“Rise, Captain.” My voice came out steadier than I felt, all frost and authority… the kind of tone that made people forget I’d been winging it since forever. “Secure the barracks. My subordinates here will help you relay my orders.”

  The captain saluted and barked a quick command to his men. I glanced back toward the square… and had to bite back a laugh.

  Tens of Rimebreak players were already sprinting around like caffeinated magpies, scooping up loot, sorting drops into piles, arguing over who got which shiny. It looked less like a battlefield and more like a post-apocalyptic flea market.

  Lola stood in the middle of it all, clipboard in hand, shouting prices like a stockbroker, and reminding everyone it was the crown’s loot, not theirs.

  The guards nodded quickly and began returning to their posts, still moving like they couldn’t believe they were allowed to live. “We can do that, Grandmaster,” the captain said, adjusting his pauldron. “Pardon my daringness, but… what about the Empire agents? We don’t know who’s who.”

  “True.” I nodded, the weight of that problem sitting heavy and unwelcome on my crown. Just because I’d flash-frozen the square didn’t mean the rats had magically turned to popsicles. There had to be Empire loyalists still hiding somewhere, nursing their daggers and waiting to stab us in the back.

  Not really my department, though. I had a delegation now.

  Yay, leadership.

  “Juliette!” I called out, voice echoing over the square. That earned me a few confused looks, a couple of gasps, and one guy who dropped his loot pile in shock. But soon enough, a familiar blur of black silk and quiet steps materialized at my side.

  NightSwallow.

  “Lady of the Night, Queen,” she said smoothly, bowing.

  I had to physically hold my laughter inside. The commitment was admirable, honestly. “Yeah, well, Lady of the Night,” I said, biting back a grin, “can you help the guards sniff out any traitors still hanging around? Send them home… preferably without souvenirs, yeah?”

  Her eyes gleamed. “Understood.”

  “Thank you, Grandmaster,” the captain said, bowing again before turning to bark new orders. His men snapped into motion, half-relieved, half-terrified to be useful.

  Swallow, though, lingered. Her boots made no sound on the stone, but her hesitation was loud enough to feel. “What about Lunaris?” she asked softly.

  “Luna?” I blinked, scanning the chaos until I found Lola orchestrating the looters like a corporate HR goddess with too much caffeine. Hopefully, this city didn’t have any coffee. I waved Lola over, and she nodded and jogged. “Isn’t Luna… stuffing herself full of cakes?”

  Swallow didn’t answer right away. She shifted, expression unreadable behind her black mask. “I’ve got this handled,” she said at last, then pulled something from her inventory… a faintly glowing crystal shard that pulsed.

  She handed it to me.

  THE shard.

  I stared at it, every inch of it humming with familiar energy. “You…” My throat went dry. “Are you sure you’re giving me this? You could keep it—”

  She shook her head, a tiny smile ghosting across her lips. “Luna deserves her class,” she whispered. “But I trust your judgment… if you choose to return it to her.”

  I laughed. “So it’s my responsibility now, huh?”

  Swallow’s grin deepened, barely visible under her mask. “Always was, Queen.”

  I sighed and turned the shard in my palm. It glimmered faintly, a little piece of fate waiting for a decision I wasn’t ready to make.

  “Next steps, Lola?” I asked, holding up the shard. “Lunaris dropped it, but Swallow’s amazing and got it back. If… Brian, was it?”

  Lola nodded, her eyes locked on the crystal like it might bite her. “Brian, yes.”

  “If he got frozen in my last art piece,” I continued, “we need to find the Mistrael. I can’t believe that noob got his hands on it…”

  Swallow tilted her head, voice calm and annoyingly amused. “He is good. And tried to pick up Luna. Asked her out.”

  Both Lola and I turned to her at once. “What?”

  Swallow’s expression didn’t move. “She refused. Politely.”

  “Politely,” I repeated, blinking. “Great. Good to know people still have time for awkward dating.” I exhaled and turned to Lola again. “Next steps? My buff timer’s ticking.”

  She blinked, refocusing like someone rebooting under pressure. “Right. We’ve secured the city militarily. Except for the Grand Hall, we now have total control of Altandai. Dhriti and Mathéo are already negotiating with the custodian, but… if you show up and, uh, look sovereign, it’ll help.”

  “Grand Hall? Custodian?” I echoed, already regretting the follow-up question.

  Lola checked her clipboard—her eternal comfort talisman—and nodded, hugging it to her chest. “Yes. Legally, after you… well, killed two opposing grandmasters, and imprisoned the rest not loyal to you, you hold the majority. You can proclaim Altandai as part of Rimebreak and as the new county capital. We’ve already prepared the documents—”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I stopped her with a raised hand. “You said the D-word. Headache achieved. The moment someone says documents in my presence, a part of me dies.” I offered her my other hand instead. “Let’s go.”

  She blinked. “Go?”

  I grinned. “Oh, you’ll see.”

  Before she could argue, I grabbed her, princess-carry style, and kicked my mana into overdrive. Ice bloomed under my heels, a clean white path bursting outward like a ribbon of frozen lightning.

  “Whaaa—!” Lola’s scream turned into a strangled squeak as we shot forward down the street.

  The air tore past us, cold and refreshing. I shaped the frost mid-glide, forming a sleek, glimmering path that curved around debris, walls, and the occasional smoking cart. It wasn’t perfect; more like drunken ice artistry, but it worked. Every time my heels touched down, the street beneath us turned to polished glass, and we slid again, faster.

  The city flashed by: broken banners, frozen fountains, stray fires. The world had gone half-silent, half-awe-struck.

  Lola clung to me tighter with every bump. Her clipboard was wedged between us, probably stabbing her ribs, but she refused to let go. Her hair whipped against my cheek, and I caught a glimpse of her reflection in the frost trail behind us… wide-eyed, red-faced.

  “Left,” she whispered, voice small but stable.

  I leaned into the turn, letting the ice bend under our path. The street curved, rooftops blurring overhead. Lola’s arms tightened around my neck. She was still blushing. “You’re enjoying this,” I said over the wind.

  “I’m terrified!” she shouted back.

  “Same thing!” I yelled, and the street ahead gleamed like a promise I didn’t have time to read.

  We were flying. Not metaphorically, literally skating through what was left of Altandai like someone had turned the laws of motion into a drinking game.

  The frost trail behind us crackled blue-white, catching the sunlight as it arced down the main avenue. We zipped past stunned players, guards, and a few NPCs who’d apparently decided that drinking alcohol while the conquering was running around was normal.

  Most jumped aside just in time; one guy dropped his entire loot bag and screamed like I’d stolen his childhood.

  Ahead, the streets were already coming back to life. Some merchants had crept out from the alleys, the true survivors of every regime change. They were already setting up makeshift stalls between fallen signs, spreading colorful fabrics, reheating food with shaky hands, pretending like today wasn’t the day that needed insurance.

  And there I was, shooting through it all at a speed even AI traffic regulators would’ve flagged as “reckless endangerment.” Frost kissed my cheeks, the air thin, and I caught flashes of the world; laughter, trading, a child chasing a stray spark of magic.

  I risked a glance.

  Lola was still in my arms, clutching me tight, clipboard wedged between us like it was the last remnant of civilization. Her hair wild, cheeks flushed pink from wind and something less bureaucratic.

  But she was smiling. Really smiling. For a moment, everything blurred into just that expression.

  We shot onto the market street, which was already earning its new name: Royal Road. Right? We were monarchy, so… it made sense. Players lined both sides, some bartering their new loot, some gawking, others throwing confused salutes like they weren’t sure if I was a monarch or a meteor.

  A merchant waved a tray of steaming cups at us as we blasted past; I actually caught the scent; rich, spiced tea, faintly citrus. My stomach made a noise that definitely wasn’t regal.

  And then, before Lola could tell me to slow down, the street opened onto another square.

  It wasn’t as massive as the former Binding Stone plaza, but it had the same theatrical architecture. The paving stones were that stupid rosy color, rimmed with delicate silver inlays that traced constellations. Statues of old Grandmasters lined the edges, some half-toppled, others still standing tall, their faces chipped.

  At the far end rose the Grand Hall.

  Wide marble steps led up to enormous doors carved from shimmering rosewood, veined with a gold seal that caught the light. The facade was covered in bas-reliefs of not-a-dragons, and a few suspiciously smug politicians immortalized in stone. Crystal windows flanked the entry, glowing faintly from inner mana channels that hadn’t dimmed even after the siege.

  The moment we slid into the square, the noise hit me first; thousands of people pressed together in uneven ranks, armor clinking, whispers overlapping like waves against stone.

  These weren’t civilians.

  It was so-called “slave army.” Each had our backup gear, and it gave the whole crowd a patchwork look of steel and leather.

  I slowed our glide, the ice trail hissing beneath us as we came to a stop in front of them. Frost bloomed outward, curling around the marble in lazy, decorative patterns.

  Lola’s arms were still around me.

  “You can let go now,” I said, grinning.

  She blinked, realized, and nearly dropped her clipboard in the scramble to stand straight. “R-right! Sorry, Lady— I mean, Grandmaster— Queen— uh—”

  “Pick one,” I said, stepping forward toward the hall. “But next time, we’re taking the tea.”

  On the wide steps leading to the Grand Hall stood an older man in ornate attire; brocade coat, silver tassels, and the face of someone who’d been in charge far too long.

  In front of him was Mathéo. Dmitry’s lieutenant.

  Next to him stood Dhriti. A few of the temple acolytes flanked her in blue robes, carrying my snowflake crest, stitched in a silver thread that caught the light whenever they moved.

  The square stopped when they saw us.

  Thousands of heads turned in unison, watching the frost-trail dissolve behind me, the Rimebreak crest glinting on my chest.

  Lola leaned close, whispering just above the rush of dispersing mana. “The slave army,” she whispered. Then she frowned at the transparent screen hovering in front of her. “And… Dhriti is apparently representing your, uh… church interests?” She sounded like the concept offended her sense of workflow.

  “I named her temple guardian,” I said, biting my lip. “Long story.”

  Then I sighed, gathered mana beneath my heels, and let it lift me. A sharp burst of air, a bloom of frost, and I soared above the crowd.

  Lola asked me to look sovereign.

  It was high time I did just that.

  The sea of faces tilted up, thousands of eyes tracking me. My cloak snapped behind me like a banner of night, and I touched down softly on the marble steps. The frost beneath me spread in a perfect circle, catching the sunlight like glass.

  Dhriti immediately went down on one knee, head bowed, her braid falling forward. “Queen,” she said, breathless but composed. “They’re blocking us from the hall. We can’t reach your temple.”

  The entrance was lined with guards in full ceremonial armor, their pauldrons engraved with the old city crest. The same emblem fluttered from the banners along the archway, bold and offensive in every direction.

  The sight made my jaw tighten. “Put the crest down,” I said, my voice cold enough to fog the air. “Slavery is over. I am the new sovereign.”

  The old man turned toward me. He hesitated, then gave a stiff bow, all elegance and hesitation. “I apologize, but without formal—”

  I raised a hand, cutting him off before his sentence could start wasting oxygen, and ignored him, instead turning to Dmitry’s lieutenant. “Mathéo, right?” I asked. He blinked and nodded quickly.

  “Good,” I said. “Do you have any captains who are good at taking orders?”

  He turned slightly, scanning the uneven ranks of freed slaves behind him. “I can… try to rally them,” he said, doubt edging every word.

  “Do that. We’ll do a show of force before Lola can work her magic.”

  Then I shifted my attention back to the guards by the door. Their armor gleamed, their posture stiff with fear or pride… I didn’t care which. “Take the banners down,” I said, pointing with my hand. “Scrape the crest off your armor if you must. Or I will do it for you.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t defiance. It was disbelief.

  “This isn’t diplomacy,” I added, and opened my hand.

  Mana flared between my fingers, a miniature blizzard spiraling outward like a warning. The frost licked the edges of the steps, the ornate gold trim icing over in seconds. A few soldiers flinched back, one of them dropping his spear as if it had suddenly become a liability.

  I took one slow step forward, the marble groaning under the weight of my power. “I said now.”

  The first banner fell; ripped down by trembling hands.

  Then another.

  And another.