✎﹏﹏﹏﹏
AFTER THE BATTLE
"Y-Your Grace. I am the acting commander, Commander Gareth." The man in his forties dipped into a stiff, weary bow.
"As I said, I am Eliana Javier. The youngest," Lia said, her voice flat, already scanning the courtyard for the quickest route inside. The adrenaline was fading, leaving the deep bite of the cold and the tremble of muscle fatigue in its wake. "The tide has calmed. Let's go talk inside."
She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and striding toward the south wall where the Javier Castle hunched against the grey sky.
The path to the castle was a gauntlet of silent stares. The grizzled soldiers and gaunt-faced servants they passed didn't bow. They just… stopped. Watching the blue-silk specter who had just redefined warfare on their wall pass by. Their expressions were a complex stew of shock, suspicion, and a fragile, terrifying spark of something that might have been hope.
The castle doors groaned on hinges that hadn't seen oil in a decade. Inside, the grand foyer was a tomb of faded glory. Tattered tapestries depicting heroic Javiers of old hung limp, bleached by cold sunlight from high, narrow windows. The air was several degrees colder than outside, and smelled of damp stone and neglect.
Lia's chest tightened. This used to be our home. A flash of memory—a warmer hall, her mother's laugh, the sound of her brothers chasing each other—was swallowed by the crushing reality of mildew and decay. She shoved the sentiment down. No time.
"Your Grace! You cannot just run off like that!" A voice, sharp with worry, cut through the gloom. A woman in a sensible, worn dress hurried down the grand staircase, her face pale.
Helen. Lia's stern expression softened a fraction. In her first life, Helen had been the only one who volunteered to follow her into this frozen exile. The only one whose care hadn't felt like duty or pity.
"Helen," Lia acknowledged, her tone gentler. She turned back to Gareth and the young man who had followed them in, panting. "Anyway, shall we get to the point, Commander Gareth? Where is the acting lord?"
"Y-Your Grace!" the young man blurted, straightening his threadbare tunic. He couldn't have been more than twenty, with earnest eyes and the pinched look of someone carrying a weight too heavy for his shoulders.
This was Cris. Son of the previous proxy lord. A loyal vassal of House Javier who had watched his father work himself to death trying to hold the line.
"Are you the current Proxy Lord of this Dukedom?" Lia asked, her gaze assessing.
[ADMIN A: YOU COULD ACT A LITTLE NICER. YOU ABANDONED THIS LAND, AFTER ALL.]
Shut up!
"Y-yes, Your Grace. My name is Cris Tiandro, son of Viscount Tiandro." He managed a deeper bow, his movements stiff with nerves and cold.
"A pleasure to meet you, Cris," Lia said, though her tone was all business. "I'll cut to the chase. Follow me to the drawing room. Helen," she turned to her maid, "prepare me a new set of clothes. Something practical. Lighter layers. Not this… stupid ball gown." She plucked distastefully at the sodden, glittering silk.
Without waiting for agreement, she turned and strode toward the doors she guessed led to the family's old drawing room, leaving the three of them standing in the dusty foyer, united in their shock.
The spoiled, weeping princess of capital gossip was gone. In her place was a sharp, cold, terrifyingly competent woman who fought like a veteran and gave orders like a general.
And she hadn't even changed her clothes yet.
-Inside the Drawing Room-
The room was marginally better than the foyer. A fire had been lit recently in the large hearth, fighting a losing battle against the pervasive chill. The furniture was sparse and covered in dust sheets.
Lia walked to the fireplace, holding her ruined slippers over the heat for a moment. She didn't sit. She stood with her back to the flames, a silhouette outlined in orange light, her gown a ridiculous, stained contrast to the grim setting.
Gareth and Cris entered hesitantly.
"Status report," Lia said, the words not a request but a demand.
Gareth cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders under her direct gaze. "We have a total of one hundred soldiers fit to hold a line. Most are mercenaries who haven't been paid in over a year."
"What about the economy?" Lia asked, turning her gaze to Cris.
The young lord's expression was grim. "We… barely manage on the funds the Empire sends. We can't collect taxes—the people have nothing to give. The economy is nonexistent."
Lia felt the confession like a physical blow. They stayed. They suffered. We escaped.
"I assume our armaments are limited to arrows and swords? What about mages?"
"We have two," Cris admitted, shame coloring his tone. "Both are children of local farmers. Untrained. Sending them to the Tower of Wizards for proper education was… never an option. The cost is astronomical."
Gerlem and Reyna. Their names surfaced from a dark, painful depth in her memory. The two young, frightened mages who had stood with her on the wall until the very end. Who had spent their last breaths trying to save her.
"So," Lia said, her voice quieter now. "We are in a dire situation."
Gareth and Cris could only nod, the sheer weight of their reality pressing down on them, visible in the slump of their shoulders and the exhaustion etched deep around their eyes.
"It's our fault."
The two men looked up, startled by the raw whisper.
"Forgive us," Lia said, the words thick with a truth they had never expected to hear. "We were selfish."
A heavy silence stretched. Gareth, the older soldier, let out a long, weary breath.
"I'd be lying if I said there was no resentment, Your Grace. For the abandonment." His voice was gruff but not unkind. "But as a father myself… I understand the Emperor. I know his majesty couldn't stand to leave you children in this… graveyard."
"I appreciate your sentiment, Gareth," Lia said. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it came out as a painful twist of her lips. "But it's time to face the consequences. All of us."
She turned back to the fire, intending to outline a plan, to deploy the cold, tactical mind that had just saved the wall. But the heat on her skin, the smell of burning wood, the faces of these two loyal, broken men—it all blurred.
A memory flashed, unbidden and vicious. Gareth, his shield shattered, pushing a young soldier out of the path of a golem's fist. Cris, barely more than a boy, sobbing as he tried to staunch the bleeding of a dying child. The two young mages, hands glowing with the last of their mana, creating a barrier that bought her ten more seconds of life.
The pain was no longer a memory. It was now. It was a floodgate breaking behind her eyes.
She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the first hot tear trace a path through the grime and frostfire residue on her cheek. Then another. She couldn't stop them. A quiet, shuddering breath escaped her, the only sound in the room besides the crackle of the fire.
"Your Grace?" Cris's voice was soft with concern.
Lia wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, the motion swift and brusque. "I got dust in my eyes," she muttered, her voice slightly hoarse.
[ADMIN A: NICE LIE.]
"Don't worry. We will fix this." She straightened, the momentary vulnerability sealed away behind a mask of resolve. "For now, Gareth, you handle the aftermath of the battle. Cris, gather all the documents that detail our issues—supply lists, troop rosters, everything. I need a full picture."
"We understand, Your Grace," Gareth and Cris said in near unison, bowing before they took their leave, the weight in the room shifting from despair to a tentative, bewildered purpose.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏
-Her Room-
"Your Grace, this will be your room. This was the chamber of the former Duchess." The Head Maid, an elderly woman named Merlin, gestured with a stiff formality that couldn't hide her deep exhaustion.
"Thank you," Lia said, her voice flat.
Helen was already inside, frantically unpacking a trunk. "Your Grace!" she exclaimed, rushing over.
"I told you to prepare me a lighter dress."
"Are you mad, Your Grace?!" Helen cried, her worry overriding propriety. "The cold here is sickening! The season is completely unpredictable, just as they said. The calendar says it's summer, but look outside! It's a blizzard!"
Lia just offered a faint, tired smile. This was Helen's exact reaction the first time, too. She'd ranted about the cold and the impossible weather for a full hour.
Right. It is winter.
Admin, are you useless? Can you only sell me weapons?
[ADMIN A: WHAT A RUDE THING TO SAY! GOODNESS. OF COURSE YOU CAN PURCHASE GARMENTS WITH YOUR EXP, BUT WE ONLY STOCK TACTICAL GEAR. BLANKETS, GLOVES, COATS—PRACTICAL THINGS! WE ARE NOT SOME FANTASY BOUTIQUE!]
Chill. And why are you so stingy? Why do I have to buy basic crap with my hard-earned EXP? Just give it to me!
[ADMIN A: GIVE ME A BREAK, LIA! WE NEED A POWER BOOST TOO, YOU KNOW? YOU THINK WE'RE OMNIPOTENT GODS? HMHP! YOUR EXP IS LIKE FUEL FOR US TO MANIFEST WHAT YOU WANT. NO FREE LUNCHES!]
In short, you're leeches who feed on our suffering?
[ADMIN A: DISRESPECTFUL! THAT'S THE LEAST YOU CAN DO FOR US REVIVING YOU IDIOTS FOR THE SECOND TIME! AND YOU DON'T NEED THOSE FANCY DRESSES ANYMORE, LIA. I KNOW YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE IN THEM. JUST BUY THE TACTICAL GEAR. IT'S BOTH HEAT AND COLD RESISTANT. AND IT'S A COMPLETE SET FOR ONLY 150,000 EXP! A STEAL!]
Are you aware you sound like a marketplace huckster right now?
[ADMIN A: …JUST BUY THE GEAR, LIA. THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN COMFORT.]
Lia glanced down. The Admin wasn't wrong. The sodden gown was plastered to her skin, offering zero insulation. A deep, bone-aching chill was settling into her core.
Fine. Purchase the set.
[EXP DEDUCTED: 150,000]
[REMAINING EXP: 300,000]
[ITEM ADDED TO INVENTORY: "WRAITH" TACTICAL FIELD SET (FULL).]
"Helen, put the things down and take care of yourself first," Lia said.
"But Your Grace, I am not done unpacking yet!" Helen protested.
"Leave me alone. I need to rest," Lia insisted.
"Alright…" Helen replied, dejected, and left the room.
Alright, now show me that.
[ADMIN A: YES, MA'AM!]
Blue holographic cubes shimmered in the air. They solidified into a complete set of black tactical gear: a top and bottom, an operational helmet, and boots.
"Are you sending me to the battlefield?"
[ADMIN A: OH, COME ON! THAT WAS BASICALLY YOUR DAILY UNIFORM ANYWAY! YOU JUST TOOK OFF THE JACKET, KEPT THE PANTS AND BOOTS, AND WORE A SIMPLE BLACK SHIRT!]
"You know you sound like a creepy stalker right now, right?"
[ADMIN A: TADAA! FREEBIES!]
"Give me a break. These are part of the gear set!"
[ADMIN A: GEEZ, YOU'RE TOO DEMANDING, YOU KNOW THAT?]
"Anyway, connect me to one of my brothers."
[ADMIN A: OH, ARE YOU GOING TO DISCUSS LOGISTICS? I'LL CONNECT YOU TO THE SANEST ONE. MARCUS.]
[CONNECTING TO MARCUS…]
[CONNECTED.]
MARCUS: Lia? What is it? What's wrong?
Calm down. Everything is wrong here. So, what's the news there?
MARCUS: We already submitted our resignation letters and are in the process of handing our posts over to our seconds-in-command. We'll be heading out in two days.
About that—can you guys bring a lot of supplies? Strictly for remedy purposes. Food, clothes, armaments.
MARCUS: I already thought that far ahead. Rhys is in the process of selling some of our lands here in the capital. We're also liquidating our useless garments and jewelry.
On that matter, you have my permission to sell everything I left in my residence at the palace as well.
MARCUS: Rhys already took the initiative. He's been raiding your residence since earlier. Uncle is crying his eyes out.
Right… Uncle. Anyway, bring enough rations. If my memory is correct, the total population in the North right now is around five hundred. They've all been living in the main town since the rest of the land is useless.
MARCUS: That land is indeed a lost cause.
[ADMIN B: MAYBE IF YOU WEREN'T TOO PROUD AND HAD TAKEN OVER THE DUKEDOM EARLIER, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED.]
MARCUS: Shut up, you imbecile! You've been nagging me since earlier!
Oh, Admin B was the one assigned to you? Those Admins really do have a bad habit of butting in.
[ADMIN A: IF WE HADN'T INTERFERED, NONE OF YOU WOULD BE HERE!]
[ADMIN B: SHUT UP, A! YOU TRICKED ME INTO TAKING CARE OF THESE THREE BROTHERS!]
[ADMIN A: IT'S YOUR FAULT FOR LOSING THE BET.]
[ADMIN B: HOW DARE—]
MARCUS: So noisy! Anyway, I'll contact you after we get things settled, Lia. Take care until then.
Alright. You guys too.
[MARCUS OFFLINE]
It was already afternoon when Lia went downstairs. Everyone stared, confused by her attire.
She was wearing bizarre pants they had never seen before, heavy boots, a simple long-sleeved black shirt, and a white winter coat. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy knot, and her blue eyes looked cold.
She was so different from the dolled-up noble they had seen earlier.
"Y-Your Grace?!" Helen squeaked.
"Your Grace…" Cris said, his voice cautious.
"Wipe those looks off your faces. Here."
She dragged a large luggage trunk into the foyer and showed it to Merlin, who also looked bewildered.
"What is it, Your Grace?" Merlin asked.
"These are my gowns. Have them cut and sewn into warm clothes for the people. Prioritize the children, the pregnant women, and the elders," Lia instructed.
Cris brought a hand to his mouth. "Is that why you are wearing those… bizarre clothes, Your Grace? Because you wanted all your fine gowns to be turned into clothes for the people?"
Lia looked at him with weary exhaustion. "You're reading too much into it."
"Are you certain, Your Grace?" Merlin pressed gently. "These garments are… very expensive."
"People's lives are more valuable than cloth with a measured price, Merlin."
She turned to Cris. "For now, prioritize food for the soldiers."
"R-really? But… what about you?" Cris stammered.
"Just don't question my command and follow it."
The other servants who had been listening watched in silent awe.
Hmm. There are thirty servants here in total.
"Merlin, I assume there are spare blankets stored in the castle?"
"Yes, Your Grace. We never dared to touch what belongs to the Javier family."
"Good. Leave enough for the castle's use and distribute the rest to the people," Lia ordered. "Winter has just started, right? Give those to the people for now."
Merlin studied the princess who was once described as selfish, extravagant, and spoiled. The woman standing before them now was nothing like that.
Helen gazed at her lady, so completely changed. Her Grace had been silent and sullen for the week before her departure. Who could have known she was capable of such selflessness?
-TO BE CONTINUED-