The biting cold wind along the empire’s border seemed endless, whipping up the snow on the ground like a white sandstorm that lashed at the moving convoy.
The dark black imperial banner fluttered violently in the howling wind, escorting the splendid carriage adorned with a golden lion emblem.
Empress Frederica had already ridden ahead with the imperial guards, spurring their horses back to the capital to handle the mounting pile of state affairs, leaving Imperial Chancellor Otto to “accompany” Eileen’s party, under the pretense of “experiencing the empire’s scenery and observing the local people along the way.”
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was somewhat subtle.
Helga was still immersed in the complex deductions regarding abyssal corruption and divine factors, with thick notes piled on the seat beside her;
Lilyssa pressed her face against the window, her heterochromatic eyes curiously observing the empire’s territory, which, in stark contrast to the kingdom, looked rougher and harsher;
Serena hugged her sword with eyes closed, resting but remaining alert at all times;
Layla served tea and snacks silently like a shadow.
Eileen’s gaze settled on the outside view.
The empire’s lands stretched wide and orderly; roads were broad, and post stations sturdy, demonstrating a powerful capacity for mobilization and strict order.
However, beneath this order, an invisible pressure seemed to permeate.
She occasionally glimpsed the villages lining the roads—though not as devastated as the kingdom’s border villages in the early days of the war, many still bore signs of barrenness and heaviness, especially those near the border, long afflicted by drought.
Chancellor Otto did not ride with Eileen in the carriage but rode a tall black warhorse beside and ahead of it.
This shrewd, seasoned power broker still held himself upright, but his tightly pressed lips and the unfathomable depths in his eyes as they swept past the carriage betrayed a restless unease.
Eileen could feel Otto’s subtle sense of estrangement toward her.
She knew well that this iron-blooded chancellor, who placed the empire’s interests above all else, was deeply dissatisfied with the empress’s decision to relinquish three impregnable fortresses within easy reach in exchange for a “Kingdom Saintess.”
In his eyes, fortresses were tangible strategic strongholds, the empire’s northern border shield, while Eileen… no matter how miraculous, was ultimately a “person” full of uncertainties.
Though this dissatisfaction was masked by his seasoned political demeanor, Eileen could keenly perceive it in his slightest words and actions.
“Chancellor Otto seems very busy with state affairs; there’s really no need to personally accompany someone like me,” Eileen said calmly during a mid-journey break as Otto approached.
A practiced smile crept across Otto’s deeply wrinkled face. “Miss Eileen, you are too kind. You are not only a distinguished guest of the empire but also… an important person to Her Majesty. The Empress personally instructed that your journey be comfortable and safe, allowing you to appreciate the empire’s landscape. How dare I neglect such orders?”
He deliberately enunciated the phrase “important person” with subtle emphasis.
Eileen smiled faintly, her golden eyes locking with Otto’s. “Chancellor, you have countless matters to attend to. Accompanying me on this leisurely journey must surely feel like a waste of time. After all, in your view, the value of those three fortresses far outweighs a ‘troublemaker’ like me, doesn’t it?”
The smile on Otto’s face stiffened slightly, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes as if a hidden thought was pierced, but he quickly recovered and spoke solemnly, “Miss Eileen, you misunderstand. Her Majesty is farsighted and has her reasons. I am but a servant of the empire, obeying only the Empress’s command.”
He deftly avoided comparing values and shifted responsibility onto the empress, yet the regret in his voice over the fortresses was difficult to conceal.
Eileen said no more, merely gazing thoughtfully at the distant fields yellowed and parched from drought.
The convoy moved on.
Along the way, Otto seemed to deliberately seek a topic, asking about Eileen’s “miracle” of summoning rain during her time at the kingdom’s border and in Windmill Village.
“I’ve heard that Miss Eileen performed miracles several times in the kingdom, bringing rain to parched lands? Such great power is truly admirable,” Otto inquired with interest.
Eileen brushed it off casually, “Just a coincidence, nothing worth mentioning.” She preferred not to discuss her abilities, especially in front of this calculating chancellor.
A gleam flashed in Otto’s eyes, but he did not press further.
When the convoy reached a fork in the road, Otto suddenly ordered a halt.
Pointing to a dilapidated village built against the mountain not far away, he said to Eileen, “Miss Eileen, please look. This village is called ‘Graystone Hollow,’ located in the barren mountainous borderlands between the empire and the kingdom. It has suffered years of drought and hardship. Though Her Majesty strives diligently, natural disasters are not easily reversed by human hands…”
He paused, gazing deeply at Eileen with a subtle mixture of probing and expectation, “I wonder, Miss Eileen… would you be willing to perform your miracle once more and bring rain to this suffering dawn of the empire? If you can relieve this village’s plight, on behalf of the imperial people, I would be forever grateful!”
Serena immediately frowned and stepped forward, whispering, “Eileen, don’t listen to him! That old fox is clearly testing and using you! Your power isn’t a show for him!”
Helga looked up from her notes with concern, watching Eileen.
Eileen said nothing.
She looked through the carriage window at the lifeless village.
Cracked earth, withered crops, villagers’ numb, hopeless eyes; a few emaciated children dug futilely by the dry creek bed… this scene pierced her heart.
She thought of Windmill Village, of the kingdom’s people struggling through drought just like this.
“I…” Eileen began softly, her voice tinged with hesitation.
Her reason told her Serena was right—that this was Otto’s trap.
But her emotions… she could not turn a blind eye to the suffering before her.
“Master…” Lilyssa whispered gently, her eyes filled with silent support.
Eileen took a deep breath, opened the carriage door, and stepped out.
The cold wind whipped her silver hair and the hem of her ice-blue dress.
“Take me to the center of the village,” she said to Otto calmly, yet with undeniable authority.
Surprise flashed in Otto’s eyes but quickly shifted to a profound curiosity as he immediately ordered his men to lead the way.
Under the villagers’ watchful eyes—some suspicious, some bewildered, mixed with a trace of despair—Eileen walked to the dry well at the village’s center.
She closed her eyes, hands clasped over her chest as if in devout prayer.
This time, she didn’t hide it; she summoned the mysterious power within her “Miracle Weaver,” directing her will toward the parched sky.
Otto, Serena, Helga, and all the imperial soldiers held their breath in silence.
Time seemed frozen.
After a few moments, the once clear but hazy sky suddenly thickened with heavy black clouds!
The wind swept up dust and sand, and the sky darkened rapidly!
Rumble—!
A low thunder rolled across the horizon.
Then, heavy raindrops began to patter down! Sparse at first, but quickly growing into a torrential downpour!
“Rain! It’s raining!!”
“Heavens! It’s really raining!”
“It’s the Saintess! It’s that lady! She brought the rain!”
The villagers first couldn’t believe their eyes, then erupted into deafening cheers and cries!
They rushed into the rain, arms spread wide, heads tilted back, letting the cold rain wash away their cracked skin and desperate spirits.
Children ran and laughed in the mud, elders fell to their knees, tears streaming as they kowtowed repeatedly in Eileen’s direction!
Eileen stood in the rain, her ice-blue gown quickly soaked and clinging to her form.
Rainwater trickled down her silver hair, sliding over her calm, impassive face.
She did not look at the cheering villagers but turned her gaze toward Otto.
The imperial chancellor Otto—this man who had lived a life devoted to iron will and political intrigue, known for his cold pragmatism—stood utterly frozen in place.
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