Another autumn arrived at the Chancellor's Manor in Stonewold.
Leaves rustled down in endless whispers.
Yet the servants of the manor swept the grounds with unwavering diligence.
For one, Her Majesty was now practically residing at the manor—slacking was not an option under her watch.
Secondly, the steward, Byron, was strict yet fair, diligent with both discipline and rewards, which kept everyone motivated.
As the maids worked, a tall, slender figure walked past a pile of dried leaves, a stack of books in hand.
The servants greeted him respectfully, "Byron, still hard at work?"
Sylas was deep in thought.
Hearing them, he responded with a faint smile, "You're the ones working hard. Please, carry on."
The situation at the front weighed heavily on his mind—his thoughts constantly drifting to the Jade Wall.
In his dreams, he could even hear the chaos of battle—the shouting and screaming beneath the fortress walls.
Daily battle reports came in.
From what he gathered, Isolde had suffered tremendous losses at the Jade Wall.
Even with a hundred thousand elite troops, seizing that protruding stronghold seemed impossible.
By Gwendolyn's estimates, the Aethelred army had already lost more than thirty thousand soldiers.
That number sent a chill down Sylas's spine, hatred for Aethelred aside.
If Isolde didn't withdraw soon, the Aethelred elite would be completely wiped out.
He wasn't glad so many had died.
But he did feel a sense of grim relief.
Only by making Isolde taste defeat could he hope to negotiate from a position of strength.
He walked on, lost in reflection, until he stopped outside a study.
A question lingered in his mind—would Isolde really retreat?
Sylas laughed mockingly at himself.
There was no point dwelling on it. Better to focus on what was in front of him.
Such as tutoring Mirabel on Gwendolyn's behalf.
The moment Isolde launched her attack, there was no longer any need for Sylas to remain hidden.
If Stonewold won, Isolde could do nothing to him.
If Stonewold lost… well, things wouldn't end well for him either.
So when Gwendolyn asked him to start working, he didn't refuse.
Allocating military supplies and assisting the young Empress had become his daily routine.
Sylas stepped into the study.
The moment he opened the door,he saw a young girl hurriedly hiding a toy behind her back.
Caught red-handed, Mirabel offered an awkward smile. "Byron … I wasn't playing, I was just putting it away…"
Sylas lowered his gaze. He could only relent.
"Mmm. Then put it away properly."
"Your Majesty, these are today's lessons, along with the memorials that need your review.
The situation at Pass requires your attention—Victoria is trying to break through."
The Jade Wall was a mess, completely surrounded by Isolde's forces.
For now, it didn't need reinforcements.
Matters like these were exhausting even for Sylas to handle.
So at most, he had Mirabel review the battle reports from the Pass.
The situation there was relatively clear: Victoria was attacking, and the stoneworld generals were holding the line.
But Mirabel was already complaining.
She propped her head up with her hands, looking utterly pitiful. "Byron, I'm tired."
"Your Majesty, it's not even noon. You haven't even started your lessons."
Sylas patiently opened the book she was supposed to read and placed it in front of her.
"My head hurts."
Mirabel continued to play the pity card.
Sylas was speechless.
He really didn't enjoy dealing with people who lacked ambition.
Over the past year, he'd come to prefer someone like Gwendolyn—a mature, composed older sister.
But now, Gwendolyn had tasked him with looking after this unruly Mirabel, and it was pure agony.
His position was awkward—he couldn't scold her, but he couldn't let her slack off either.
All he could do was coax gently, "Your Majesty, it's not much.
Just read one page. One page.
When the Chancellor returns, you'll have something to show her."
"But my head really hurts."
Mirabel said earnestly, pointing to her temple.
"Feel it if you don't believe me. It's throbbing."
Extremely helpless, Sylas reached out and pressed his slender fingers petulantly against the girl's forehead.
He watched as her face flushed red the moment they made contact.
Sylas withdrew his hand, puzzled.
"It's not throbbing much, Your Majesty. Stop fooling around and read your book."
"Don't wanna…"
Mirabel flopped onto the desk, giving up entirely.
Auntie Gwendolyn wasn't here—she didn't want to study.
"Hah…"
Sylas let out a long, frustrated sigh. Suppressing the irritation in his chest, he sat down opposite
Mirabel and said nothing more.
He didn't want to persuade her anymore. Instead, he took out a letter and stared at its contents.
It was a message Isolde had sent after learning of his whereabouts.
The letter itself was formally written.
But attached was a Memory Orb.
Inside were images of his daughter, Selene.
A soft, fair little dumpling who slept after eating and ate after sleeping—truly very well-behaved.
Isolde hadn't written a single excessive word, but the Memory Orb was devastatingly effective.
Sometimes, Sylas looked at the images and wept silently.
He even thought, Maybe I should just go back. The worst-case scenario is that I get my limbs chopped off by her.
But reason warned him: Don't fall for it. Going back now would make you the biggest fool in the world.
Now, Sylas laughed at himself.
And he had once talked about driving a wedge between Isolde and Victoria.
With just one letter, she had him restless and uneasy.
This was truly a strike straight at the heart.
He wore a bitter, self-mocking smile.
Mirabel felt a little embarrassed.
It wasn't nice to keep making the pretty man angry.
She pursed her lips and said apologetically, "Byron, what are you looking at?"
"Just a letter. It's nothing," Sylas replied, collecting his thoughts and tucking the letter away, his expression calm.
"Oh."
Mirabel flopped back onto the desk lazily. "Byron, I miss Auntie. Do you miss her?"
Sylas: "A little. When the Chancellor returns, Your Majesty will have to study properly."
"But I don't want to study," Mirabel said willfully.
Suddenly, she perked up. "Byron, what if I abdicate and let Auntie take the throne? Then I could still be Crown Princess."
Sylas smiled bitterly. "Your Majesty… please don't say such things."
"I think it's a great idea."
Sylas mustered his energy again, pointed at the book on the desk, and said almost pleadingly, "Enough of this nonsense. Please, just read the book, alright?"
"Brother, you actually like Auntie, don't you?" Mirabel completely ignored him, her voice tinged with excitement.
Sylas turned away awkwardly. Softly, he said, "No."
He did, a little.
Aside from the age difference, he admired everything about Gwendolyn.
But…
He felt unworthy and didn't dare entertain the thought.
Mirabel suddenly burst into exaggerated laughter, pointing at Sylas.
"Brother, you do like Auntie! I can tell by your face!"
"Please, just read your book. An Empress should act like an Empress."
Embarrassed and finally out of patience, Sylas's tone sharpened slightly.
The past few days had been complicated, and dealing with Mirabel's antics had left him mentally and physically drained.
Mirabel watched him quietly.
Then her tone shifted, turning eerie, as if drifting from a hollow cave:
"Sylas. Are you planning to steal Auntie from me?"