The muddy river, thick with broken branches, weeds, and the stench of silt washed down from upstream, roared as it surged downstream, crashing with dull thunder against the jagged rocks on both banks.
The sky was leaden gray, hanging oppressively low, as if a torrential downpour might come crashing down again at any moment.
On the riverbank, a small squad of royal knights, armor caked with mud and faces haggard beyond recognition, stood before the churning muddy waves, plunged into a deathly silence of despair.
“His Highness… His Highness, he…” A young knight’s voice trembled, nearly breaking into sobs. He stared helplessly at the raging water, but there was nothing there but the swirling, muddy waves.
“Shut up!” Vice Captain Kane Brandon barked, blood and sweat mingling as they ran down his face, a fresh gash stretching from brow to cheek, making his expression even more fierce.
He glared fixedly at the river, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Alive or dead, we must bring His Highness back! Otherwise, all of us—our families included—will be nailed to the pillar of shame as traitors!”
The knights behind him instantly turned ashen pale.
They knew the consequences all too well.
Her Highness Will, first in line for the throne, held a status of unparalleled nobility.
This time, unwilling to accept the failures of the previous two campaigns, she had insisted on personally leading the expedition to this border region between the Empire and the Kingdom to “suppress bandits” and show her courage and strategy.
Who could have imagined that this region, which intelligence claimed had seen no rain for half a year, would be struck by a freak, once-in-a-century storm the moment they entered the mountains in pursuit of a bandit gang?
Even more unbelievable, an old, supposedly harmless dam upstream in the Empire, abandoned for years, suddenly burst under the deluge!
The resulting flood, like an enraged behemoth, instantly swallowed them up in the unfavorable terrain.
Even the well-trained royal knights were powerless before the might of nature. Amidst the chaos, the carriage carrying Her Highness was swept away by the violent currents, vanishing into the muddy torrent in an instant.
“Who the hell could’ve known!” An old soldier pounded his soaked helmet, his voice hoarse. “No rain for half a year! But today, of all days—while His Highness was here! And that damned dam—what were those Imperial bastards thinking?!”
“What’s the point of saying all that now!” Kane suddenly spun around, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over his dejected subordinates. “Search along the riverbank! Search every inch! Don’t overlook a single tributary, sandbank, or backwater downstream! No one stops until we find His Highness! Disobey, and you’ll answer to military law!”
His voice rang out, grim and resolute, even against the thunder of the river.
Roused by his harsh command, the knights mustered their last bit of spirit, dragging their exhausted bodies along the muddy, slippery riverbank, searching downstream with difficulty.
The clouds of despair hadn’t lifted—they were merely pressed down by the instinct to survive and a deeper, gnawing fear.
Everyone’s heart was heavy. If they couldn’t find His Highness, they’d die with no remains to bury.
*****
Inside the Barony of Raven, in a temporary but well-equipped medical hall.
Veil—or rather, the Crown Princess known to others as “Will”—struggled to open her eyes, a fierce headache and burning throat tormenting her.
The unfamiliar air, tinged with the bitter scent of herbs, filled her nostrils. Above her was a rough but clean wooden beam ceiling.
“Ah, an unfamiliar ceiling… Looks like I was saved.”
She thought instinctively, but a violent cough curled her up, her whole body aching as if her bones had fallen apart.
“Oh dear, you’re awake?” A gentle, pleasant voice sounded.
Veil turned her head and saw a young woman in a simple, well-worn priest’s robe approaching with a steaming clay bowl.
The woman’s features were delicate, her eyes clear, radiating a natural warmth.
“How do you feel? The fever’s gone down a bit, but you’re still very weak.”
Veil opened her mouth, but her throat was too parched to make a clear sound.
“Sis, it’s time for your medicine.” The priest, who called herself Rita, gently helped her up and brought the warm medicine to her lips. “Divine arts can only heal your wounds and severe frostbite, but after soaking in that icy river and running a high fever, the cold has gotten deep into your body. You’ll need herbal decoctions to drive it out slowly.”
The bitter medicine slipped down her throat. Veil frowned, but a wave of warmth spread through her, making her feel a bit better.
She glanced around the clean, tidy ward and at the gentle young priestess before her—soft golden hair, water-blue eyes, her whole face radiating a beauty and innocence beyond her years.
Veil couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of goodwill.
“Where… is this?” Her voice was hoarse and low.
“This is the temporary medical hall of the Barony of Raven,” Rita replied with a smile, wiping the medicine from Veil’s lips with a clean cloth. “You were found by our patrol knights by the riverbank, badly hurt and burning with fever. You were unconscious for several days. You’re really lucky—if they’d found you any later, it would have been dangerous.”
Raven? Veil’s pupils contracted sharply.
Irene Raven’s home?
The woman she’d publicly broken off an engagement with, shamed as arrogant and shameless?
A surge of complicated emotions rose in her chest—disgust, a strange irritation, and even a bit of unease she didn’t want to admit, being on the other’s turf.
She forced herself to suppress her turmoil and asked as casually as she could, “Oh… so this is the Barony of Raven. Your lord… Miss Irene, has she… come to visit the wounded?”
She tried to make her tone sound offhand.
Rita blinked, a little surprised at the question, but answered naturally, “Irene? She’s been so busy! The territory just went through a huge disaster—there’s so much to rebuild. She barely has time to eat or sleep, let alone come see an ordinary patient.”
There was no hint of complaint in Rita’s tone, only understanding and concern. “But don’t worry—she gave strict orders to use the best medicine and take good care of everyone who needs help.”
“An ordinary patient?” Veil felt a strange prick in her heart.
She was the Crown Princess! Irene’s former fiancée!
Did Irene really not know who had been rescued?
Or… did she know, but simply didn’t care to visit?
That thought made Veil’s irritation and displeasure grow, but she couldn’t show it. She just pursed her lips and muttered, “Hmph, the lord sure is busy.”
Rita keenly sensed the odd note in her voice, but assumed it was just a patient’s moodiness and didn’t think much of it, continuing to look after her with care.
A few days later, Veil’s fever finally broke, and her strength began to return.
With Rita accompanying her, she was allowed to take walks near the newly built settlement on the territory.
The afternoon sun was warm, shining on neat furrows and freshly turned earth. The air was full of the scents of grass and soil.
From afar came the shouts of villagers working, and the laughter of children playing.
Everything was vibrant, full of hope. It was nothing like Veil’s image (or what she thought she knew) of a poor, barren border land.
“Truly… unexpected.” Veil couldn’t help but mutter.
Just then, several villagers carrying farm tools passed by, their faces honest and smiling, calling out to each other:
“…All thanks to the Lady Saint!”
“Yeah, if she hadn’t warned us in advance, we’d have been done for…”
“Heard the Lady Saint is planning something big again? So we’ll be warm this winter?”
“Of course! With the Lady Saint leading us, good days are ahead!”
“Saint?” Veil stopped, frowning in confusion as she looked at Rita. “The ‘Lady Saint’ they’re talking about… who is it?” She had a vague guess, but couldn’t believe it.
Rita’s face lit up with genuine admiration. “Who else? Of course it’s our lord, Irene Raven! The villagers are grateful she saved everyone before the disaster hit, and now she’s leading us to rebuild. They call her that themselves.”
“Irene?! Saint?!” Veil’s voice shot up, full of disbelief and sharp skepticism. “Her? That arrogant… ahem, I mean, what did she do to deserve the title ‘Saint’? Were you… were you all forced by her? Afraid to tell the truth?”
Rita’s smile froze instantly, replaced by shock and a touch of offended anger. “Forced? Miss Veil, what are you saying? Irene is everyone’s benefactor! She can receive divine revelations, and she brought rain to our drought-stricken border!”
Rita grew more agitated. “She spent all her savings to buy food so we wouldn’t starve after the disaster! She works day and night handling government affairs, organizing the rebuilding, barely even eating or sleeping! She personally took down Vincent when he tried to betray the kingdom and stopped a border catastrophe!”
There was even a shimmer of tears in Rita’s clear eyes. “Ask anyone here! Who doesn’t sincerely love and thank her? Forced? Irene would never do such a thing! She gives without asking anything in return! The title ‘Saint’—we gave it to her from the bottom of our hearts! You don’t know her, so please don’t judge her with such malice!”
Rita’s tone was firmer than ever, the gentle priestess now like a mother hen defending her chick.
Veil was stunned into silence by Rita’s outburst. But her ingrained arrogance and deep prejudice against Irene wouldn’t let her accept this shattering news so easily.
“I don’t believe it!” She shook her head stubbornly, driven by a nearly obsessive urge to investigate. “I want to see for myself!”
The next half day became Veil’s “journey of rejection.”
Dragging her not-yet-fully-healed body, she deliberately avoided Rita and approached villagers of all kinds—farmers in the fields, carpenters repairing houses, women with children, teachers at the temporary school.
“Excuse me, what kind of person is your lord, Miss Irene?” She tried to keep her tone even.
But the answers were surprisingly unanimous, full of heartfelt emotion:
“The lord? She’s a wonderful person! Sent by the goddess herself to save us!”
“If it weren’t for the lord, my old bones and my grandson would be long gone!”
“Miss Irene? She’s so kind! She even bandaged my husband’s wound herself!”
“She knows so much—she taught us how to farm for better harvests…”
Whenever she tried to lead the questions toward “Did she ever force you to do anything?” or “Is she extravagant?” the villagers’ smiles would vanish, replaced by wariness, confusion, even open displeasure:
“Miss, what do you mean by that?”
“How could the lord force us? We’re grateful for everything she’s done!”
“Extravagant? The lord dresses plainer than me and eats the same coarse food! She spends all her money on seeds, repairs, and doctors for us!”
“Did you hear some nasty rumors about the lord or something?”
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