Amidst the absolute chaos unfolding before me, I remained exactly where I was—leaning lazily against one of the tent’s sturdy support poles, arms crossed, silently observing.

  It was glorious. And most importantly?

  Not. My. Fault.

  “Pretender, I need to… sleep,” prince announced, before his ring going went again.

  “Fine,” I whispered and allowed myself a smirk as the bureaucrats and mages spiraled into panic, their carefully structured world collapsing like a glass pyramid during rush hour. Lola scurried closer, pressing herself partially behind me as if I could shield her from whatever nonsense was happening. She peeked around my shoulder, still blinking in confusion.

  “Lady,” she whispered urgently, her fingers gripping the fabric of my sleeve, “do you actually know what’s going on?”

  I hummed, tilting my head as I took in the spectacle. “Yes. Don’t worry. Everything is the same,” I said, completely relaxed. “They’re just freaking out.” I flashed her a grin. “Let’s just sit back, enjoy the show, and get back to work later.”

  It didn’t last.

  Because the moment the imperial attaché noticed me, his reaction was immediate—

  “You!”

  His sharp voice sounded over the tent, and suddenly, the barely-controlled mess of an argument froze as dozens of heads turned toward me.

  I waved lazily, making a point of my unbothered demeanor. “Good afternoon, everyone.” I let my grin widen as I swept a hand over the gathered crowd, watching as their confusion deepened. “I’m Princess Charlie.”

  The attaché, already red in the face, scoffed. “Baronetess.”

  He was a proper imperial dog. In his eyes, I was no princess—just some minor noble, barely worthy of recognition. “This is outrageous!” he barked, storming forward, his long imperial robes billowing slightly as he pushed past the still-stunned mages. “You will pay for this!”

  “It’s her fault?” one of the mages blurted, his exhausted eyes now fully locked onto me. The rest of them—who had previously been losing their minds over the impossibility of what had happened—suddenly found a focal point for their confusion.

  Me.

  “But… how?” another muttered, clearly spiraling between panic and intrigue.

  By the time the attaché reached me, his previous bureaucratic composure was completely shattered.

  The mask of polite, measured control? Gone.

  Instead, his expression twisted into something heated—anger, frustration, accusation. He was furious at me, his face dark with emotion. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself into a semblance of calm, though his fists remained clenched at his sides.

  With slow, measured words, he asked, “How did you prevent Count Itzel from taking over the defense?”

  Ah.

  So that was what this was about.

  I pushed off the pole, straightening as I composed myself.

  “Who is Count Itzel, and why would he be taking over the defense?” I asked, my tone even and measured. It would’ve been too easy to provoke the attaché—to push him into a fit of bureaucratic rage just to watch him sputter. But that would be childish.

  And I wasn’t a child anymore.

  … Most of the time.

  Still, his question was weird. I had never heard of a Count Itzel before. But that wasn’t exactly shocking—there were so many lower nobles littering the empire’s hierarchy that not even I, a tester who had dedicated more time to this world than most, could remember all of them.

  The attaché snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t play innocent. It won’t work on me.”

  I glanced around the room, searching for anyone who might share my confusion, but all I saw were wary, expectant faces. The tension in the air was thick, and for the first time since stepping into this tent, I wasn’t sure whether the crowd was on my side—or if they were about to turn on me.

  Still, I blinked, letting my genuine confusion slip into my voice. “I really don’t know who he is.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Then—

  “How did you break the fabric?” one of the mages blurted out. And that was all it took. The floodgates burst open.

  Dozens of voices overlapped, mages hurling rapid-fire questions filled with technical magical terms I had zero hope of deciphering. Some of them sounded vaguely familiar—like pieces of patch notes I had skimmed and immediately ignored—but most of them?

  Completely meaningless to me. A headache was forming.

  “Silence!” the attaché barked, his fury surging back to the surface like an overfilled bottle spilling over. The force of his voice overpowered the noise.

  His glare swung back to me, burning with accusation. “I am the one questioning her!” he snapped, his voice low. “Baronetess, answer.” I stared at him. Fought the urge to facepalm with every fiber of my being.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I lost.

  My hand slapped against my face before I could stop myself. “Are you stupid or what?” The words slipped out before my brain could even attempt to filter them. A horrified silence settled over the room.

  I inhaled sharply. Then exhaled. Deep, slow. Composed.

  “I have no idea who that man is,” I said, intoning each word carefully, as if explaining something very, very simple to someone who had been dropped on their head as a child.

  “There is no plot, no ulterior motive. Irwen summoned demons and broke the world.”

  The words settled like a heavy stone in the room.

  “It was your mother?” The first mage to speak was standing slightly apart from the others, his posture rigid with disbelief. There was something about him—the way the others instinctively gave him space, the way they turned subtly toward him as if waiting for his lead—that made it clear. He was the most important mage here.

  I glanced at him, my curiosity piqued. “What’s your name?”

  “Master Mage Maara, Lady.” His voice held the heavy weight of exhaustion, the kind of resignation that only came from having everything you understood about your craft ripped away overnight. “I’m an expert in teleportation… at least, I was until recently.” His eyes flickered toward the massive, completely useless portal behind us. “I led the construction of this teleport.”

  Ah.

  That explained the utter devastation in his tone.

  Before I could respond, the attaché begged for attention in with an impatient scoff. “That is not important.” He waved a dismissive hand, stepping forward, his gaze locking onto me. “You just admitted it was your mother who did this, on your behalf, so you could—”

  So that’s what this was. He was part of whatever plot was meant to keep me from taking power.

  An enemy, then.

  A slow smile curled at my lips. “It’s in your head, old man,” I said, my voice full with mocking amusement. “Your head is broken now that your friend can’t come, isn’t it?” I tilted my head, watching him carefully, reveling in the way his eye twitched. “You just can’t take the loss, can you?”

  The attaché froze, his mouth parting slightly, but no words came out. Bingo.

  “So shut up while adults are talking,” I continued smoothly. “I don’t have time for your nonsense—we have a battle to fight.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “Talk with Lola.”

  Lola, who had been attempting to blend into the background, jumped slightly at the sudden attention.

  “She’s my assistant,” I continued, my tone all casual confidence as if I hadn’t just shattered the attaché’s already fragile grasp on reality. “Report me to the Empire, complain all you want. I don’t care.”

  The attaché’s face went a shade paler. His world, which had already been crumbling, had just collapsed entirely.

  Good.

  With that handled, I turned back to Maara, who had been watching the exchange with a calculating gaze, his fingers tapping absently against his sleeve as if running through theories in his head.

  “So, Master Maara,” I said, my voice slipping back to something closer to business-like. “As far as I know, my mother—back when she originally created the spell—used the fabric of reality itself to weave it together.”

  There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. The gathered mages nodded. As if that was… normal.

  Oh, well.

  “She somehow, details shaky at best, managed to strike a bargain with a demon,” I continued, pacing slightly as I thought it through. “What we… I mean what I suspect is that in exchange for power, she paid the price of lowering our realm’s defenses to a demon invasion.” I gestured toward the very far away but extremely large proof of that happening.

  “It kinda makes sense, right?” I shrugged. “Without lowering defenses, she wouldn’t have been able to summon them at all.”

  Maara let out a slow, almost reverent breath.

  “A mythic spell powered by reality,” he murmured, almost dreamily, his eyes taking on the distant look of a man who had just stumbled upon forbidden knowledge. Then, so softly, I almost missed it. “I wish I could talk to her about it.”

  Behind me, I could hear the attaché, very angry, his words clipped and sharply enunciated as he all but cornered Lola into conversation. I turned slightly, catching a glimpse of her—holding her papers to her chest like a shield, her entire posture tense as she nodded along mechanically to whatever bureaucratic nonsense he was spewing.

  I caught her eye and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  With a small smirk, I turned back to Maara, who was still standing exactly where he had been—slightly apart from the other mages, his arms now crossed in deep thought. “Well,” I said, tilting my head, “if you join the civilians instead of the defenders, you may have a chance to talk to her.”

  His lips parted slightly, but I didn’t give him time to follow that train of thought. “But right now,” I continued, “I need you to report what has been done with the teleport.”

  Maara straightened, nodding once before slipping effortlessly into mage mode.

  “Lady, we configured the parameters to align with the ethereal resonance grid, stabilizing the planar interference by recalibrating the arcane dampening thresholds and fine-tuning the mana lattice harmonics.” He gestured toward the massive, still-failing teleportation arch. “We even attempted to reinforce the rift anchors with sigil-based astral compression, but—”

  I raised a hand, firmly. “No. Stop.” He blinked. “Were you able to communicate before it all went down?” I asked, cutting straight to what actually mattered.

  “Yes.” He nodded, his expression turning slightly grim. “The attaché was impatient, and they were sending imperial messages through the network. The last message was that the Count will reinforce the army in the evening in two days.” A pause. Then, softer, more hesitant—“Lady… what happens now? Is our craft… gone?”

  His voice carried weight. I glanced around, realizing—really realizing—that every mage in the room was watching me. Not as a ruler. Not as an enemy. But as someone who might actually have an answer. And for the first time, something cold and heavy settled in my gut.

  Until now, I hadn’t even considered what this would do to the mages—to their livelihoods. Teleportation wasn’t just some convenient fast-travel button. It was the pinnacle of magical achievement for so many of them. A craft they had dedicated their lives to mastering. And in an instant?

  Gone.

  Was I too self-centered? Too focused on my own battles to see what this meant for them? I inhaled. Then exhaled. “I’m afraid that long-range teleportation is unavailable now.” My voice was even. “But very short-range teleportation—within a mile or so—should still work.”

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. “Maybe the Empire will commission the construction of short-term relay stations?” I offered, thinking aloud. “Or—”

  “Yes!”

  I had already lost him. Not just him—all of them. Maara turned instantly to the other mages, his defeated expression now replaced with something fiercely focused, intensely alive. Within seconds, they had launched into rapid discussion, excitedly bouncing theories and possible alternatives off each other, sketching sigils in the air with quick, practiced gestures.

  Their world had collapsed—but instead of mourning it, they were already rebuilding it. It was exactly the kind of moment that demanded a dramatic entrance.

  And Imperial Doan-Commander Mila, in all of his serious, no-nonsense glory, stormed into the tent like a man on a mission. The air shifted instantly. Conversation died.

  Mages, soldiers, even the attaché—all instinctively parted, clearing a direct path through the sea of bodies as Mila’s sharp gaze swept the room, searching.

  It took him less than two seconds to spot me. And then, without hesitation, he strode forward.

  He moved with the deliberate confidence of a man who had no time for obstacles—every step smooth, purposeful. The crowd adjusted automatically to his approach, the weight of his presence undeniable. He stopped before me, offering a precise salute before dipping into a slight bow.

  “Lady,” he said, his voice a perfect blend of authority and urgency. “Our scouts have calculated the enemy army’s preliminary strength and speed. They are marching directly toward us and will reach East Klippe around noon—in two days.”

  I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple. “So…” I mused, my voice casual—too casual—as I thought aloud. “… The reinforcements will arrive four hours after that?”

  No one answered. They didn’t need to.

  Because of course they would.