The Bardiya family’s villa on the outskirts of the royal capital was less an estate and more like a tightly guarded miniature fortress.
Towering walls, rows of arrow towers, and the two Guards at the gate clad in exquisite, enchanted armor—all displayed the authority and grandeur of the Duke’s House.
When Ophelia, pulling Camilla along as if out for a stroll, walked straight towards the iron gate inlaid with the Bardiya family crest, the two Guards immediately stepped forward, crossing their Long Halberds to block the path.
“Halt! This is private property of the Bardiya family. Unauthorized individuals—”
The Guard’s stern shout cut off abruptly as he recognized Ophelia’s face, transforming into the sound of a sharp intake of breath.
One of the Guards instantly turned pale as if he’d seen something truly terrifying; even his hand gripping the Long Halberd began to tremble.
He remembered clearly—just not long ago, this very golden-haired disaster had smashed her way from the front gate all the way to the dungeon, flattening the so-called elite Guards like chopping vegetables, then left as she pleased!
“It’s… it’s you?”
His voice was filled with disbelief and fear as he subconsciously stepped back half a pace, nearly tripping over his own heel.
Ophelia didn’t even lift her eyelids, merely spat out two words, indifferent as ever.
“Move aside.”
The unquestionable command hit the two Guards like a blast of icy wind. Their bodies reacted even faster than their minds—they instinctively pulled back their Long Halberds, stepped aside, and even bowed slightly without realizing it.
Ophelia, still holding Camilla, walked through the gates as if returning home, not sparing anyone a glance.
It wasn’t until the two sisters disappeared deep into the courtyard that the pale-faced Guard finally snapped back to his senses and yelled frantically at his companion.
“Hurry! Go report to the young lady! That… that disaster has come again!”
Inside the villa, on a sunlit, lavish yet tasteful terrace.
Elena von Bardiya was leisurely enjoying afternoon tea.
She wore an elegant, pale lavender dress, her brilliant golden hair flowing like molten gold under the sun. She gracefully lifted a porcelain cup decorated with rose patterns, sipping special flower tea from the South Elven Federation.
Seated opposite her was a girl who looked timid, like a small animal easily startled.
She had soft, wavy, water-blue hair, styled into obedient twin ponytails. Though her Princess Dress was ornate, its colors were gentle, and her deep blue eyes—wide as a startled fawn’s—were filled with unease and restraint.
This was the Empire’s young princess, Lilian, famous for her gentle—or perhaps weak—nature, currently studying alchemy at Mystra Magic Academy.
“Princess Lilian, please try this pastry. It’s quite popular in the capital lately.”
Elena smiled as she pushed a plate of intricately crafted Macarons toward the little princess.
“Th-thank you, Sister Elena.”
Lilian thanked her softly, picking up a Macaron with great care and nibbling it daintily, as if afraid to make even the slightest noise.
At that moment, a flurry of hurried, chaotic footsteps shattered the peacefulness of the terrace.
The Guard from the gate came scrambling in, not even pausing to salute before gasping out his report.
“Trouble! Trouble! Y-young lady! That disaster! She—she’s broken in again!”
“Pfft—!”
Elena hadn’t even reacted yet, but Princess Lilian across from her was so startled by the sudden news that she choked, coughing violently with her face turning bright red and tears welling in her eyes.
Elena’s brows knitted—partly from displeasure at the Guard’s rudeness, partly from the reflexive headache brought on by that certain someone.
Setting down her teacup, Elena was just about to scold the Guard for composure, and comfort the frightened little princess, when two figures appeared at the entrance to the terrace as if conjured from thin air.
It was Ophelia, dragging Camilla tightly by the hand.
Ophelia’s gaze was as cold as an arctic wind, instantly locking onto Elena in the seat of honor.
Camilla, meanwhile, swiftly took in the scene, her eyes pausing in surprise on the flustered Princess Lilian.
She’s here too? What a coincidence!
Lilian Einz Vivalana, the Empire’s Fourth Princess—yet another capture target in the game, outwardly meek but far more cunning than she appeared.
Lilian’s eyes never left Ophelia, a subtle light flickering in them, clearly perceiving her true magical power by some means.
Yes, that’s it, take an “interest” in my sister! Let all those messy succession troubles go to her! That way, nobody will care about me, the little nobody.
Camilla cheered internally, even as Ophelia and Elena squared off.
“Young Lady of the Bardiya family.”
Ophelia’s voice was so cold it seemed to freeze the air.
“My sister has been severely sleep-deprived lately, mentally exhausted, her studies almost abandoned. I hear this is all thanks to you?”
“Huh?”
Staring at Camilla’s clear dark circles, Elena was momentarily confused. But at the accusatory tone, she immediately caught on.
“Mind your words. Between Miss Camilla and myself, it’s merely normal ‘author’ and ‘Reader’ interaction. How is it ‘thanks to me’?”
“Interaction?”
Ophelia stepped forward. The invisible pressure seemed to thicken the very air on the terrace.
“Forcing her to change the ending as you please, assigning impossible update quotas, threatening her with exposure and safety—this is what you call ‘interaction’?”
Elena was caught off guard, her face flushing red with anger and embarrassment.
“She agreed willingly! She personally promised to write me a Happy End!”
“I was forced to!”
Camilla, peeking out from behind her sister, wailed accusingly.
“You threatened me with a Whip! You even wanted to lock me up to write!”
She’s hardening up, her fists are clenched.
Elena saw at once that Camilla was acting, but the words were true—if Ophelia hadn’t barged in that day, she really had planned to lock Camilla in the dungeon and drive her to write with the Whip.
“So what if I did?”
She straightened her back, trying to preserve the last bit of dignity.
A cold, sharp light flashed through Ophelia’s icy blue eyes. She slowly raised her hand and pointed at Elena.
“Elena von Bardiya, I, Ophelia Vellite, hereby formally challenge you to a Duel.”
The terrace fell into dead silence at her words.
Even the softly coughing Princess Lilian clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in shock.
Ophelia’s voice was clear and chilling, echoing across the terrace.
“The victor has the right to decide the loser’s fate. If I win, you will never again threaten or harass Camilla in any way. The matter of the novel ends here. You are not to make any further demands, and must never reveal her identity as the novelist.”
Elena’s expression changed. She hadn’t expected Ophelia to challenge her so directly, but as the proud daughter of the Bardiya family, she could not back down—especially not before the princess.
She took a deep breath, violet eyes burning with battle spirit.
“Fine! I accept your Duel!”
Elena rose, her skirt swirling in a graceful arc. She considered herself invincible among her peers—the previous loss was merely a careless slip.
“Will you win?”
Lilian reached out to tug at Elena’s skirt, blinking as she asked.
“I will win!”
Elena replied with a confident smile.