CHAPTER 429: MEAT GRINDER

"It’s truly an honor to share afternoon tea with such a beautiful young lady in the garden."

In the open-air dining area of the Roast Manor, a young man with golden hair and blue eyes gazed at the white-dressed girl before him, speaking in a refined and amiable tone.

Whenever dealing with other noble ladies, Lucas usually adopted the demeanor of a courteous and gentle gentleman. Those unaware of his past romantic scandals might truly believe this Crown Prince was a noble of pure character and upright conduct.

Helen politely shook her head, her voice soft.

"Your Highness flatters me. That compliment should be mine to offer."

"To share tea with the Empire’s most handsome and talented prince is Helen’s honor."

With two nobles of relatively distant relations meeting privately, formal pleasantries were naturally abundant. Right after speaking, Helen added,

"Besides, I’ve always heard that Your Highness is very close to Princess Astrid. With such foremost beauty as the Empire’s jewel standing before us, anyone else would inevitably pale in comparison."

Her words not only flattered the Crown Prince, but also freely praised the second-in-command of his political faction.

Detecting the goodwill in Helen’s words, Lucas folded his hands and continued observing the noble girl across the table, the faint suspicion lingering in his mind now completely dissolved.

"Indeed, my younger sister is an exceptionally beautiful and aloof maiden truly, deserving of Father’s words, ’the Empire’s most precious and radiant gem.’"

"However, Miss Helen, you needn’t be so humble. You are equally radiant today."

People tend to become complacent and careless when pleased, losing all sense of caution. Lucas was a textbook example. At this moment, he no longer considered the possibility that Helen might have ulterior motives. He assumed she had invited him to the manor for a private gathering simply to curry favor with him, the future Emperor.

Arrogance born of overconfidence, frivolous and unrestrained, that was Lucas’s most prominent weakness, the one easily amplified, and one of the reasons why Hibbort hesitated to entrust him with real power.

Helen’s lips curled slightly at the corners as she smiled politely.

"Your Highness really knows how to charm young ladies."

As she spoke, Helen quietly scanned her surroundings. The rain had just stopped, dewdrops glistened on flower petals and leaves in the garden beds, and the air was filled with a faint mist.

Lucas’s personal guard squad was located nearby. Judging by their auras, they were all at least Magnus experts.

With the capital’s political situation growing increasingly tense, the Crown Prince was clearly more vigilant now than usual, bringing far more guards than his typical pair during outings.

With subtle gestures, Helen signaled her maids to serve dessert. She picked up her teacup and continued exchanging polite conversation with Lucas. Only after finishing one cup of tea did she finally broach her real purpose.

"My father recently intended to purchase a batch of magic crystals, to be used in constructing magical energy devices for the manor."

"I heard Your Highness has access to a new supply channel?"

Although the supply channel was technically established through Astrid’s business partnership with Velmont, Helen phrased it this way for two reasons. First, it lowered Lucas’s guard, making him believe she had a personal need, nobles of the Empire were famous never early without profit. A tea gathering without an apparent objective would only raise suspicion.

Second, deliberately attributing this achievement to Lucas would intentionally inflate his ego, making him even more blind and overconfident.

A glimmer of understanding flashed in Lucas’s eyes as he commented smoothly, "That’s correct. I do have a new procurement channel, and the prices are considerably lower than the general market."

"If Miss Helen is interested, we can discuss it in detail."

The young lady took a sip of tea and put her cup on the table.

"I’d be delighted."

Outside the garden, several maids serving the young lady busily moved about, delivering desserts, preparing fresh tea. Their swaying skirts revealed glimpses of white silk garters, and their small leather shoes crunched intermittently on the pebbled path.

Further away, a few birds perched on the outer wall of the manor. Their black feathers were sleek and dry, completely unlike those that had just weathered a storm.

Perched atop the wall, their round eyes stared toward the two sipping tea in the distance. After an unknown length of time, the birds spread their wings. A palm-sized shadow blotted the tiles as they flew northwest, toward the Imperial Palace.

.............

Unlike the capital, which could still barely maintain a calm surface, the frigid northern frontier was already steeped in a thick scent of blood.

Under a blood-red sunset, a pitch-black fortress stood silently upon the frozen tundra. Like an eternal giant standing upright, it faces northwest. The layered stone bricks forming its outer walls resemble neatly stacked, solid muscles. Magic circles pulsing with energy served as the intricate textures on its skin, while the labyrinthine roads beneath were like dense veins, continuously pumping sustenance to the frontlines.

This was the Liya Tower Fortress, the first line of defense for the Valeria Empire against attacks from the Kingdom of Velys.

Pure white knight’s boots crunched over a thin layer of ice, creating brittle sounds like shattered glass. A cascade of soft pink hair spilled from between armor and woolen cloak, revealing the delicate curve of a maiden’s earlobe.

Lyra gently stroked the sword at her waist. Her legs, sheathed in gleaming silver armor and warm white tights, crossed one in front of the other. The heels of her boots sank into the thin snow, producing a rustling sound as she walked. Her gaze fell upon the wall below, a patch of blood frozen like a rose in ice.

Over the past three weeks, the Kingdom of Velys had launched numerous consecutive attacks. This vast, empty tundra before her was now littered with thousands of severed limbs and corpses.

The thunderous explosions of fire, the crisp clang of metal, and the howling wind at her ears, all merged into a cacophony, forming a symphony of the bloody battlefield.

In just a few short weeks, Lyra had lost count of how many soldiers she had killed. Merely standing atop the fortress walls, activating defensive magic circles to unleash devastating spells from above, watching lives extinguish from such a distance, she still felt an intense trembling within.

She was taking lives, and those struck by magic seemed to die without meaning, each death merely draining a mage’s mental energy, chipping away at the wall’s durability, or depleting the energy of the elemental crystals powering the defenses.

Lyra disliked equating life with specific objects, as though their actual worth was no different from those crystals, arrows, or mana reserves.

Yet, standing here, between casting spells, she couldn’t help but ponder things she’d never considered before.

Where exactly did the value of life lie? In this prolonged siege, no answer seemed evident.

The only thing clear is this: Lyra Beckett was a citizen of the Valeria Empire and a fortress defender. All she could do was ensure this bloodshed never reached the people behind the lines who deserved to live normal lives.

She couldn’t allow more lives to become meaningless, mowed down like weeds by a scythe.

Standing atop the wall and gazing into the distance, it wasn’t long before snowflakes blanketed her shoulders. She gently shook her body, and the fine snow scattered around her boots. Some clinging near her calves, melting slightly against her body heat and making the thick white stockings translucent.

She slowly exhaled, a thin wisp of white mist rising from her lips. Lyra no longer looked at the blood-stained mud below the wall. Instead, she lifted her eyes toward the distant enemy outpost, facing Liya Tower Fortress across the frozen expanse.

Even remotely operating magical devices to harvest lives could numb the soul. Close combat, blade-to-blade, blood spraying, would bring even greater pressure.

Perhaps... She should do something to relieve the stress?

After long contemplation, she found no suitable way to vent. Lyra gathered her scattered thoughts and turned her gaze northward once more.

Given the extremely high casualty rate during assaults, the Kingdom of Velys’s morale should logically be low. Yet theirs remains relentless, showing no sign of weakening attacks.

All because of a few words... they became so blindly obedient...

Raised in a remote mountain village, having never encountered any religious beliefs, Lyra struggled to understand the source of their fanaticism.

To them, what was clearly an invasion against the Empire was perceived as the highest honor, sacrifice for the [Lord], a righteousness worth dying to spread.

Was this what the Holy Light Church truly desired?

"Baroness Lyra, your dinner has arrived."

Interrupted from her thoughts by a servant’s voice, Lyra nodded in acknowledgment, turned, and descended the wall. Her peripheral vision caught sight of the massive cannon barrel covered in thin snow, and her steps involuntarily paused.

The Church’s Knightly Order had yet to appear on the frontlines. Rumor had it they were Kingdom of Velys’s true elite, the primary targets of the magical energy cannons.

More slaughter was brewing ahead.

Retreating to the temporary outpost beneath the fortress wall, Lyra encountered an unexpected visitor, Lady Philice, daughter of Duke Charles.

"Lyra, it’s been a long time."

Philice placed the food she brought onto the table and casually sat on a nearby chair, speaking softly.

"...I heard your casualty rate is the lowest along the entire defense line."

As both a peak tier Master Knight and high-ranking officer, Lyra’s strength was elite even among the entire defensive network. Were it not for her lack of combat experience, she’d easily qualify as a battalion commander. Naturally, the defense squad under her protection suffers minimal casualties.

Precisely because of this, the fortress defenders, assigned by Duke Charles to serve under Lyra, held deep respect for this twenty-something commoner genius.

On the battlefield, any commander who could keep soldiers alive while helping them earn merit was the one most worthy of their loyalty.

"Mostly thanks to Duke Charles’s arrangements. Our assigned defense zone is on the weaker flank, facing the least pressure. With fewer attacks, casualties naturally stay low."

Having spoken, Lyra accepted the dinner Philice handed her, a small iron food box containing meat, vegetables, and an unknown filled pie.

"And the soldiers strictly follow discipline, cooperate well. Maintaining formation integrity is also a key factor."

Hearing Lyra attribute all credit to her subordinates, Philice gently smiled.

"You’re too modest, Lyra."

Leadership and troops always went hand in hand. The ability to command soldiers into strict discipline and seamless coordination was itself a talent.

It seemed Lyra wasn’t just strong in power, her leadership aptitude was impressive too. The longer Philice interacted with her, the more astonished she became at this pink-haired knight.

Taking a bite of the pie, filled with hot mashed potatoes and beef cubes, Lyra chewed slowly. After swallowing, she spoke.

"By the way, how did you return to Liya Tower Fortress, Miss Philice?"

She’d previously been transferred to another fortress. She shouldn’t be here at this time.

Philice hesitated slightly upon the question, then spoke after hearing half a minute.

"I told Father I wanted to come to the frontlines to comfort the soldiers."

Father... Duke Charles...

Lyra sipped some heated water, moistening her lips to a pale cherry pink as they parted slightly.

"Was it Duke Charles’s order?"

"Yes."

No sooner had Philice spoken than a brief silence settled over the temporary outpost.

Seeing this, Lyra promptly changed the subject. "I see."

"Even if it’s the Duke’s will, Miss Philice, please remain cautious for your own safety."

Hearing Lyra’s concern, Philice nodded and replied softly.

"I will."

Continuing the conversation, they glanced upon recent battle conditions, the status of both flanks and minor logistical matters, nothing particularly confidential.

Lyra looked sideways. The dining area, besides themselves, held several soldiers eating. Many chatted softly as they ate.

Duke Charles hadn’t appeared on the battlefield for some time. Recent military orders were all issued by his adjutant. Even the various battalion commanders couldn’t bypass the adjutant to meet the Duke in person.

As the highest commander on the border, Duke Charles’s every move influenced the entire Liya Tower Fortress’s morale. His prolonged absence suddenly stirred unease in people’s hearts.

They were human bulwarks defending the Empire’s first line, generally resolved to die if necessary. In such circumstances, Duke Charles was their banner, the unifying force holding them together.

Eating the pie bit by bit, feeling a subtle undercurrent of anxiety spreading through the outpost, Lyra pressed her legs together. The clink of metal armor echoed clearly. Her sky-blue eyes revealed a faint trace of worry.

She was a graduate dispatched from the capital to strengthen the frontier, a former personal maid of Astrid. She knew and had seen far more intelligence than soldiers who’d spent their entire lives in the north.

One of the Empire’s Four Dukes, Duke Charles, vanishing at this critical moment, what could he possibly be doing?

What matter could be more important than ensuring frontier stability?

There was only one answer: securing imperial succession, ensuring Hibbort’s chosen heir ascended smoothly, preventing internal chaos at the Empire’s political center from affecting the frontline war.

The imperial capital might have already changed hands.