Chapter 29:  The Beginning of a Certain Monster or Legend

The Albion Empire.

Brittany.

Brittany Fortress.

Army  Conference Room.

“So… His Majesty means she can give us sufficient support, but only if we uphold the Empire as part of the Universal Church?”

Marshal Asfled, seated at the head of the table, posed the question.

Ning Luo gave a nod.

“Yes.”

“What about Princess Isabella… what does she think?”

Marshal Asfled’s question was already quite clear.

The war had reached a stage where a single emperor no longer held absolute authority. As long as it benefited the war effort, the army had the power to replace the emperor. Isabella was the best candidate. Marshal Asfled’s words suggested he intended for Princess Isabella to become the next sovereign.

The army embodied the Empire’s ultimate force, and Marshal Asfled naturally thought of using that force to resolve internal conflicts.

He and Princess Maria were both devout believers in the Universal Church. For the sake of the war, Marshal Asfled had abandoned everything—he even converted to the Orthodox Church. But now, Princess Maria had reverted the Church back again.

That was something Marshal Asfled simply couldn’t accept.

Before Ning Luo could speak, General Allenby interjected.

“We don’t have time!”

Certainly, the army could choose to support Princess Isabella. But their objective was to win the war that had lasted thirty-four years, not to squabble over the throne. Even the so-called battle for the crown only served the purpose of securing victory.

And this was exactly what made the situation most critical for the army.

Depose Princess Maria, support Princess Isabella, then relaunch the war bonds.

It sounded like an ideal solution—but it was also precisely what the Kingdom of Fontaine would love to see: internal strife within the Empire, the removal of the legitimate heir, even a justification for their cause under a banner of righteousness. In wartime, the Empire could not afford even the slightest ripple.

The current state of affairs was no better than during the Brittany Campaign. If civil strife broke out again, it could directly lead to the collapse of the front lines.

If they were in peacetime, they could take their time resolving the Empire’s internal disputes.

But this was war.

Fontaine wouldn’t allow Albion a single breath of respite.

Marshal Asfled pressed on.

“Any other viable solutions?”

“At the very least, we could ease tensions with the Empire of Castilia,” said General Allenby with a bitter smile.

Because Princess Maria’s mother was a Castilian princess, and Maria herself was a devoted follower of the Universal Church, this could—in some ways—help soften relations between Castilia and Albion.

If it were in the earlier years of the war, there wouldn’t be any problem.

But now, it was the thirty-fourth year of the war.

Marshal Asfled turned his gaze toward Ning Luo. Everyone else followed suit, focusing their eyes on him.

“What do you think, Second Lieutenant?”

“From the frontlines, it’s already impossible to make a breakthrough. The best outcome now is to maintain a balance with Fontaine and drag the war out until next year. The only remaining option is a diplomatic breakthrough. I intend to make a trip to the Holy Federation.”

“You want to support the Holy Federation in defeating Scandinavia? Then ease our relations with Castilia, and finally force Fontaine to surrender?”

Marshal Asfled had figured out what Ning Luo intended to do.

Ning Luo didn’t reply.

Or rather, he couldn’t.

“While I’m away, Lieutenant Colonel Stewart will impersonate me. The Brittany Fortress… should hold out until the Empire forms an alliance with the Holy Federation. If it can be abandoned after that, then so be it.”

Silence fell over the room.

They had lost so many lives to hold Brittany Fortress. The Brittany Campaign had nearly shattered the Empire completely. To talk about abandoning it now—that was something none of them could accept.

But the Empire had to win.

War, by its very nature, was suffering.

...

A war that had raged for thirty-four years.

And it wasn’t just a conflict between the Albion Empire, the Kingdom of Fontaine, and the Empire of Castilia.

It was the kind of war where tendrils from the deep sea pulled everyone on this land down with them.

Beyond the direct frontlines between Albion and Fontaine, the largest battlefield was the endless, back-and-forth war between the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire.

Among them—

The Empire of Castilia and the Holy Federation were allies, and they had waged a thirty-year-long religious war against the Scandinavian Empire, the Kingdom of Helvia, the Kingdom of Saint Vite, and several other feudal states.

Ning Luo didn’t head straight to the Holy Federation.

After all, in official terms, the Albion Empire and the Holy Federation were enemies.

This was largely because Albion had been locked in naval conflict with Castilia. Though Albion hadn’t directly fought the Holy Federation, hostilities were not easily undone.

Besides—

Ning Luo had to remain at Brittany Fortress in name. He needed a better opportunity to intervene in the war between the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire.

To that end—

Ning Luo made a return to the city of Brittany.

More precisely, to the University of Brittany.

At this point, the university had become noticeably deserted—partly because the Brittany Campaign had affected the area, and partly due to forced conscription brought on by the war. Even the top students of the university hadn’t been spared.

It was likely thanks to Isabella that Ning Luo had avoided being drafted.

But no—

That wasn’t right.

Because Ning Luo was a soldier now.

It simply meant that war spared no one.

Returning to the university gave Ning Luo a strange, almost surreal feeling. Just a year ago, he had been a poor student. A year later, he could stir up storms with the flick of a wrist. Yet, he had to admit—those days spent with Isabella had been far more comfortable. Every moment now came with enormous responsibility.

His return to the university was to meet someone.

“Long time no see, Cinderella.”

Whether it was Isabella or Priscilla, both were stunning in their own right.

But the girl standing before him now, dressed plainly, was beyond the realm of “beautiful.” Her beauty defied description, even words themselves seemed inadequate.

Her long black hair and clothing stood in stark contrast to her snow-white skin.

It was as though she had been etched into the ground in deep, inky strokes.

Even without makeup, even looking weary, her beauty remained untouched.

Ning Luo wasn’t familiar with her—they had only seen each other in passing at school. Perhaps it was precisely because she was too beautiful, and Ning Luo already had Isabella, that he naturally kept his distance from other attractive women.

Now, however, he had come for the sake of her identity.

No matter how plain or exhausted she looked, that didn’t mean she was just some poor, ordinary girl. Her name said it all.

Princess Cinderella Latiga von Dortmund.

The girl stared blankly at Ning Luo.

Then—

She collapsed into his arms.

...

To colossal empires like Albion and the Holy Federation,

Winning the war at all costs was the only thing that mattered.

Only victory made everything worthwhile.

But for some countries, victory or defeat in the war had never mattered from the very beginning. They didn’t even have the privilege of being considered pawns—only the chessboard itself.

The Duchy of Dortmund was the weakest of all the principalities within the Holy Federation.

The Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire didn’t share a direct border. Dortmund happened to lie precisely between the two great empires. Unlike the war between Albion and Fontaine, which had long since stagnated into a drawn-out, bloody stalemate along a single line of battle, the conflict between the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire was a mobile war of constant maneuvers, shifting lines, and alternating victories.

Even Albion and Fontaine struggled to sustain logistics across relatively stable fronts. Let alone the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire, whose warfronts sprawled endlessly across a vast region and had raged for over thirty years. For war-torn Dortmund, only tragedy remained.

Cinderella was a princess of Dortmund.

...

When Cinderella woke up, she was lying on a bed inside the university chapel.

As soon as she realized where she was,

She sat up in a panic and curled into herself. Only when she saw Ning Luo did she let out a small breath of relief.

“I…”

Ning Luo handed her a cup of sweet milk.

“You just had a bout of hypoglycemia. Drink some milk and eat something—then you’ll be fine.”

“Hypoglycemia?”

“It just means you haven’t eaten properly and your nutrition’s too poor.”

Cinderella still didn’t take the milk. She lowered her head instead, her slender fingers clutching tightly at the quilt.

“I’m sorry… I can’t pay you back…”

...

Cinderella truly didn’t have a single coin to her name.

Now she could only survive by doing odd jobs around the university and relying on aid from the Church.

Technically, as a princess, things shouldn’t have come to this.

But she was a princess of Dortmund.

Shortly after she was born, her father had sent her to the Albion Empire for protection. Every now and then, he would send some money for her upkeep. But three years ago, as the war worsened, all contact between Cinderella and Dortmund was lost.

Since then,

She had dismissed her servants and chosen to live alone.

Because of her unique identity, and because Dortmund had been occupied in turn by both the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire, the duchy had been forced to switch allegiances multiple times. As a result, Cinderella’s own political standing shifted constantly along with her homeland’s.

On top of that, Dortmund was so insignificant and weak that neither empire even bothered dealing with it—they simply allowed Cinderella to remain in Brittany.

Her highly sensitive status made Brittany’s nobility reluctant to approach her.

Let alone pursue her.

“Do you want to save your country?”

Ning Luo’s sudden question caught Cinderella completely off guard.

“Drink that, and I’ll tell you.”

In the end—

...

Cinderella eventually reached out her delicate fingers and cautiously accepted the milk.

Ning Luo rose to his feet.

“My position doesn’t allow me to intervene directly in the war between the Holy Federation and the Scandinavian Empire. I need to use your status to gain access to the Holy Federation’s side of the war. Once the conflict ends, your homeland will naturally… find peace.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Just come with me to the Holy Federation.”

“…Alright.”

Cinderella agreed.

In the Albion Empire, she had to understand one truth:

She had no choice.

She didn’t even have the right to resist. In the current of the times, all she could do was drift, helpless—just like her homeland, entirely at the mercy of others.

Perhaps the only thing she could still be thankful for… was that her status held some value.

Ning Luo placed a piece of bread in her hands.

“You have two more hours to rest. We depart in three.”

With that—

He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Cinderella called after him.

“What is it?”

“You look tired too… You should rest a little as well, Ning Luo… classmate…”

She had met him before.

In her memory, Ning Luo had been a soft-spoken student, poor but responsible. But now, as they met again, there was an undeniable pressure etched into his every expression. The man standing before her now—was the Tyrant of Brittany.

A single year had changed everything.

Ning Luo and Cinderella were no longer classmates.

He was the Director of the Military Dispatch Division of the Albion Imperial Army.

She was the Princess of Dortmund.

These two titles formed a vast chasm between them—one that could never be crossed. And because of it, the two of them could no longer speak as they once had.

“I don’t have time.”

Ning Luo walked away.

And in the now-empty room, only Cinderella remained.