The biting cold wind whipped across Aileen’s face, bringing sharp stings.
She tightened the thin cloak around her and stood in the immense shadow cast by the towering walls of Maria Fortress, gazing up at the recently seized stronghold.
On the ramparts, the once-proud royal lion banner had been roughly torn down, replaced by countless fluttering Imperial Black Eagle flags that snapped wildly in the gale, seeming almost ravenous, ready to devour.
Ahead of the fortress, the Imperial army formations blurred faintly in the snow and wind.
Majestic.
That was the only word Aileen could think of to describe the scene before her.
Unlike the kingdom’s feudal levies, with their mismatched gear, loose formations, and wavering morale, the Empire’s ranks displayed a terrifying, ironclad unity.
The soldiers stood in formations so precise they seemed measured by a ruler. The dark-clad heavy infantry phalanxes moved like living fortresses across the snow. Even from this distance, she could hear the low hum of their armor rubbing together and feel the synchronized thundering of their steps resonating through the frozen ground.
Armored knights clad in heavy horse barding patrolled the fortress perimeter, the cold metal reflecting a faint glow under the gloomy sky like the sharpened fangs of an iron tide. Further back, colossal siege engines—catapults and ballistae—loomed like slumbering beasts, their grim silhouettes wavering through the snowfall.
The air was thick with the scent of rust, leather, horses, and something else… the cold efficiency of a war machine running at full power.
Gone were the usual campfire chatter and chaotic noise of the kingdom’s forces; only a heavy, oppressive stillness of lethal readiness remained.
Aileen’s heart felt weighed down.
If not for her role as the “Miracle Weaver,” having engineered near-impossible “accidents” at critical moments over the past years—
A perfectly timed landslide severing the Empire’s supply lines, a sudden outbreak of plague sapping the vanguard’s morale, even a precise “Heaven’s Fire” that burned crucial grain stockpiles on the border—
Without these miracles woven by her hand, the kingdom’s rotten carcass—hollowed out by noble infighting, church interference, and tangled local powers—would have long since been shattered by the Empire’s sharpened iron fist.
To hold out until three fortresses fell was itself a miracle.
But now, it seemed the miracles had run their course.
This war machine, stripped by Empress Frederica of noble shackles, highly centralized and ruthlessly efficient, had finally bared the fangs that could crush all resistance.
“Aileen, it’s time to go in.”
Serena’s low voice cut through the howling wind, slightly muffled but sharp-eyed as she scanned their surroundings.
She too was shaken by the sight of the military might, her grip tightening instinctively around her sword hilt.
Aileen took a deep breath of the icy air and suppressed the whirlpool of emotions inside—powerlessness before the kingdom’s decay, apprehension at the Empire’s strength, respect tinged with fear for Frederica’s ruthless methods, and… resolve to step into the lion’s den herself.
Claret—or rather, Frederica—what exactly did she want to say to her?
Aileen nodded and strode toward the fortress’s massive side gate.
The Imperial guards blocking the way wore finely crafted black standard-issue armor, their eyes sharp as hawks, scrutinizing all who approached.
Their movements were precise and efficient, no wasted words.
Calmly, Aileen pulled out the letter sealed with the Empress’s personal wax stamp.
The unique wax emblem, almost eerily beautiful, stood out like a beacon to the Imperial soldiers.
The lead guard took the letter, barely glancing at the seal before his pupils narrowed slightly. He straightened immediately, pounding his right fist heavily against his left breastplate, the dull metallic thud sharp and reverent.
“Please wait!” His voice was loud and respectful.
He turned quickly, whispering a few words to an adjutant beside him.
The adjutant dashed up the stairway inside the wall like an arrow loosed from a bow, vanishing into the snowstorm.
The entire inspection took less than a minute, astonishingly efficient.
Soon after, the fortress’s heavy gate creaked open a narrow crack amid the low groans of the winch.
A figure appeared, flanked by several elite Imperial guards, striding briskly into the storm.
The newcomer wore a luxurious sable fur cloak over the finely tailored official uniform of a high-ranking Imperial officer. Snowflakes clung to his neatly trimmed goatee, his face lit by a satisfied, commanding smile as if he held all the cards.
“Oh dear, welcome, welcome! Miss Aileen Raven! Traveling through such storms, you must be exhausted!”
Before he even came close, his voice reached them—a familiar merchant-like warmth laced with the dignity of a superior.
Aileen frowned slightly, trying to place the face.
Where had she seen him before?
“Who are you…?” Aileen asked uncertainly.
Beside her, Helga snorted low, leaning in to whisper, “Aileen, that’s the ‘Chairman’ of the Blackstone Trade Guild. Remember? Tried to take advantage at the Ravenhold Mithril Mines, then slunk away with the price difference refunded.”
Aileen’s eyes brightened with recognition. “So it’s you!”
The Imperial Chancellor’s smile instantly stiffened, twisting into an exaggerated, wounded expression. “Ah, Miss Aileen, such a forgetful noble! I recall your grace at the negotiation table vividly—always in awe when I think back! To be so utterly forgotten by you is truly heartbreaking!”
He pressed a hand to his chest as if genuinely hurt.
Aileen sneered inwardly.
Heartbroken? More like plotting how to curry favor with the Empress and have a good laugh at her expense, the “prisoner of state.”
His very presence here said everything—Frederica’s scheme had been laid long ago, with even the Imperial Chancellor playing the part of merchant.
Such cunning and restraint were chilling.
“The Chancellor is jesting.” Aileen’s expression remained calm, her tone neither submissive nor arrogant. “The storm blinded me for a moment. May I ask where Her Majesty is now?”
The Chancellor instantly restored his official smile, stepping aside with a polite gesture. “Her Majesty has been waiting at the command post for some time. Knowing of your arrival today, she specially sent me to welcome you. Please, Miss Aileen, come with me. The Empress is… very much looking forward to meeting you.”
He emphasized “very much looking forward” with deliberate weight, his eyes flickering with a barely perceptible mix of awe and curiosity.
Aileen caught the deeper meaning behind that look. Expectation? She had a pretty good idea what Frederica’s “expectation” meant.
She tightened her cloak against the even harsher winds and the curious or scrutinizing gazes of the Imperial soldiers as she stepped into the fortress now conquered by the Empire’s iron hoof.
Behind her, the heavy fortress gate slowly closed with a deep, grinding thud after she entered.
It shut out the storm—and all her ways of retreat.