Beneath the Outer Walls of High Castle

“AAAAAAHHH!”

“SAVE ME… PLEASE!”

The familiar screams once again filled the underground chambers, which had been quiet for some time.

Forty-one men and women were being subjected to torment in this grim place.

Among them were six lords directly involved, along with thirty-five merchants, officials, knights, and adventurers who had either indirectly participated or abetted the recent disaster involving the loss of land vitality and the installation of obelisks.

“Kill me… please… I told you everything…”

The method of torture, however, was peculiar.

Forty-one chairs were arranged neatly in the basement, corresponding to the number of prisoners. Each of them sat naked on one of the chairs, and beneath each chair, a sinister purple magic circle burned faintly.

That was the entirety of the torture.

Yet despite its simplicity, blood streamed incessantly from every orifice of the prisoners: their eyes, ears, noses, mouths, and even their groins.

“Ah~. I understand, I understand~. But let’s endure a bit longer, shall we? Just in case.”

The witches of High Castle, three or four assigned to each prisoner, poured their mana into the ominous purple circles.

“They’re so foolish. Even villainy requires intelligence,” remarked Isabelle, overseeing the entire operation.

Known as the Great Witch of Spring, she managed the household affairs of High Castle and served as the head lady-in-waiting to Grand Duchess Arina.

“How could they even think to plant those obelisks in their own lands?”

Isabelle sat on a small dais some distance from the torture chambers. She wore her usual plain, elderly attire, but her demeanor was entirely different. Her gaze was cold, devoid of any trace of warmth or mercy.

If Arad had seen her in this moment, he might not have recognized her.

“At first, I thought it was too obvious. A trap, maybe? But no—they were brazenly charging their own serfs usurious interest.”

The chilling symphony of Isabelle’s musings intertwined with the agonized screams echoing in the chamber.

“Or perhaps they didn’t even think it necessary to hide their actions? Expecting the entire North to collapse under famine and rebellion?”

She leaned back, her expression betraying only mild boredom.

Beside her, six masks lay scattered on the floor—the very disguises these conspirators had used during their clandestine meetings.

After some time, one of the witches approached Isabelle, her steps hurried.

“Lady Isabelle, we’ve uncovered everything.”

Isabelle opened her eyes, nodded, and asked, “Was it the Empire?”

“Yes. In fact, Astra, the leader of Sigma, came personally this time.”

“How bold,” Isabelle muttered, her tone dripping with disdain.

“It’s infuriating!” the young witch exclaimed.

“They know we can’t afford to wage open war, so they pull stunts like this,” Isabelle said, clicking her tongue as she read the blood-smeared testimony.

“And their reason for betrayal?”

“As expected, dissatisfaction with High Castle’s policies. They were angry about excessive restrictions on domain taxes and interference in internal affairs. They also resented how their children, sent to study in the Empire, weren’t treated as proper nobles.”

“Idiots,” Isabelle scoffed.

Did they truly believe their lack of ostentatious wealth was the reason they were looked down upon?

No amount of luxury could change the Empire’s perception. To them, a poor Northerner was a filthy barbarian, and a rich Northerner was merely a well-dressed barbarian worth exploiting.

“What should we do with them?” the witches asked, their expressions eager.

“First, thank you for your assistance,” Isabelle said, surprising them with her gratitude.

“Hehehe~. We just jumped at the chance to use dark magic openly. That’s all!”

“I thought as much,” Isabelle replied, chuckling softly. For the first time, the atmosphere in the chamber lightened, if only slightly.

“At this point, I believe we’ve caught every rat in High Castle and the North,” Isabelle declared as she stood, lifting her skirts slightly to avoid staining them with the blood pooling on the floor.

“Tell the knights outside to execute all forty-one of them.”

“And their families?”

“For nobles, they’ll be stripped of their titles and reduced to commoners. For three generations, they’ll be barred from holding key positions. The Frostblade knights are already handling that, so you needn’t worry.”

“What?! But isn’t this treason? Shouldn’t we punish them more harshly?”

“It’s a direct order from Her Grace,” Isabelle replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Her Grace…”

“If we spill more blood, the knights and officials of High Castle might also be implicated through association.”

The witches looked conflicted.

The North’s motto was clear: repay grace twofold, and vengeance tenfold.

Yet this punishment seemed uncharacteristically lenient.

“Didn’t the last incident end similarly?” one witch asked.

“At the time, I assumed it was because commoners were involved, but this time it’s the same.”

“It doesn’t feel very… Northern.”

Isabelle smiled faintly at their remarks.

“I agree.”

"Revenge begets revenge. It’s partly my fault for failing to ease their dissatisfaction."

Arina’s words before Isabelle had come here echoed in her mind.

“Where is Her Grace now?” Isabelle asked, turning to a maid near the entrance.

“She’s at the training grounds, my lady.”

“Let’s go to her.”

“Yes, my lady.”

At Isabelle’s command, the maids waiting at the entrance quickly moved to escort her.

“Th-thank you… thank you…”

“For granting us… death…”

“And for sparing… our innocent… families…”

As Isabelle was about to leave the torture chamber, the faint voices of the prisoners reached her ears.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Her Grace.”

With that cold response, Isabelle exited the chamber.

“Renslet… Rune… Renslet…”

“Renslet… Rune… Renslet…”

“Renslet… Rune… Renslet…”

The chilling chants praising the Grand Duchess’s mercy echoed hauntingly in the underground chamber.

***

Recently, Arina had experienced what could only be described as a rollercoaster of emotions and events, if one were to borrow a term from Earth.

Her life had been tumultuous, chaotic, filled with despair and elation in equal measure.

And now, as the storm settled…

“The sky is so blue,” she murmured, basking in a sense of peace and satisfaction that she wouldn’t trade for anything.

The betrayal of trusted vassals had left deep scars on her soul, but a new bond—Arad—had come into her life, soothing those wounds.

Arad… Arad…

She silently repeated the name of the man who had saved her and the North, gifting her the tranquility she now enjoyed.

Perhaps he truly was a messenger sent by the Renslet ancestors.

But even as these thoughts swirled in her mind, she caught herself.

Am I losing focus?

Wiping the sweat from her brow with a linen towel provided in the training hall, Arina lowered her sword and closed her eyes.

Placing her hands over her lower abdomen, she felt the newly formed mana core within her danjeon.

It was still small—no bigger than a grain of millet—and its roots were thin and frail.

Compared to her previous core, it was akin to a baby just learning to walk, and its growth felt painfully slow.

Yet Arina couldn’t suppress the smile of satisfaction that crept across her face.

The energy, shape, and transparency of this new core were on an entirely different level compared to her old one.

“Arad.”

It was thanks to him, she realized.

Who exactly was he?

Why was he so eager to help her and the North?

With his abilities, he could easily obtain a high-ranking title in the Empire, perhaps even one above a Count.

The mere thought of a North without Arad made her shudder, as though she were waking from a nightmare.

“Hoo!”

To clear her thoughts, Arina raised her sword once more, channeling mana into the blade.

Swish.

A white aura enveloped the blade.

“My mana’s color has changed since my danjeon was rebuilt.”

She stared at the white energy, its hue reminiscent of Mary’s hair.

Arina’s old mana and sword aura had been a sapphire blue, but now it was pure white, like a snowfield.

“My lady, have you finished your training?”

Isabelle’s voice interrupted her reverie.

“Yes, Isabelle. I’m done for today,” Arina said, quickly withdrawing her mana.

The change in the color of her aura and mana was a closely guarded secret, known to only a select few in High Castle. There was no reason to reveal it unnecessarily.

“I’ll have the maids prepare water for your bath.”

“Please do. And… is it done?”

Arina’s gaze subtly shifted to Isabelle’s garments, though they were spotless this time. Isabelle had clearly taken care to avoid the mess of her usual tasks, though the faint smell of blood lingered.

“Yes, my lady. There wasn’t much beyond what we already knew.”

“I see.”

Arina, too, had been present for the initial interrogations of the traitors.

She had listened to their raw bitterness, their anger unfiltered by fear of consequence.

"Why don’t you rule alone if this is how it’s going to be?!"

"You’ve humiliated us by constantly sending Enforcers to undermine our authority as lords!"

"Feed, clothe, and train domain troops with a 20% land tax? What about me? What about my family?!"

"Interfering with even toll taxes—don’t you think that’s too much?!"

"Tell me, Grand Duchess, are we nobles or not? Do we truly have blue blood?"

"I feared for my children, my grandchildren—how they’d suffer the same indignities I endured when sent to study in the Empire!"

"Grand Duchess of the North! I… we… resented you deeply!"

It was a resentment she could understand but could never condone.

After the first day, she chose not to participate further, instead channeling her emotions into her sword practice.

A silence fell between Arina and Isabelle, heavy with unspoken memories.

“By the way, the draft for the Renslet Church’s doctrine has just been completed,” Isabelle said, breaking the stillness and shifting the conversation to a lighter topic.

“Already? Let me see it.”

Arina’s interest was piqued, and Isabelle gestured for a maid to bring the document forward.

One of the waiting maids stepped forward, handing Arina a bound book of the newly compiled doctrines.

“To think that despite all our efforts, the North could never establish a unified religion… and now it’s happened so easily. It’s almost laughable,” Arina said with a faint, bittersweet smile as she examined the book.

“All thanks to you and the groundwork laid by the ancestors,” Isabelle replied.

“It’s not me. This is also Arad’s… his doing.”

“Even if Sir Arad played a significant role, we couldn’t have succeeded if we hadn’t been ready. Take some pride in this accomplishment, my lady.”

“Do you think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I suppose chanting Renslet Rune Renslet was preparation of sorts,” Arina said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Still, Isabelle’s words didn’t sit poorly with her.

The leadership of the North, while not privy to all the secrets of religion and divine power, had long suspected certain truths.

For generations, since Arina’s grandfather’s time, there had been efforts to establish a unified religion in the North.

But it had always failed.

Telling the fiercely independent, defiant Northerners to abandon their ancestral worship—no matter how much they revered the Renslet family—was akin to inviting a scornful, “Who do you think you are?”

But the introduction of Mary’s Blessing had changed everything.

Through Arad’s PR—or whatever he called it—the situation had turned completely around.

As she walked toward the bath, Arina began reading the doctrine of the newly founded Renslet Church.

This might have been unbecoming for a ruler, but she didn’t care. Balancing her dual roles as Grand Duchess and swordswoman left her perpetually short on time.

“What are these three doctrines? They’re listed right at the beginning,” Arina asked, pausing in her reading.

“They were proposed by Sir Arad,” Isabelle replied.

“Arad?”

“Yes.”

“Hm… I see.”

Though the doctrines seemed out of place, she trusted Arad. He must have had his reasons.

“What’s Arad doing now?”

“Since returning from his trade trip, he’s been at the greenhouse farms all day.”

“Alright.”

After her bath, Arina decided to visit him.

Of course, she would do so as Mary.

Lately, she found it more comfortable—and more enjoyable—to face Arad in her alternate guise.

It allowed her to see more of his true self and sincerity up close.