Chapter 45
At Lia’s question, Sofia spoke quickly.
“It was truly shining golden hair. And I even heard the name—they called him ‘Valdemar.’”
“Valdemar Zaccador…”
Lia murmured softly. Sofia gave a solemn nod.
It was indeed the Zaccador Crown Prince. In her past life, Prince Valdemar had once spoken to her, the Seventh Princess Consort, saying he had visited Biantica.
“Could he have come for travel? Maybe they really do intend peace this time,” Violet said.
Sofia firmly agreed.
Nearby, a man who had been watching Lia approached and joined in.
“Such an interesting conversation. Since you’ve shared precious information, I’ll also share something. Recently, our envoys who went to Zaccador are scheduled to return safely.”
Lia’s mind grew even more tangled.
The Zaccador Crown Prince leisurely came on a trip, Sharai was no longer seen as barbarians, envoys traveled safely between the two empires…
“Oh my! Then maybe this time it’s real? Will true peace finally come to the continent?”
Sofia beamed. The man smiled meaningfully, his gaze fixed on Lia.
“Our envoys are returning safely—together with Duke Howard.”
“What? Wasn’t he in the North?”
This time, Lia was the one who asked. The man chuckled softly and whispered:
“No. It was for the subjugation of Molkia with the Zaccador allied army. This is confidential, so only you, Lady Lia, and you two ladies may know. I trust your honor.”
Violet gasped and covered her mouth. Sofia, wide-eyed, asked,
“C-could it be… a holy war against heretics?”
“You ladies truly have deep faith.”
The man praised them briefly, then continued.
“Molkia is a den of heretics. At the Nymphs’ request, our empire joined forces with Zaccador. I, Oliver Jiménez, personally guarantee this news, so you may believe it.”
The nobleman Oliver Jiménez tapped his chest proudly.
Ah… Lia let out a quiet sigh.
It felt like being struck on the back of her head.
So Flint Howard’s absence wasn’t an inspection of the North—it was a war!
She had not replied to his letter because it gave no details, not even the destination. She wanted to make that stone-hearted man impatient.
If I’d known, I should have written back. I should have asked where he was going.
But then she concluded—he wouldn’t have told her anyway.
Of course. How could he share military secrets?
When she thought about it calmly, not stating his destination wasn’t unreasonable. And knowing Flint’s iron nature, he was probably too busy swinging his sword on the battlefield to spare a thought for anything else.
“They say Duke Howard’s secret deployment was the Crown Prince’s idea,” Oliver added.
Sofia’s eyes sparkled.
“Our Crown Prince truly has great courage. He must resent Zaccador deeply.”
Lia felt sweat forming in her palms.
So before my marriage in my past life, was it Molkia that Duke Howard had conquered? Soon the Nymphs’ Holy See will send a congratulatory letter for victory in the holy war. Then peace will flow like water. Perhaps it has already arrived.
Lia’s heart pounded with anxiety. Her stomach churned, and she wanted to throw up everything she had eaten.
“Then Duke Howard will return just in time for the ball.”
“Yes, he will.”
“Will he hold his victory celebration together with his future duchess?”
“Perhaps the Crown Prince foresaw all this when he decided to open the grand ballroom of the palace.”
Sofia and Violet chatted with Oliver, but Lia could no longer hear them clearly.
The decisive moment to give Flint Howard courage was drawing near.
Lia’s green eyes burned with determination.
News of Duke Howard’s great victory in Molkia soon spread officially.
That Biantica’s famed general had marched with Zaccador’s allied army stirred the continent.
The people of both empires, divided by the three-year war—sparked when Biantica’s Crown Prince disappeared while serving as envoy to Zaccador’s Lynsgen—now wondered if true peace might finally come. Yet mistrust remained.
Still, the continent was regaining vitality.
Meanwhile, the Nymphs’ Holy See declared the joint conquest of Molkia a sacred war to punish heretics. They sent letters of blessing to both empires, urging them to serve as an example of peace. In short—stop fighting and live in harmony.
After destroying a common enemy, the two empires looked closer than ever.
Even Emperor Leopold of Biantica, tormented by Zaccador madness, laughed heartily as he welcomed Zaccador’s envoys to the palace.
“In the end, aren’t Zaccador and Biantica of one blood?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
“After all, the first emperors of both empires were born on the same day. You speak the truth.”
Whenever convenient, the two empires recalled that their first emperors were twin siblings.
Those twins had once fought over who would rule, splitting the land in half. Their descendants faithfully inherited that nature—sometimes joining hands in sincere cooperation, sometimes plotting betrayal.
And yes, they had struck each other hard—just as Zaccador had tried to kill Biantica’s Crown Prince envoy in Lynsgen, Biantica too had its own treacherous history.
During the reign of the late Emperor Pedro, a Zaccador princess and her husband, serving as envoys, had died in Biantica. Zaccador had erupted in fury. Biantica claimed they had fled, weary of bloody succession struggles, seeking freedom. But the idea of a healthy noble couple eloping was laughable. War, of course, followed.
Yet, there were also times when the two empires grew close and shared spoils. At such times, envoys were warmly welcomed and returned safely.
“What a barbaric little island nation. I found it strange from the moment the Holy See recognized tiny Molkia as a country. His Holiness was hasty. In the end, Molkia murdered Zaccador’s envoys and sheltered heretics! Even if they were heretics, killing envoys is beyond reason. Bah! Alexander must feel troubled.”
Emperor Leopold criticized openly, spitting words without pause.
“Yes, indeed. Our Great Sun was enraged. To have Your Majesty of Biantica understand our heart—surely our Great Sun will be pleased,” said a Zaccador noble.
If other nations overheard, they would be dumbfounded. Weren’t you the ones who first killed envoys? they would scoff. Many often wondered what on earth ran through those people’s minds.
Other countries wished the two empires would destroy each other, dreaming of their own rise. Meanwhile, barbarians and heretics continued to appear, raiding the continent and disturbing temples.
Thus, under the name of peace, the two empires allied to exploit one another. That was the main reason their bond never completely broke.
“Your Majesty, what shall we do with the remains of the late Duchess Howard you ordered to be kept safe? Since Duke Howard is absent, should we deliver them to the Russell family?”
The Russell family was the late duchess’s natal house, and thus Flint’s maternal relatives. Since the remains would eventually go to the Howard family anyway, it might be reasonable to entrust them there for now.
At the question, Emperor Leopold rested his chin on his hand, thought quietly, then replied:
“No. The late duchess was a Howard, not a Russell. Her remains must go directly to her son. Keep them safe.”
Just as Oliver Jiménez had said, Duke Howard returned from the Molkia campaign in time for the ball.
He invited countless guests to the grand celebration he hosted. Unlike his close friend the Crown Prince Heriath, Flint Howard had never involved himself in social events. He had never once hosted a gathering at his mansion.
So when word spread that the tightly-shut Howard residence in the capital would open, everyone was astonished. The invitations skyrocketed in value.
Because the ball was arranged so hastily, stewards rushed from the northern estate to the capital. Flint Howard, a soldier to his core, had no talent for directing a grand ball. With no wife to support him, even his retainers rolled up their sleeves.
“Why hold a ball all of a sudden? He’s never cared for them.”
The retainers soon realized his true intent.
“He must really be planning to marry! He’s going to choose a bride from the ladies of the capital!”
With their hopes burning, they sent out countless invitations, even to noble ladies from the North who made the journey despite the cost, dreaming of becoming duchess.
But whether Flint intended it or not, the first ball he ever hosted in the capital quickly became known as a “bride-selection ball.” The Crown Prince’s eager meddling only fueled this.
Since so many young ladies gathered, unmarried noblemen swarmed too. Invitations were demanded in droves.
What began as a ball for one night stretched to five days. To fit the swelling numbers, the venue was moved to the palace’s grand ballroom—again, thanks to the Crown Prince’s push.
The scale grew so massive that those preparing nearly collapsed with exhaustion. But for the sake of a future duchess, they gave their all.
On the first night, the so-called “bride-selection ball” turned into cautious scouting. Some searched for proper matches, while ladies who dreamed of becoming duchess sized up their rivals. Others simply sought noble connections. Countless eyes, filled with personal desires, darted across the hall.
Flint, who should have been busy looking, only appeared briefly, then vanished. His face showed clear disappointment—because Lia had not come.
The retainers, clueless to his heart, whispered that prettier ladies would arrive the next day.
On the second day, Flint didn’t appear at all. He stayed shut in a guest chamber at the palace, reviewing documents or summoning only military officials. Whenever someone heard he was with a woman and ran over, it was always just political talk. The retainers began to worry.
On the third day, Flint didn’t even enter the palace.
The ball, lacking its host, devolved into nothing more than a marriage market.
The supposed groom hadn’t appeared for two days, so the guests naturally paired off among themselves.
The Crown Prince and the Howard retainers grew desperate. Young ladies they had considered as potential duchesses were turning their eyes to other men. Couples slipped away to the terrace. Even the northern ladies, disappointed, began looking at capital noblemen.
Some capital men, charmed by their bold northern spirit, eagerly asked them out.
When reminded that they had come hoping to become duchess, many snapped back in frustration.
“The man doesn’t even care about me! Do you know how much this trip cost? Ugh, that’s northern men for you! I was crazy to expect anything!”
Another lady scoffed that she preferred smooth-talking capital men over rough northern brutes. Flint, in their eyes, was nothing but a lump of iron, forgotten in a corner. Some admitted they would rather marry into the warm, glittering capital than freeze in the barren North.
“Honestly, Duke Howard is the very picture of a northern man…”
The words, though politely phrased, carried no flattery. Everyone understood their true meaning.
Even Flint’s value was falling. The retainers felt their plan crumbling into dust.
A few determined ladies still pressed the retainers, asking when Duke Howard would appear. But the moment they spotted a handsome man, they laughed and drifted over without hesitation.
This wasn’t just failure—it was utter ruin, leaving nothing but ashes. It felt like betting everything on a perfect hand of cards, only to lose it all.
No—it felt like someone had stormed in, flipped the table, and ruined the game. And that someone was their own lord. The retainers were so shocked they could hardly breathe.
They wanted to seize that iron man by the collar and drag him into the ballroom. They even fantasized about committing the first-ever mutiny against their master.
By the final day of the ball, the Crown Prince could no longer hold back. He decided to act in place of Flint’s desperate retainers. He would drag Flint into the ballroom himself and kick him straight inside if needed. As Crown Prince, he had the right.
“Your Highness! Please, do something about our Duke!”
“At this rate, Flint will never marry—he’ll just rot away in the North!”
“Please grab him by the collar and force him into the ballroom! Once the ladies see his dignified figure again, they’ll fall for him. We can’t waste this chance!”
I thought the ball was planned way before the victory??