Inside the Main Hall of the Vermilion Palace, ministers whispered among themselves, gathered in full for the first time in days.
Every seat was filled. High-ranking generals, advisors, and even ministers were present, their expressions ranging from curiosity to irritation.
At the head of the chamber sat the Princess—this time clad in formal robes of crimson and gold, her expression carved in porcelain calm.
But her hands were clenched in her lap, tight and pale beneath the sleeves.
The reason they were all gathered—the scout they had sent out had finally returned.
The twin doors opened with a heavy creak, and a soldier stepped forward. Dirt-streaked armor.
Blood on his sleeve. Eyes sunken from exhaustion—but alive.
It seemed he hadn't even had time to clean up after returning—whether due to urgency or eagerness to report.
"Reporting as ordered!"
He barked, then knelt on one knee.
(Hmph! Judging by his condition, the news is just as we expected.)
