royal" army together.
As for the Norton family's destruction during the war, or even the Empress's death—such tragedies were commonplace in war.
Old South was nicknamed "Wu Sangui" by readers, and Reinhardt earned the title "Lai Lushan."
The plan was sheer madness—a plot that, if overheard by the heads of the other seven houses, would have left them gasping, wondering how such insanity existed among their ranks. Yet, it nearly succeeded once.
While in most timelines Reinhardt remained the unwavering shield of the north, there was one path—where every protagonist turned dark against Zijinghua—in which Reinhardt opened the gates, nearly destroying the Empire and leading to the original Linen's miserable death in the ensuing chaos.
Therefore, facing the man before him, Linen felt no warmth—only vigilance.
In a normal plotline, Reinhardt would never have left his northern fortress for the capital.
But now, this lion, whose loyalty was never certain, stood directly before him.
If that were all, Linen might have reluctantly pinched his nose and called him "Uncle."
But if he hadn't misread the situation, Reinhardt had accepted invitations from the other five houses mere minutes ago.
Well then, it was time to upgrade himself from the good nephew who politely stepped aside, to the dad on the playground for whom his son must make way.
The atmosphere grew tense in an instant. The mountain-like man gazed down at the boy, while Linen calmly met his stare with a challenge.
The nobles, previously eager to cozy up to Duke Reinhardt, now hung back in alarm—the prince and duke clashing openly on the very first day the duke entered the capital? Anyone with political instincts could sense what was brewing.
And Linen was no powerless prince now—he was the Empress-approved Third Prince.
In other words, he represented the royal family...
Neither side could easily yield.
Yet, here Linen was, openly provoking—why?
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Your Highness," Reinhardt said calmly.
"I'm just stating facts," Linen replied with a shrug.
"Your son borrowed heavily from my original Weave Meditation designs. Plus, Farao still owes me plenty of credits—if I weren't so generous, he'd have been expelled by now."
Everyone suddenly understood.
Smart! The prince's "provocation" wasn't truly a provocation at all.
If this were an outright conflict between the royal family and a warlord, neither could afford to retreat.
But Linen spoke not as a prince, but as a classmate who'd done much for the other's son.
I've looked after your boy all semester. Now you embarrass me in front of everyone? Not a good look.
Reinhardt merely turned aside:
"Is that so, Farao?"
At the sight of Linen, Farao turned pale. He instinctively nodded, then shook his head frantically, unable to meet Linen's gaze.
And, in a sense, Linen wasn't lying.
Farao's Weave Meditation was essentially a deck of spell cards, heavily inspired by Linen's class designs. As for the credits... that was a nightmare.
Farao had begun only thirty credits in debt—assuming he could just scrimp and save to repay quickly.
But when repayment came, Linen allowed the whole class to witness the horrors of nine-out-of-thirteen high-interest loans.
Eden Academy distributed free credits monthly, but everything—from food and clothing to Arcana research—required credits to purchase.
Even if Farao skipped a meal each day, he couldn't neglect his training, right?
No matter how frugally he lived, whenever Linen completed his endless calculations, he always ended up "a few credits short."
It was a bottomless pit—he'd never repay it all.
Privately, Farao had wanted countless times to complain to his father about Linen's "crimes."
But in front of other noble envoys, he couldn't bear losing face—he could only grit his teeth and nod.
Because everything Linen had said was true.
Still, Farao wasn't worried—in fact, he even eyed Linen with a hint of schadenfreude.
Linen Norton might be the school tyrant, but he only bullied weaklings. Against real big shots, he was nothing!
Farao had seen plenty of cocky officers wilt beneath his old man's gaze.
You think you can win?
The other envoys similarly expected the Northern Duke to strike back fiercely. Yet, as everyone waited for Reinhardt's counterattack, the old lion merely nodded:
"I see. Then thank you, Your Highness, for taking care of my son this term."
And then he stepped aside, clearing Linen's path.
He'd really let him through!
Reinhardt's move left many stunned.
Most had anticipated the duke drawing his sword at Linen's throat rather than simply admitting defeat.
And even if he cleared the way, would Linen actually dare to pass?
Linen answered with actions.
Not only did he dare, he took his whole "family."
He waved Elena and Hysteria over. The three of them—Elena slightly tense, the others chatting and laughing—strode straight through the ring of nobles and Duke Reinhardt himself, heading toward their classroom.
"Not bad, small fry!"
Once away from the crowd, Hysteria bounced cheerfully at Linen's side.
"That old geezer thinks he's tough, but he still had to yield to you, you worthless prince."
Linen only nodded calmly, nowhere near as delighted as Hysteria.
A man's patience might indicate deeper schemes. When a lion holds back, it might only be waiting to strike.
"No problem, Ma—Linen?" Elena leaned in cautiously.
"No problem. But I'll need to step away briefly. You two go ahead to class."
Linen turned away.
Seems it's time to send my handy big sister another Arcana message—just in case.
...
Meanwhile, shortly after letting Linen pass, Reinhardt signaled his attendants to disperse the remaining envoys, leaving father and son strolling across the campus.
Farao grumbled discontentedly:
"Father, I don't understand why you gave in to him. With your status, even the Empress—"
"Silence."
The word was soft, yet carried terrifying authority. All of Farao's pent-up complaints vanished instantly.
As the Northern Duke's eldest son, he knew exactly what preceded his father's anger.
But in the duke's ear, the true recipient of the rebuke paused, then chuckled quietly:
"As you wish, Duke. Before the Dragonblood Festival, we'll keep our distance. But we expect you to uphold your end of the bargain."
"If there's no real dragon blood spilled at the Dragonblood Festival, what's the point?"
"Our friends among the Five Great Houses will support you. After the festival, you'll truly stand... above all others in the Empire."
"Tower of Chronomancy. Eternity."
...
Later that night, within the imperial palace.
Quinn's delighted laughter echoed through the empty grand hall as the Empress, legs elegantly crossed on the throne, listened to her report.
"That old Reinhardt runs into little brother Linen the moment he enters the capital—looks like his luck's finally run out."
Quinn casually destroyed the Arcana message Linen had sent about the morning's events, visibly amused.
Even the Empress's favored enforcers, the Black Knights, found the nearly autonomous Northern Duke troublesome—after all, even secret police couldn't easily confront a legion of lions.
Quinn's agents had repeatedly hit walls in the north. Some safehouses had even been "appropriated" and wiped out by the legion, leaving them helpless. Watching the notoriously difficult Reinhardt meet the especially crafty Linen on his first day genuinely delighted her.
Enjoyable as it was, work soon called. Quinn lowered her eyes, voice softening:
"I'll reply to little brother soon and let him know we're keeping an eye on things."
"Good."
The Empress nodded slightly, then casually asked, as if recalling something trivial:
"He didn't mention anything about me?"
A faint flicker of amusement crossed Quinn's face—almost imperceptible.
She hadn't realized how similar the two siblings really were.
One secretly restored her brother's status as prince without telling him; the other regularly wrote home but never once mentioned his sister.
"No, Your Majesty."
Quinn suppressed her smile.
"I see."
The Empress nodded, expression unchanged.
"When you reply, invite him to the Dragonblood Festival."
Quinn nodded again, but the Empress continued:
"I heard he's made some new girl companions lately. Tell him to bring them along."
Quinn nodded once more—only for the Empress to abruptly add, out of nowhere:
"One."
"...What?"
Quinn was stunned.
A faint smile played on the Empress's lips as she raised a single pale finger, gently waving it:
"I mean, he can bring a companion—but only one."
Clang!
Novie, who'd just entered the hall, dropped the tray she was carrying.
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T/N: LMAOOOO its not gonna be elena or hysteria trustttt