She tried to lift her hand, but a wave of weakness hit her instantly, and her arm fell limply back onto the blanket.
Eileen’s smile deepened, but her gaze held a firm insistence that allowed for no argument: “No!”
Her tone was resolute, “Do you even know how serious your injuries are? Do you know how much that last ‘Comet Duck Delight’ drained your magic?”
She scooped up a spoonful of medicinal broth, blew on it carefully, and brought it to Helga’s lips. “Old Mr. Winston said, if you don’t rest properly after this level of magical exhaustion, what if you end up with lasting aftereffects? You won’t even be able to cast a proper Fireball in the future—are you willing to risk that?”
Hearing Eileen recite “Comet Duck Delight”—the nonsense magic name she’d made up on the spot—with such seriousness made Helga both embarrassed and flustered, her blush deepening.
“T-that name is….” She tried to protest, but seeing Eileen’s face with its “I don’t care, it’s very serious” expression, she swallowed her words.
She parted her lips slightly and accepted the spoonful of warm medicinal broth. The bitter taste spread across her tongue, but Eileen’s focused eyes and careful movements mixed a strange sweetness into the bitterness.
Spoonful by spoonful, Eileen fed her with gentle patience, occasionally using a silk handkerchief to wipe the corners of Helga’s mouth.
The room was quiet, with only the soft clink of the spoon against the bowl and the occasional birdsong from outside the window.
This feeling of being so tenderly cared for was unfamiliar yet warm to Helga, who had grown up learning magic in a rather harsh environment.
At this moment, Eileen’s expression and actions made her think, for a fleeting moment, of the shadow of her mother from vague childhood memories—though she could barely recall her mother’s face anymore.
“Eileen…” Helga couldn’t help but speak again, her voice tinged with helplessness and confusion. “There’s really no need for you to trouble yourself by taking care of me personally. You’re the lord, and there’s so much to do in the territory. I heard after Yana left, another batch of ‘compensation’ supplies arrived for you to handle, right? You could just let a maid take care of me…”
Eileen set down the half-empty bowl, reached out to tuck in the corner of Helga’s blanket, her movements natural, as if she’d done it a thousand times.
She lifted her head and met Helga’s eyes. Those golden eyes, always a little sly or calculating, were now clear and filled with pure concern and unwavering seriousness.
“No matter how busy things get,” Eileen said, pausing after each word, her tone gentle but heavy with meaning, “nothing is more important than you.”
Helga froze, her heart seeming to skip a beat.
Eileen went on, her voice laced with lingering fear and relief: “The way you collapsed that day, Helga, I was truly terrified. Compensation, the church, territory affairs—none of that mattered in that moment, not compared to you opening your eyes safely.”
She gently took Helga’s hand resting atop the blanket, her cool fingers conveying her determination. “You got hurt so badly just to help me. Now you’re awake, but not yet fully recovered—how could I hand you over to someone else? Right now, in my heart, you come first.”
These straightforward, burning words surged through Helga like a warm current, washing away all her awkwardness and embarrassment in an instant.
Her nose tingled, and she quickly lowered her head to hide the shimmer in her eyes.
Eileen’s hand was so warm, and that unreserved cherishing made Helga’s heart flush with heat. Eileen, you’re so gentle, you’ll make me fall for you!
“Silly Eileen.” Helga muttered softly, her voice muffled and a bit nasal, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she subconsciously squeezed Eileen’s fingers in return.
She finally gave up resisting, letting herself be wrapped layer by layer in the warmth of being cared for like a “daughter”—a warmth that was tinged with embarrassment but felt impossibly soothing.
Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains, casting gentle speckles of light throughout the room, enveloping the two girls by the bedside.
Even the bitter taste of the herbs seemed to fade, replaced by a silent warmth called “bond,” a current that soothed her weary body and mind more than any recovery potion ever could. Eileen looked at Helga’s slightly flushed ears and finally relaxed expression, a gentle and satisfied smile on her lips.
She picked up the bowl again and scooped up another spoonful.
“Come on, have another sip. Good girl.”
Leaning back comfortably on the soft pillow, feeling the slow trickle of magic returning inside her, Helga suddenly remembered something and asked, “By the way, where’s Teacher Yuno? Is she… is she alright? I think I saw her come in before I lost consciousness.”
A gentle, slightly mischievous smile appeared on Eileen’s face. “Don’t worry, your Teacher Yuno is just fine. I’ve arranged the best guest room in the castle for her—it’s right next door to you. And as soon as she settled in, she volunteered to help draw the territory’s magic formation defenses.”
Recalling Yuno’s eagerness to get to work, Eileen’s smile grew. “These past two days, she’s been working almost non-stop—draining her magic, then drinking recovery potions, drawing like her life depends on it. Even Clarrette is worried she might collapse from exhaustion.”
“That’s just how Teacher is…” Helga smiled helplessly, but her eyes were full of understanding and pride. “No one can match her passion for magic formations. What about everyone from Windmill Village? Are they…?”
“All taken care of!” Eileen immediately chimed in, her tone light. “The old village had some empty houses, just enough for them to stay in for now. They’re a bit run-down, but they keep out the wind and rain. Clarrette is in charge of logistics—food, clothes, basic supplies have all been handed out. No one is going hungry or cold. More importantly,” Eileen’s eyes sparkled with excitement, “these hundred-plus able-bodied workers have solved my most pressing problem! At least for now, we have enough hands! And the child you protected is safe too. Once you’re better, he’ll thank you in person.”
Helga was moved. She knew Eileen wasn’t telling the whole truth—there really weren’t that many laborers; most from Windmill Village were elderly, women, or children, and there was even more pressure on food supplies!
Even knowing that, Eileen still took in all these poor, homeless people without hesitation. If only all the nobles in the kingdom could be like her.
A strange, unrealistic thought suddenly sprouted in Helga’s mind, like a spark slowly catching fire.
*****
Not far from the castle, the newly planned district was alive with energy and dust.
The once barren land had been leveled, and the foundations for rows of sturdy houses were being tamped down. The creaking of carpenters sawing wood, the clanging of stonemasons at work, and the shouts of foremen all blended into a vibrant symphony of construction.
Rather than repairing the rickety old houses, Eileen had chosen a more forward-thinking approach—beside the old village, nestled against the mountain and river, she was building an entirely new, better-planned, more comfortable core residential area for Raven Territory!
The villagers from Windmill Village were the main force behind this construction.
Just a few days ago, they had been a group of refugees abandoned by disaster and their lord, struggling on the brink of death, their eyes hollow and numb.
They’d brought their families, clutching the last threads of hope, drifting like rootless duckweed to the legendary “Saintess’s” domain.
Deep in their hearts, their greatest wish was simply for a few scraps to eat, a dilapidated shed to barely shelter them, so they could live on in humble obscurity.
But what Eileen Raven had given them far surpassed even their wildest dreams.
It wasn’t charity—it was respect.
Though Secretary Clarrette was meticulous with the accounts, she distributed supplies fairly and impartially, her gaze lacking the arrogance of a benefactor, showing only the rigor of an administrator and an understanding of their plight.
It wasn’t just shelter—it was acceptance and a promise to build together.
When they were led to the old village for temporary resettlement, seeing the houses—old, but clearly repaired with care and cleaned spotlessly—receiving enough food to feed their whole families, and thick, warm clothing, the overwhelming unreality and joy hit every one of them. That joy became the source of their current motivation.
The men sweated as they hauled timber and stone, the women cooked, tended children, and even helped mix mortar.
Their faces showed exhaustion, but even more, they shone with energy and hope. Because they knew they weren’t toiling as forced labor for a harsh lord, but laying the foundation for their own future home.
Miss Eileen—
In their hearts, the undisputed “Saintess.”
She hadn’t just given them food and shelter, but a visible, tangible future! For this kindness, they worked with all their hearts.
“Hurry it up! Lady Eileen is waiting to see our new village!” a burly man from Windmill Village shouted, wiping sweat from his brow to encourage his companions. The response was an even louder chorus of work calls.
At the edge of the construction zone, a massive, faintly glowing magic formation was slowly taking shape on the ground.
Standing at its center was Yuno.
She was completely absorbed, her magic pen precisely outlining complex runic lines, sweat beading on her brow as she ignored it. Several empty bottles of magic recovery potion were piled at her feet.
“Master Yuno, take a break! Have some water!” An auntie from Windmill Village came over with a kettle, her tone full of respect and gratitude.
Yuno finally snapped out of her trance, took the kettle, and gulped down a few mouthfuls, unable to hide the excitement and satisfaction on her face.
“Thank you! It’s almost done! This ‘Leyline Stabilization’ and ‘Basic Protection’ composite array is the foundation of the territory—it can’t be done carelessly! It’ll protect the whole village when typhoons or disasters come!”
Yuno’s voice was hoarse from fatigue, but her eyes were dazzlingly bright.
For the first time, she truly felt that her magical talents were needed, cherished, and wholeheartedly supported.
Lord Eileen hadn’t just provided her with the best materials and a laboratory; she’d demonstrated astonishing knowledge the very first time they met!
When Yuno saw Eileen’s personally drawn territory plan, with its clever use of terrain and natural magic nodes in the design of the magical formation, she’d been utterly amazed! That was not something an ordinary noble could ever have conceived.
And then, after a deep conversation with Eileen—about elemental resonance, optimizing rune stacking, and using natural force fields to reduce magic consumption—Yuno felt as if she’d been doused with enlightenment, as if a door to a higher realm had been opened.
Just a few offhand suggestions from Miss Eileen had loosened the bottleneck Yuno had struggled with for years!
“No wonder that child Helga… holds her in such high esteem.” Yuno gazed in the direction of the distant castle, her heart surging with excitement and belonging. “She’s not just the light of this land… she’s the light guiding me forward! To meet such a wise lord…”
Yuno’s eyes grew hot, and she quickly bowed her head, throwing herself even more diligently into drawing runes, as if pouring all her gratitude and passion into her work.
Never before had she so clearly felt that her magical path had found new direction and meaning in Raven Territory.
The villagers of Windmill Village, watching Master Yuno work with such devotion, felt their gratitude for Eileen deepen even further.
They didn’t understand the majesty of kings or the sanctity of the pope—they only knew that Miss Eileen Raven was their savior! This simple belief translated into incredible efficiency and a bustling, fiery atmosphere at the construction site.
Treasurer Clarrette bustled about the site, jotting notes in her little book, calculating every copper spent.
Though watching the supplies dwindle made her heart ache, the scene of vitality and hope before her brought a rare smile to her usually stern face.
With enough hands, construction sped up; only then could future taxes and output be assured. This “investment” was worth it!
If she remembered right, the “talent transfer” request sent to the Marquis had been approved, and the promised skilled workers should be arriving soon, right?
The future ahead would only get brighter! Selling the mithril ore directly fetched too low a price; Miss Eileen’s plan was to borrow blacksmiths and enchanters from the capital, process the ore into equipment, and sell it for a much higher profit!
The chief secretary let out a deep breath—she could already see the territory’s bright future!
And then—
“Anyway, you have the whole territory. Sooner or later, it’ll all belong to me. Working hard is just preparing for my dowry.”
She took out a pendant, gazing at the name inscribed on it as certain memories slowly began to surface.
Eileen, this is a fate decided more than ten years ago.
The whole Raven Territory was like a well-fueled, finely tuned machine, moving forward at unprecedented speed toward the “new era” Eileen had envisioned.
*****
Just as this thriving, unified spirit filled the land, a convoy of carriages—utterly out of place among Raven Territory’s simple, busy, earthy atmosphere—rolled in, escorted by knights in gleaming armor with haughty expressions. Like an ugly blot in a pastoral painting, they raised clouds of dust, rudely shattering the peace at Raven Territory’s border checkpoint.
The carriages were pulled by four sleek, purebred black horses, the coach decorated with intricate gold patterns and heavy velvet curtains hanging from the windows.
Most eye-catching of all was the crest on the side of the carriage—a proud black raven standing atop a golden sheaf of wheat.
This was the emblem of Windmill Village’s former domain—Glenwell Territory!
Amidst the swirling dust, a jeweled, well-manicured hand lifted the curtain slightly.
The face of Viscount Glenwell, puffy from years of pampered living and now twisted with malice and impatience, appeared.
He looked out disdainfully at the bustling, dusty construction scene, snorting contemptuously through his nose.
His purpose for this trip was clear and beyond question: to bring back every last one of those “traitorous peasants” from Windmill Village who had “fled” his Glenwell Territory!
They were his “property,” the “tools” for restoring his territory’s production and continuing his life of luxury!
If the young Lady Marquis refused, he’d seize the chance to extort some compensation—at least make use of the situation, since in the eyes of the nobility, commoners were the property of the lords! Protected by the kingdom’s laws, sacred and inviolable!