Spring turned to autumn, and the year was now 2518 in the Imperial calendar.
Bretonnia once again experienced an abundant harvest. The people expressed their gratitude to the Lady of the Lake for her divine blessings and to King Ryan for his wise governance. Under the Lake Church's initiative, a collective petition was made to bestow upon the great Knight King Ryan a prestigious title: "The Sun King." From that moment, Ryan's nickname changed from "Ryan the Pious" to "Ryan the Sun King."
In the summer, the new royal palace in Mousillon was nearly complete, and Ryan named it Fontainebleau Palace.
Alfred, now elevated to the rank of Cardinal, returned to Bretonnia after enduring countless hardships. As Ryan had predicted, Archbishop Vikma did not provide Alfred with a ready-made administrative team but instead generously granted him the authority to assemble his own staff. This led many to speculate whether the Church of Justice would split into Eastern and Western factions.
Grand Lector Esme III publicly challenged Alfred within the Church, questioning whether the patriarch was truly himself or if he had died in battle and been resurrected by necromantic magic or some other dark sorcery.
Despite Archbishop Vikma's support, Alfred struggled to explain how he survived such perilous conditions on the battlefield, having been gravely injured and swept away by the freezing waters of the Talabec River for hours. Alfred could only vaguely claim that he wasn't sure what had happened. He awoke to find himself lying on a stone slab, possibly saved by passing elves.
In simpler terms, Alfred faced political scrutiny. Until he could satisfactorily explain his separation from his forces and his survival, he was subjected to numerous "loyalty tests" and "purity examinations."
Alfred could only endure his frustration in silence. Surviving at all was already a stroke of great luck.
In the end, Emperor Karl Franz intervened. With Archbishop Vikma's backing, the emperor declared Alfred innocent and personally vouched for his loyalty to humanity and the gods.
Esme III, aware that he needed the emperor's support to become High Priest, ultimately relented. After confirming that Alfred was not an undead creature, he dropped the accusations, allowing Alfred to finally assume the rank of Cardinal.
This left Ryan owing Emperor Karl Franz a significant favor. After reading the news sent by Talleyrand, Ryan couldn't help but smile wryly. As expected of Emperor Karl Franz—his confidant and friend—a ruler who had mastered the art of political maneuvering and diplomacy to perfection. If the Empire's system didn't make centralization so difficult, Karl Franz could have achieved far greater things instead of spending 20 years fighting with the Elector Counts.
In the private office of Fontainebleau Palace, King Ryan sat behind his desk, reviewing a series of reports. The Lake Witch Morgiana sat on his lap, her cheeks flushed as she leaned against his chest. She spoke lazily, her voice soft and enchanting, like bubbles rising in water. Morgiana wore a pink-and-white sequined winter dress that clung to her figure, with a plunging neckline that revealed her ample cleavage. Below the knee-length hemline, she wore semi-transparent white unicorn-patterned stockings paired with 5-centimeter open-toe heels. Through the sheer fabric of her stockings, the tips of her rosy toes were faintly visible. Her elegant and stunning appearance exuded a unique allure when she was alone with Ryan.
That afternoon, Morgiana had noticed that Ryan was working alone, with Sulia busy hosting an afternoon tea party elsewhere. She seized the opportunity to sneak into his office, refusing to leave his side. Ryan, unable to resist her, set aside his paperwork and indulged her until she was content. Now, he held her close, continuing to review his documents while chatting with her.
Ever since establishing a deeper relationship with Ryan, Morgiana had found emotional solace and physical reliance in him. The Lake Witch was deeply satisfied with her new life. Her once cold and eccentric demeanor had softened considerably. Now, she lay limp in Ryan's arms like a noodle, watching him work with a sense of blissful contentment, as though she possessed the entire world.
"Why do you keep staring at me, Morgiana?" Ryan asked with a laugh, noticing her gaze fixed on him. He was already dressed in a fresh set of clothes and couldn't help but chuckle. "You're making me feel self-conscious—I can't concentrate on my work."
"I… um…" Morgiana blushed deeply, wrapping her soft arms around Ryan's neck. She lowered her gaze, her voice trembling with embarrassment. "Do you ever feel burdened or stressed being with me? I know I have a bad temper, and I don't always say nice things."
"Hahaha!" Ryan put down his pen and laughed heartily. "So you're aware of that, Morgiana!"
"What?!" Morgiana's cheeks puffed up indignantly at his teasing. She pounded his chest lightly with her small fist, glaring at him in mock anger. "Ryan! Do you know what you're saying?"
"What am I saying?" Ryan smirked mischievously, lowering his hand to press a certain spot. Morgiana gasped, her hands darting to hold down her skirt. "Ah! Th-that's for ladies…"
"Just be yourself, Morgiana," Ryan said, letting the matter drop. He simply held her close, both of them savoring the lingering warmth of their earlier intimacy. His hand idly caressed her silk-clad legs, while Morgiana, completely at ease, let him do as he pleased. When Ryan playfully pulled out a black scarf, she willingly took it, blindfolded herself, and rested against his chest as if napping. Her legs, clad in white stockings, swayed gently, a sign of her exceedingly good mood.
As Ryan picked up another document, he casually remarked, "Boris Todbringer has officially led the Middenheim army to launch a 'campaign' against the beastmen tribes of the Drakwald Forest. Meanwhile, the newly crowned Supreme Beastlord of the Drakwald, Kazrak One-Eye, is leading the beastmen in a 'counter-campaign.' The two sides have clashed several times within the forest, with mixed results."
Blindfolded with the black scarf, Morgiana responded lazily, "Boris has always believed he could replicate your victories at the Battle of the Painful Marshes or the Three Kings' War. Those battles shattered the beastmen's backbone."
"Yes, but Kazrak One-Eye is under no obligation, unlike Gorthor the Cruel, to stop our forces at all costs," Ryan agreed. "Kazrak employs guerrilla and hit-and-run tactics, engaging Boris only under highly favorable conditions."
"Boris fell into Kazrak's ambush twice, but the beastmen lack elite units or decisive forces capable of clinching a victory. Boris, though somewhat reckless, is exceptionally brave and adept at improvising in battle. Before the beastmen could overwhelm the Middenheim army with sheer numbers, Boris had already regrouped, leading to stalemates both times," Ryan explained.
"Mm-hmm," Morgiana murmured, listening without much comment.
"The third time, Kazrak attempted the same strategy, but Boris learned from his mistakes. He feigned falling into another trap with a small force while positioning his main army for a counter-ambush. At the Battle of Zagbad, the beastmen suffered a crushing defeat. However, Kazrak, a legendary Beastlord with decades of experience, detected the trap just in time. He retreated with his guard before Boris could complete the encirclement. The campaign ended with a minor victory for Boris Todbringer," Ryan concluded.
As he recounted the details, the door to the office opened. Olica, dressed in a black-and-white maid outfit with ultra-sheer white fluorescent tights and black ribboned high heels, entered the room. Today, the Dark Elf was not wearing her usual white headscarf but instead donned a rare artifact—a pale, mysterious crown with a "♀" symbol embedded into a rose.
Olica was about to speak when she saw Morgiana nestled against Ryan like a contented kitten. Her face immediately darkened, and she set down the tray she had brought. Her amber eyes gleamed with sarcasm and disdain. "Lady Morgiana, may I offer you some advice?"
Hearing Olica's voice, Morgiana frowned. She removed the blindfold with obvious reluctance and raised her head from Ryan's chest. "This had better be important. Otherwise, don't disturb me and Ryan!"
"Could you perhaps restrain yourself a little?" Olica retorted, her smooth, dusky face full of mockery.
"What are you getting at?" Morgiana asked impatiently.
"Could you stop sneaking into the office in the afternoons?" Olica's tone was equally irritable.
"I'll come here whenever I please!" Morgiana shot back.
"Fine, then you can clean up after yourself next time," Olica said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you know how much extra cleaning I have to do after you've been here? It's not just Master's coat, shirt, and trousers that need washing. I also have to clean the chair cushions, the carpet under the chair, and even the desk. If I don't, the whole room will smell strange within a day or two!"
"Ugh…" Morgiana was left speechless, her cheeks turning crimson as she buried her face in Ryan's chest, too embarrassed to argue further.
"Hahaha!" Ryan burst into laughter.
"Don't laugh! This is all your fault!" Morgiana pouted, covering his mouth with her hand. "Ever since you gave me that mark… it feels so good… How could I possibly resist?"
"Hahaha!"
"Stop laughing!" The Lake Witch's face turned even redder. Thankfully, no one else was present in the room. She struggled to her feet, her legs still slightly weak. After planting a kiss on Ryan's lips, she quickly retreated to her quarters. "I'm going back to rest. See you at dinner."
Throughout the exchange, Ryan remained uninvolved, adhering to the unspoken rule of not intervening in conflicts between his companions.
"Master~" With Morgiana gone, Olica took her place on Ryan's lap. The Dark Elf maid was far bolder, immediately planting a passionate kiss on him. "Master~ Are you really not planning to visit Ulthuan again?"
"No," Ryan replied after their kiss, which lasted over two minutes. "A trip to Ulthuan would take months. I don't have the luxury of time right now. Can't you feel it, Olica? The Winds of Chaos are growing increasingly violent. Another of the Old Ones' Great Guardian Nodes has failed. I can't leave Bretonnia now."
"Such a pity!" Olica feigned disappointment, though her smile betrayed her true feelings. "In just a few months, Ulthuan's Great Vortex will destabilize, and the entire island will be swarmed by Chaos demons. Our cousins will have their hands full~"
"And you're happy about that?" Ryan teased. "Are you planning to join the Chaos demons in slaughtering the High Elves?"
"Historically, the Witch King and the Witch Queen have often allied with Chaos demons or Chaos tribes," Olica replied nonchalantly. "Whenever Chaos tribes launch large-scale invasions, Morathi always negotiates with their warlords and Chaos lords, redirecting them to attack Ulthuan. Who knows what she offers them in return? Perhaps… seduction."
"Hahaha~" Ryan laughed. Why did this remind him of certain historical betrayals?
"So, what exactly do you want to do in Ulthuan, Olica?" he asked.
"To capture slaves, of course, Master!" Olica's amber eyes sparkled with excitement. "While Ulthuan is overrun with demons, we could capture so many of our cousins as slaves! Don't you think it'd be wonderful to replace every maid in the palace with an Elven maid?"
"Uh…" Ryan admitted the idea had its appeal, but he ultimately shook his head. "Forget it, Olica. Now isn't the time to stir up trouble."
"Then let me take your five Grey Knight recruits to Ulthuan," Olica suggested, still unwilling to give up. "I'm sure I could be of great help to you, Master~"
"Absolutely not." Ryan immediately rejected the idea. He couldn't imagine entrusting his five new Grey Knight recruits to Olica. Not only would the Emperor disapprove, but even the current Grey Knight Grand Master would have his head.
"Master, you're so stingy," Olica pouted, her smooth cheeks puffing out adorably. She stood up with a huff, her lips forming a slight pout. "Fine, I'll get back to cleaning."
"Call me when dinner's ready," Ryan said, letting her leave without protest. He knew his Dark Elf maid harbored significant ambition. Like most Dark Elves, Olica's soul was inherently ruthless, bloodthirsty, and greedy. Her obsession with capturing slaves was practically written into her DNA.
As Olica pushed a cart filled with dirty clothes, carpets, and cushions to the laundry, she sighed, murmuring to herself, "Master is wonderful in every way, but he's too conservative. Such a golden opportunity… I could even capture the Everqueen of Avelorn for him."
"Hmm?" Suddenly, Olica's demeanor changed. She pushed the cart aside, her body dissolving into a pale mist faster than the blink of an eye. The artifact dagger Sorrow's Harbinger appeared in her hand as she spread her legs into a battle stance. "Who's there?!"
From the shadows and fading twilight,Yvraine , the chosen of the Eldar Death God, emerged. "I need to speak with the Primarch."
"If you want to see my Master, you'll have to get through me first!" Olica growled.
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