As the victor, Isolde's task extended beyond mere conquest—she needed to absorb Lyonesse completely.
Census data, military assets, cultural records—everything required review. To truly rule a nation, one had to master its foundations.
Otherwise, victory would be hollow, leaving her blind to the very resources she now owned.
Isolde was an expert at extraction. She had started by breaking Sylas; now it was time to process the rest of her spoils.
Two days after he'd been "thoroughly drained," Sylas was granted a brief reprieve. But it didn't last. Isolde soon brought him to the royal palace to witness the final dismantling of his nation.
The Royal Study.
Isolde sat at the desk, frowning thoughtfully as she reviewed documents brought by her handmaid.
Sylas knelt silently at her feet, head bowed, face etched with desolation.
The palace stood unchanged—the same architecture, the same halls—but its soul had been replaced.
Lyonesse was gone.
Even if Sylas forbade himself to mourn, sorrow rose like a tide. This was a place he had once fought to protect.
Now it had a new mistress. Even he was but a plaything for her amusement.
"The population is this small? The granaries and treasury are nearly empty. Your Lyonesse was dirt poor. I almost thought you all lived on mud," Isolde remarked scornfully, tossing the ledger onto the floor before Sylas. She continued scanning through the remaining files.
Sylas had a natural reverence for the written word.
Slowly, he picked up the ledger, dusted it off, and set it neatly aside.
Every figure in those records had once been part of Lyonesse's heartbeat. This was his homeland—he couldn't bear to hear it belittled.
"And with this miserable state, you dared to resist Aethelred for three years? Frankly, it's embarrassing," Isolde said, putting down another scroll.
She turned to Sylas, crossed her legs, and used her toe to lift his chin, looking down imperiously.
"I don't even want to read further. It's tiresome. I conquer this wretched land, and now I must govern it too. As a conquered slave, shouldn't you be explaining your country's affairs to me?"
The humiliation cut deeper than any physical violation. It was despair of the soul.
You want me to explain my own country? I never surrendered—I was captured!
He lowered his gaze and said with difficulty, "Your Majesty, as you said, all court officials have sworn loyalty to you. You could simply ask our Chancellor. I am only a man; I know nothing of governance."
"Is that so? Truly know nothing?" Isolde grinned wickedly.
That smile sent a chill through Sylas. He pressed his lips together and mustered his courage. "Truly, I understand only a few petty tricks and schemes, unworthy of Your Majesty's attention."
"You certainly are only good for petty tricks. Even now, you're trying to be clever with me, Sylas. It seems you refuse to learn," Isolde said, giving him a light kick.
Sylas shifted back but didn't fall.
Isolde raised her arm, and he flinched, eyes squeezing shut.
From her tone, he expected a slap. But the blow never came.
Instead, she called to someone outside: "Bring Chancellor Jade to me."
Spared for now, Sylas breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Chancellor Jade had been a pillar of the Lyonesse court—the civil counterpart to his mother Alaric's military leadership.
Her name was Jade: thirty-five years old, known for her grace, integrity, and gentle temperament.
During her tenure, she had served with honesty and dedication, earning deep respect.
She had a daughter named Crystal, seventeen, a young lady of high society. In peaceful times, Sylas might even have married her.
He held Jade in the highest regard. He never imagined she would surrender as well.
But… with the monarch dead, how could anyone demand she die for a lost cause?
In the moments before the Chancellor entered, Isolde leaned down and asked him once more, "Are you certain you won't be honest with me?"
Sylas held firm. "I truly know nothing..."
Isolde actually laughed, clapping her hands.
"Hah! Very well. Our young Lord Sylas has a spine of steel. I love hard backbones—they're chewy and resilient. Don't worry, I'll make you perfectly compliant."
Sylas said nothing. He felt he'd fallen into a trap.
Soon, handmaids escorted Jade into the study, her wrists bound in iron chains.
She had a gentle face and graceful bearing.
Sylas had always called her 'Auntie Jade.'
She had often shown him kindness, inquiring after his well-being and bringing him small gifts.
He never imagined they would meet again like this.
When she entered, he turned his face away, flushed with shame, and stared at the floor.
Forced to her knees, Jade didn't resist. Dragging her chains, she looked sorrowfully at Sylas and whispered, "Sylas… are you alright?"
"Auntie Jade…" He shook his head slightly, signaling her not to ask.
Look at me. What do you think? If I told you, you wouldn't want to hear.
"Let's save the reunion for later," Isolde cut in, holding a scroll and smirking. "Chancellor Jade, I have some questions. I hope you will be… cooperative."
Jade sighed deeply, a bitter smile on her lips. "Please ask, Your Majesty."
"What was Lyonesse most famous for?"
"Its swordswomen," Jade replied. "The capital, Ravenhold, was renowned across the lands for its knights and master bladesmiths. A pity… their weapons could not pierce the plate armor of Aethelred's Paladins…"
The swordswomen of Ravenhold were indeed legendary. Lyonesse bred many knights-errant.
But their blades were light and elegant—no match for the crushing might of enchanted steel.
After three years of struggle, the kingdom had fallen.
Isolde snorted. "Knights-errant? Mere performers. Let me ask another thing. What was the name of the most prestigious academy in Ravenhold?"
Hearing this, Sylas shuddered. He looked up at Jade in fear, eyes pleading.
Jade met his gaze, then looked away. Softly, she answered, "I… do not know."
"You don't know?" Isolde wasn't angry. She reached out and patted Sylas's head, smiling. "Then your daughter, Crystal, must know, right?"
"Your Majesty…" Jade panicked. She kowtowed quickly. "Your Majesty, my daughter knows nothing! She is just a foolish girl who sleeps all day and understands nothing!"
Isolde's voice turned cold. "She sounds useless, then. Best to execute her. Saves food."
"No, no! Your Majesty! I have only one daughter! My husband died over a decade ago… she is my only family…" Jade was so distraught she could barely speak.
She tried to crawl forward and beg, but the handmaids pulled her chains, holding her back.
Watching, Sylas's heart sank.
So this was why Jade had surrendered—for her daughter. Ah, a parent's love. It seemed he was about to be betrayed.
He looked despairingly at Jade, who returned his gaze with profound shame, whispering, "Sylas… don't blame Auntie Jade..."
Isolde said triumphantly, "Will you speak now?"
Jade's lips trembled. "It was… the Institute… affiliated with the Duke's manor…"
"Oh? Really? And who established this Institute?" Isolde pressed, her voice dripping with false curiosity.
"…Sylas did."
Sylas went limp, collapsing onto the floor in defeat.
Isolde wasn't finished. Seeing Sylas utterly broken filled her with dark delight.
So you want to be stubborn? Just wait. Soon, you'll be begging.