"Northerners, I, Terezia, Archbishop of the Imperial Church and the First Servant of God, have questions for you. Answer truthfully."

As soon as the Crown Prince gave his permission, Archbishop Terezia launched into her interrogation.

"What is this new single faith of yours, the Renslet Church?"

Her question was more of an inquisition than a genuine inquiry.

"The Renslet Church is a holy and noble faith, born from the union of the ancestral gods of the North and the revered progenitor of Renslet," Gard responded without hesitation, as if he had anticipated this line of questioning.

"Hah! It’s a heretical and barbaric religion," Terezia sneered.

"You say that as if you’ve ever viewed us differently," Gard replied with a faint smile, his tone sharp with sarcasm.

The relationship between the Imperial Church and the North was as strained as that between the Imperial family and the Northern duchy.

"If you would only expel the witches, the Imperial Church would gladly spread God’s grace to the North immediately," Terezia declared.

"That’s unnecessary. We’ll continue to worship the progenitor of Renslet," Gard replied, unfazed by the Archbishop’s brazen arrogance.

"Do you truly believe such heresy will grant you divine power?" Terezia scoffed.

"It has already been proven through Mary’s Blessing, hasn’t it?" Gard retorted.

"Fools! Ignorant barbarians! Such deception will eventually be exposed!" Terezia’s voice grew harsher, practically shouting.

"Your words are quite harsh, Your Grace," Gard replied, maintaining his composure.

"Renounce your heresy at once! Go burn the witches at the stake! The Church will send Paladins and Inquisitors to assist!"
What had started as an interrogation had quickly turned into a fanatical tirade.

"In heaven above, may your Father remain there. Alas, the Savior has come," the Northern envoys began to respond with similar sarcasm, mocking the Archbishop’s fervor.

"You insolent wretches! Forsaken by God! Ignorant, cursed fools worshiping your ancestors! Guards, seize these savage barbarians and—!"

"Enough! Escort the Archbishop out immediately!" the Crown Prince, unable to bear the spectacle any longer, ordered with urgency.

"Unhand me! Unhand me, you fools! Your Highness, these heretics must be burned at the stake!" Terezia’s voice echoed from a distance as she was dragged out of the hall.

"…My sincerest apologies," the Crown Prince said, turning to the Renslet delegation with a sigh.

"As you know, this incident has no connection to the Empire or the Imperial family," he added, as though distancing himself from the Archbishop’s behavior.

"We understand. However, we trust you’ll compensate us accordingly," Gard replied with a smile, the delegation’s casual demeanor revealing their indifference to the Archbishop’s outburst.

"…Very well," Kanbraman said, pressing his fingers to his temple as though trying to stave off a headache. Inwardly, he began calculating how much to charge the Church for this embarrassment.

"Go now. You’ll be summoned when the banquet is ready," he said, signaling the end of the audience.

"Understood, Your Highness."

Thus, the tense encounter, which had nearly escalated into an all-out confrontation, came to an end—once again peacefully.

After the Northern delegation had departed, the Crown Prince spoke coldly.

"Prime Minister, Ricard."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Start selling Eastern porcelain to the North. Cheaply."

"Cheaply, Your Highness?"

"Yes, and when it seems to be catching on as a trend, raise the price."

"Understood."

"Remember, above all else, we must prevent the North from becoming prosperous. Stop them from growing stronger, even a little—no, especially just a little."

"We will carry out Your Highness’s orders."

Having given his instructions, the Crown Prince felt they were still insufficient.

‘Because of that so-called blessing, their arable land is expanding. If this continues… their population will grow!’

Above all else, the proliferation of the Northern population had to be curtailed. At least until the day he ascended to the throne.

Until he became the sole authority under the Emperor’s command.

And until he could proudly face Marchioness Havana again.

"…Also, make contact with the Devil’s Den," he said, finally reaching for a card he rarely played.

"The Devil’s Den? The Church won’t approve," the Prime Minister, Karaso, said, his voice stiff with concern.

"Do you really think so?" the Crown Prince replied, his gaze shifting to Terezia, who was now reentering the hall. Her disheveled appearance did nothing to hide the fanatical gleam in her eyes, which were more alight with fervor than ever.

"I’ll reach out immediately," Karaso said, quickly understanding the Crown Prince’s intent.

Thus, another ploy against the North began. As always.

***

Daisy’s father was a retired soldier who had participated in the second-to-last Extreme Northern Expedition.

It was during that expedition that Baikal Rune Renslet, the previous Grand Duke, had perished.

In that same campaign, Daisy’s father, Mark, lost both arms, becoming a disabled veteran.

“Dad, I made this one today!”

“Wow, my little girl, you worked so hard.”

Daisy proudly showed her father the wooden handicraft she had painstakingly carved late into the night with her small, delicate hands.

“Alright, now take off my prosthetic arm, will you? Time to get to work.”

“Promise me! Don’t sell anything for less than three coopers!”

As she removed her father’s prosthetic arm, Daisy gave him a firm reminder.

“Of course! Who do you think made these?”

Mark, with his loosened sleeves where his arms once were, nodded with a strained smile.

“Should I carry this box?”

“No, I’ll carry it. That way, people will notice it more. Now, help me put it around my neck.”

“Alright…”

Daisy carefully helped her father wear the wooden box, about the size of a small bag, around his neck.

Inside the box were 14 wooden handicrafts that Daisy had made during her spare time.

She had inherited her father’s dexterity and talent for crafting.

Even the prosthetic arm she had just removed was one she had made for him.

“Let’s go!”

“Yeah!”

The father and daughter exchanged smiles.

“Wait, we need to say goodbye to Mom first, right?”

“Oh, right! Mom! We’re off!”

Before they left, they both turned to a small box in their home and greeted it.

Inside the box were strands of Daisy’s late mother’s hair and a few of her keepsakes.

‘Time has flown by so quickly.’

Three months ago, Mark’s wife had been killed by a monster outside the city.

She had ventured too far to gather weeds used in the production of Arad Salt, a decision that had ended in tragedy.

“Goodbye, dear,” Mark murmured, paying his respects to his deceased wife before starting another day with Daisy.

The fief where Mark and Daisy lived was directly administered by the Grand Duchess.

It had once been part of Narvik, a mid-sized estate governed by a Northern noble of Viscount rank, but recent treason had led to its administration being taken over by officials from High Castle.

The estate wasn’t particularly large or small, allowing for a modestly active market to develop around the former lord’s castle.

“Buy a pretty bird carved from wood! We also have wooden knights!”

The estate had enough commerce to sustain Daisy’s sales of her wooden crafts.

“Kind sirs! Spare a coin, please!”

This enabled Mark and Daisy to eke out a living, combining begging with selling the handicrafts.

Their donation box was an old helmet bearing the white shield insignia that marked Mark as a veteran of the Northern Expeditionary Forces.

Using this helmet to beg often ensured they wouldn’t be harassed by guards or officials. In fact, some even discreetly helped them.

“Even if you don’t buy, just take a look!”

A disabled veteran with no arms, selling wooden crafts alongside his bright and cheerful daughter—such a sight naturally tugged at the heartstrings of passersby.

“Tsk, tsk… How much for that dog figurine?”

“It’s three coopers, sir!”

“Alright, I’ll take one.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Thank you, sir. May the blessings of the progenitor be with you.”

Several passersby, moved by pity, purchased Daisy’s wooden crafts. By lunchtime, they had managed to sell four pieces.

“Daisy, are you hungry? Let’s get some lunch.”

“Okay!”

The father and daughter’s faces lit up with hope and joy.

Today, they could afford something a little nicer—perhaps a stew with some meat in it.

As they were packing up to head for lunch, a group of thuggish-looking men approached them.

“Hey! Who gave you permission to beg here?”

“What’s the matter, gentlemen?” Mark asked cautiously.

“The matter? You’re begging in our territory without permission!”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! We didn’t know! We’ll leave right away!”

“Sorry? Do you think ‘sorry’ fixes everything?”

Thud!

“Ah!”

One of the thugs kicked Mark, sending him sprawling to the ground. They felt no sympathy for the disabled veteran, viewing him only as easy prey to extort.

The thug snatched the helmet containing their earnings.

“No! Please, not that money!”

“Relax, we’re not heartless. We’ll just take our cut.”

They emptied the helmet, taking everything except a single cooper.

“H-heuk… Heuk…”

Daisy could only watch helplessly, tears streaming down her face.

Fear, sorrow, despair, and helplessness weighed heavily on the twelve-year-old girl’s heart.

‘Guards! Is there no guard around? Or someone who can report this to the patrols?’ Mark looked around, desperation in his eyes.

Passersby averted their gazes, unwilling to get involved, while no guards were in sight.

“Looking for guards?”

“Do you think we don’t know their patrol schedules?”

“They’re on break right now!”

“Go ahead, try reporting us. Let’s see if the guards get here faster than our clan’s blades.”

“Let’s get along from now on, old man. And you too, little miss.”

With those parting words, the thugs sauntered away, leaving Mark and Daisy in stunned silence.

The overturned helmet and the lone cooper rolling on the ground were all that remained.

Mark and Daisy returned home, their spirits crushed.

The only solace was that ten of Daisy’s wooden crafts had remained untouched.

“We’ll go to Fulton Street tomorrow. There are more guards there,” Mark said, breaking the silence. He forced a smile, trying to reassure his daughter.

“Okay…” Daisy responded with a faint, sorrowful smile.

Knock knock knock knock.

A heavy knock sounded at their door.

“We know you’re in there.”

The polite yet icy tone of the voice chilled them to their cores.

“Dad…!”

“Open the door. And bring the emergency money,” Mark whispered.

“Emergency money?!”

“Yes, the last of the support funds I received. Go get it.”

Reluctantly, Daisy obeyed.

When the door opened, a creditor entered the room.

“How are things these days?”

“Well… not great,” Mark admitted.

“I understand your situation, but you’re three months behind on interest payments. I can’t keep letting it slide. I’m not asking for the principal, but at least make an effort to pay the interest.”

The debt dated back to the day Mark’s wife had died. Desperate to give her a proper burial, Mark had borrowed money to recover what was left of her body and arrange a funeral.

“If this continues, I’ll have no choice but to take this house as collateral. It’s a pity it’s such a small house without any farmland, but I could still rent it out.”

“I’ll pay. Just give me a little more time…”

“You’re not trying to take me for a fool, are you?”

“….”

Mark’s silence only fueled the creditor’s anger.

“Here! Take this!” Daisy handed over the last of their emergency funds.

“Hmph… So, you had money after all. Didn’t the High Castle provide you with monthly support funds and supplies?”

“Th-that’s…!”

Mark opened his mouth to explain how the funds had inexplicably stopped two months ago.

“Then you have no excuse. Pay the overdue interest by next month.”

With that, the creditor slammed the door shut, leaving a trail of tension and despair in his wake.

The next day, Mark and Daisy returned to the streets with their wooden crafts, choosing a new location far from where they had been the previous day.

But as they began setting up, a familiar voice greeted them.

“Well, well, look who we have here.”

“Did you think we wouldn’t find you if you moved somewhere else?”

“……!”

“…….”

The same thugs from the day before stood before them once again.