Passing through the cold, long, and grim corridor, the spiraling stone steps carried the weight of history.
Each step seemed to lead toward the judgment seat of fate.
The fortress’s interior was complex and sturdy, with imperial soldiers replacing the original kingdom’s guards at every corner.
They stood silently at key points, their eyes sharp, like nails embedded in an iron stronghold.
The air was thick with gunpowder smoke, rust, and the deliberately spread aroma of pine incense from the new master’s arrival, trying to mask the lingering bloodiness of war but only adding to the oppression.
At last, she stepped onto the highest platform of the fortress walls.
The view suddenly opened wide, but the biting cold wind immediately swept through without obstruction, lashing wildly like countless icy whips against her body.
Eileen instinctively tightened her cloak once more, her silver hair whipping wildly in the gale.
Her gaze was instantly captured by the figure leaning on the battlement nearby.
No longer the simple black-and-white maid dress, designed with Eileen’s personal taste.
No longer the slightly bowed head, the meek and respectful look that was often paired with sly ingenuity—like the little demon “Clarette” she once knew.
At this moment, standing tall against the backdrop of snow and imperial troops, Frederica was the Empress of the Empire who ruled the world!
She wore a custom-made black battle uniform, woven tightly with the toughest magical beast leather mixed with mithril threads, fitting her slender yet powerful frame.
On her shoulders, two black eagles in pure gold with dark gemstones inlaid spread their wings as if ready to take flight; their eyes were two perfectly cut rubies that glimmered with a bloodthirsty light under the dim sky.
The crimson velvet lining curled out from the collar, sleeves, and hem, creating a strong visual contrast with the cold black.
The metal pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves were sleek yet fierce, engraved with the empire’s ancient runes, radiating a chilling metallic glow in the wind and snow.
Around her waist was a wide belt set with black crystals, from which hung an archaic-style sword, its scabbard etched with thorns and black eagle motifs.
She faced away from the entrance, leaning on the railing as she gazed across the snowy battlefield—the vast iron tide she proudly commanded—her posture upright like a cold pine, as if merged with this impregnable fortress, exuding the regal aura of a sovereign looking down upon all under heaven.
The wind stirred her pale golden hair, strands like sunlight, dazzling and radiant.
The sound of footsteps seemed to disturb her contemplation.
She slowly turned around.
That face was still the flawless beauty Eileen knew—enough to outshine the stars.
But the once feigned meekness, the occasional glint of cunning, had now been replaced by a pure pride belonging to a conqueror and the calm composure of one who commands all.
Her deep emerald eyes, like an abyss containing a storm, clearly reflected Eileen’s figure, burning with undisguised passion, unwavering determination, and an almost maddening possessiveness.
“Eileen.” Her voice pierced through the howling snow, clear and direct in Eileen’s ears.
No longer mimicking the maid’s gentle tone, it had returned to its original magnetic and authoritative timbre—yet now threaded with an intimacy that made Eileen’s scalp tingle.
“Come to me.” She extended her hand, palm up—a simple gesture carrying both command and invitation.
Serena, Helga, and several Shadow Sword elite warriors following Eileen instinctively moved to follow, guarding at her side.
However, Frederica merely gave them a cold glance—calm and unshaken, yet filled with an immense, crushing weight like an icy spike piercing bone.
The invisible imperial royal pressure instantly spread, causing Serena and the others to catch their breath, their feet seemingly nailed to the ground, all words of protest stuck in their throats without uttering a single syllable.
Serena’s face went pale as she bit her lip hard, finally forcing out a whisper tinged with deep worry and unwillingness: “Eileen, take care… don’t do anything foolish…”
Her voice was soon swallowed by the wind and snow. Her hand clenched tightly on the sword’s hilt, knuckles white, but she lacked the courage to draw her blade.
In front of the Empire’s Empress and countless elite troops in this fortress, any resistance was futile.
They could only watch helplessly as Eileen walked alone, step by step, under the silent but oppressive “gaze” of the imperial soldiers, toward the sovereign who held the fate of them all.
On the empty battlements, only two remained.
The wind and snow seemed to ease slightly, leaving only the whimpering sound of the wind swirling by their ears.
Eileen stopped three steps away from Frederica.
She lifted her head, golden eyes molten like flowing gold, no longer masked by any pretense, meeting those deep emeralds directly.
Her voice was calm yet icy enough to cut through the snowstorm: “Clarette, no, Frederica… what do you really want?”
The Empress did not answer immediately. Instead, she gracefully stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
Close enough that Eileen could distinctly smell a cold, unique scent blending cedarwood with some rare metal on her.
Frederica raised her hand—not toward Eileen—but elegantly traced an arc, pointing down below the battlements, toward that silent and grim ocean of steel.
Her tone was tinged with pride and intoxication, as if showing her most treasured masterpiece to the person she valued most:
“How is it? Eileen, seeing with your own eyes, how does my army compare to those old kingdom soldiers who only know infighting and fleeing when the battle begins?”
Her gaze blazed, locking onto Eileen’s eyes, as if trying to capture the slightest emotional flicker.
Eileen did not shy away from the gaze, nor did she exaggerate.
She scanned the intimidating formation again, her voice clear and firm: “Stronger. Well-trained, well-equipped, high morale, efficient command. The kingdom’s army is no match.”
This was an undeniable fact.
“Then,” Frederica’s lips curled into a cruelly beautiful smile, emerald eyes gleaming coldly with the playful malice of a cat toying with a mouse, “with such an invincible army, how difficult do you think it will be to crush a kingdom already rotting from its roots and on the verge of collapse?”
Her voice was soft but carried the weight of a thousand pounds, each word hammering into Eileen’s heart.
The air seemed to freeze. Only the snow’s wailing sound drifted between them.
Eileen was silent. Her long lashes trembled slightly in the cold wind. Deep within her golden eyes surged a torrent of emotions—anger, resentment, helplessness—finally settling into a heavy, deathly stillness.
After a long moment, she finally spoke with difficulty, her voice hoarse as if scraped by the wind:
“…Easily.”
She suddenly lifted her head, the suppressed flames in her eyes reigniting with fierce determination, carrying the resolve of mutual destruction: “But! Frederica, I will absolutely stop you! No matter the cost!”
“Stop me?” Frederica laughed low, as if hearing the world’s most amusing joke.
Her laughter started light but grew louder and louder, filled with an eerie charm that echoed across the empty battlements, even overpowering the howling wind and snow.
At the corners of her eyes, it seemed tears glistened—her breathtaking beauty made all the more stunning and terrifying by that unrestrained laughter.
At last, she stilled and tilted her head slightly, emerald eyes flickering with strange light as she looked at Eileen like a rare treasure lost and now regained.
She reached out again, this time toward Eileen’s cold cheek.
Her fingertips carried a hint of hesitation and longing. But under Eileen’s wary, icy stare, her fingers stopped inches from her skin.
“Of course, you can stop me, my dear Eileen.” Frederica’s voice suddenly grew impossibly soft, laced with hypnotic charm, her eyes locking tightly onto Eileen’s golden ones as if trying to suck her soul in, “Because this time I am unleashing the full might of the Empire, marching south—but my true target was never that kingdom, rotten and collapsing on its own.”
She leaned in slightly, her warm breath nearly brushing Eileen’s cold ear, each word clear as a solemn proclamation and sweet as the most poisonous venom:
“What I want… from beginning to end… is only you, Eileen Raven. Only you.”