The Kingdom of Niverna is neither particularly large nor exceptionally small. However, it often appears smaller due to its massive neighbor, the Kingdom of Reignfable, which overshadows it in both size and influence. Niverna is not a poor nation, but it is not particularly wealthy either. Its main economic strength lies in agriculture, with cotton being its most significant export, bringing in the bulk of the country's income.
In recent years, however, Niverna has seen notable improvements, catching the attention of other nations. Much of this newfound prosperity and recognition can be attributed to the fact that three out of the six legendary heroes were born in this very land. As a result, Niverna has proudly earned the title of "The Land of Heroes," a moniker that has brought both prestige and an influx of visitors from around the world.
While most of the people in Niverna basked in the kingdom's newfound prosperity, not everyone shared their joy. For some, this sudden fame and growth brought only frustration and obstacles.
"Who would have thought that just because three people were born in this kingdom, all the preparations we've made over the last eight years would be for nothing?"
The voice belonged to a middle-aged man with stark white hair, dressed in opulent clothing. He sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft flicker of a single candle on the table casting shadows across his stern face.
Across from him stood a younger man, similarly dressed in finery. Though his expression was desperate, there was a fire of determination in his eyes.
"Can't we just continue with the plan? After all the effort we've put in, I'm certain there's a high chance we'll succeed," the young man urged, leaning forward.
The older man raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"If we proceed and stick to the plan now, we will succeed," he said, his tone calm yet firm.
The young man's face brightened, but before he could speak, the older man raised a hand to cut him off.
"But…"
The single word sent a chill through the younger man.
"The real problem isn't seizing the throne," the older man continued. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together as his gaze turned calculating.
"The real problem will come after we succeed."
The young man's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"Even if we manage to take the throne, public opinion will turn against us if we don't provide a convincing justification. Unfortunately for us, the economic growth of the past few years has contradicted all the evidence we so carefully fabricated to support our coup. The people are content—thriving, even. To move now would not only erode their trust but also destroy our credibility on the international stage."
The younger man clenched his fists.
"But surely, with enough force—"
The older man shook his head, silencing him with a stern glare.
"Even if we force our way through, the kingdom's reputation will be in tatters. Other nations will see our instability as an opportunity, and they'll manufacture excuses to invade us while we're still recovering from the upheaval. Do you think our weakened military would stand a chance?"
The room fell silent, the weight of the older man's words settling heavily on the younger man.
Adding to their predicament was the hero's party—a group currently journeying across the world to save it from impending destruction. Among their ranks were three of Niverna's own heroes, their fame spreading far and wide with each act of valor. This fame, in turn, brought greater attention to Niverna itself. Curious travelers, merchants, and dignitaries from other nations were flocking to the kingdom, drawn by the legends of its heroes.
Niverna's newfound prestige had become a double-edged sword. On one hand, it bolstered the economy and strengthened international ties. On the other, it made any move against the crown far riskier. A coup against the "Land of Heroes" would not only anger the people but also invite scrutiny and potential retaliation from powerful foreign allies.
"Even heroes bring complications," the older man muttered, his voice heavy with disdain.
It wasn't just the kingdom's economic growth or international fame that caused trouble for their plans. A more pressing issue was the shifting political landscape within Niverna.
More and more nobles who had once aligned themselves with their faction were now moving toward the royal faction. The king's growing popularity, coupled with the newfound prosperity of the kingdom, made it increasingly difficult to maintain their influence. To make matters worse, smaller, independent factions that had previously acted as neutral forces began merging with the royal faction as well.
The final blow came with the king's recent announcement: the engagement of Princess Elisia to one of the heroes himself. It was a masterstroke of political strategy. By tying the royal family directly to the hero's party, the king had solidified his position both domestically and internationally. The people celebrated the union as a symbol of hope and unity, while the nobility viewed it as a sign of stability and strength.
For the conspirators, it was a nightmare.
"The king played his cards well," the younger man muttered bitterly, pacing the room.
"With that engagement, he's bound the heroes to his side. Anyone who opposes him now risks being labeled a traitor not just to the crown, but to the heroes who are saving the world."
The older man clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the armrests of his chair.
"It was a calculated move," he said, his tone laced with grudging admiration.
"By connecting the royal family to the hero's party, the king has ensured that even the commoners, who might otherwise stay indifferent, will rally to his side. The heroes are untouchable in the eyes of the people. And as long as the princess is engaged to one of them, so is the royal family."
The younger man stopped pacing and turned to face his mentor.
"What do we do now? Do we abandon everything?"
The older man's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the flickering candlelight.
"No. We wait," he said, his voice steady and deliberate, carrying the weight of years spent planning in the shadows.
"The tides of power are always shifting, and even the most carefully laid plans can unravel with time. The hero's party is not invincible, and neither is the king. There will be a moment of weakness—when the people grow restless, when the heroes falter, or when this alliance shows its cracks. When that moment comes," he paused, his voice dropping to a near-whisper,
"we'll strike."
The young man leaned forward eagerly, a sly smile spreading across his face. The flickering candlelight illuminated the hunger in his eyes, the unrelenting ambition that burned brighter with every word.
"I understand," he said, his tone brimming with anticipation.
"When the moment comes, we'll be ready to take everything we've worked for."
But just as his confidence began to rise, the older man's next words took him by surprise.
"Fortunately," the older man continued, his tone sharpening as a wry smile crept onto his lips.
"One of those moments has already come to us."
The young man's smile froze, his expression shifting to one of confusion and intrigue.
"Already?" he asked, his voice low and cautious. The unexpected revelation sent a chill through the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint crackling of the candle.
The older man's smile grew wider, but there was no warmth in it—only a calculating edge.
"Yes," he said, his voice laced with quiet triumph. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling as the candlelight cast ominous shadows across his face.
***
On a dirt road winding through the heart of a dense forest, the soft clatter of hooves echoed amidst the rustling leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures. At the center of this small procession was a grandiose carriage, its polished wood glinting faintly under the moonlight filtering through the canopy. Ornately crafted, its silver accents and embroidered crest spoke of wealth and nobility. Two sturdy horses, their manes shimmering like satin, pulled the carriage with a steady rhythm, expertly guided by the coachman perched on the driver's seat.
Surrounding the carriage on all sides were four knights, each mounted on powerful steeds, their armor gleaming faintly under the sparse light. Their helmets obscured their faces, leaving only their disciplined posture and alert movements to communicate their readiness. The knights' eyes constantly scanned the surrounding trees, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their swords.
Leading the procession was a man whose presence commanded immediate attention. Unlike the other knights, he did not wear a helmet, his brown short hair ruffled slightly by the cool forest breeze. His piercing dark red eyes scanned the path ahead with practiced vigilance, betraying a man accustomed to danger. His armor, heavier and more elaborate than that of the others, seemed almost to glow faintly, hinting at both craftsmanship and enchantment. It was a testament to his rank and prowess, molded to fit his massive frame perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and imposing stature.
Strapped securely across his back was a black greatsword, its handle jutting out just enough to reveal its intimidating size. Despite its weight, the man carried it with ease, a testament to his strength. The steed he rode was no ordinary horse but a massive warhorse, its muscles rippling beneath its sleek black coat. The beast moved with a controlled power, its steps firm and confident, as though it understood the importance of the figure astride it.
Every movement of the man and his steed exuded authority and preparedness. He was clearly no ordinary knight but a leader, a seasoned warrior who had seen countless battles and emerged victorious. His mere presence seemed to lend an air of invincibility to the group, as though nothing in the forest could dare challenge them. Yet, the forest was vast and unpredictable, and even the strongest could not ignore the possibility of unseen threats lurking in the shadows.
The man scanned his surroundings with a sharp, practiced gaze, taking in every detail of the forest around him. Then, he tilted his head toward the sky, now streaked with shades of crimson as the sun began to set. The transition from day to night was upon them. After a moment of contemplation, he raised his right hand in a firm gesture. The signal was clear, and the entire procession came to an immediate halt, their movements precise and synchronized.
With deliberate movements, the man gave a series of hand signals. Two of the knights instantly broke formation, guiding their horses into the dense forest on either side of the road. Silence settled over the group as they waited, the rustling of leaves and distant chirps of birds the only sounds in the air. The man remained still, his dark red eyes focused and patient, his imposing presence radiating calm authority.
Minutes later, the two knights emerged from the trees, their armor faintly dusted with leaves. They approached the man and gave a respectful nod, confirming that the area was secure. Satisfied, the man dismounted his massive warhorse with a practiced ease, the ground beneath him crunching faintly under his weight. He walked toward the ornate carriage at the center of the procession, each step deliberate and steady.
Stopping just in front of the carriage door, the man bowed slightly before speaking.
"Your Highness, I request permission to set up camp here," he said, his voice gravelly yet composed, carrying the weight of a seasoned warrior.
From inside the carriage came a soft, melodic voice, delicate yet filled with quiet authority.
"Permission granted," the woman replied. Her tone was calm, as if she were accustomed to giving commands that carried great significance.
At her approval, the knights sprang into action. They dismounted from their horses, guiding the animals toward the side of the road where the foliage was thick, ensuring they could feed and rest. The knights moved efficiently, their actions revealing a well-rehearsed routine honed over years of service.
The warhorse, without needing a single word or nudge, strode purposefully to the edge of the clearing, its imposing figure blending into the surroundings with an almost regal air. The carriage, too, was carefully maneuvered to a safer spot off the dirt road, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the twilight.
As the knights began preparing the camp, their leader lingered near the carriage door, his posture unwavering as if ready to face any threat that might arise. The forest around them seemed calm, but his instincts told him never to let his guard down.
***
"The reason you're born is for this kingdom. The way you live is for this kingdom. And—"
Those words echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of her purpose. When she woke each morning, the first thought that crossed her mind was the same.
'How can I be useful to the kingdom?'
Every action she took, every battle she fought, every sacrifice she made—it was all for the kingdom. Her smiles, so warm and genuine to others, were practiced and calculated, meant to inspire and reassure. Her life had been molded by relentless training and teachings, shaping her into a perfect symbol of the kingdom's ideals.
She was taught to be intelligent, to strategize and plan for the good of the nation. She was taught compassion, so she could connect with the people and earn their trust. She was taught bravery, so she would never waver in the face of danger. She was taught kindness, so her presence would soothe and inspire hope. She was even taught to be beautiful, her appearance carefully curated to embody the kingdom's pride.
But none of it was for herself. Not her intelligence, her compassion, her bravery, her kindness, or even her beauty. It was all for the kingdom—a life devoted to its prosperity and survival.
Her very existence was not her own. It was a carefully crafted tool, a shield for the people, a sword for the throne, and a beacon for all who looked to the kingdom for strength. Yet, beneath the surface, beneath the weight of expectation, she sometimes wondered.
'Who am I beyond this role?'
That thought lingered in the corners of her mind, faint and fleeting, buried beneath years of conditioning. It was a question she dared not voice, for even her doubts had no place in a life dedicated to the kingdom.
"Princess, the preparation is complete."
Coming into her room, is a girl with light green hair and green eyes, she wears a maid outfit that looks glittering, and looks quite fancy for a maid outfit. She bowed at the girl inside the room.
She stands at 159 cm, her figure lithe and graceful, befitting her royal heritage. Her long, golden-platinum hair cascades down her back like silken threads of sunlight, catching the light with an ethereal glow. Her bright blue eyes shimmer like clear summer skies, exuding intelligence and warmth.
For her attire, she dons a fitted, high-waisted tunic dress that falls just above her knees, crafted from a soft, flowing fabric that sways elegantly with her movements. The dress is accented with subtle gold embroidery along the edges, giving it a touch of regal refinement. A lightweight, asymmetrical capelet drapes over her shoulders, secured with a brooch bearing the crest of her kingdom. She pairs this with fitted leggings and short leather boots, perfect for ease of movement without sacrificing style.
"Alright. Thanks for your hard work, Piola," said Princess Elisia of Niverna, her warm smile radiating genuine kindness.
With graceful movements, she picked up the sword with its golden sheath and strode confidently out of the room. Piola, her loyal maid, quickly fell into step beside her, walking slightly behind, as was customary.
As Elisia walked through the castle's grand hallway, she greeted every person she encountered with her signature warm smile. Guards, maids, and noblemen alike responded with bows or curtsies, their faces lighting up in her presence. She was a beacon of hope and elegance, the embodiment of the kingdom's ideals.
Once outside, a luxurious carriage awaited her. Four knights stood at attention, lining the pathway to the open carriage door, their polished armor gleaming in the sunlight. One knight stood apart from the others, helmetless, his weathered face exuding authority.
"Greetings, Your Highness. I will be the one escorting you on your journey to the Oracle City," said General Biron, bowing his head respectfully.
"Thank you very much, General Biron. I will be in your care," Elisia replied with her warm, practiced smile that seemed to put everyone at ease.
With an elegant nod, she stepped into the carriage, her movements as fluid and composed as a queen's. Piola, ever the dutiful maid, followed closely behind her, taking her place beside the princess inside.
The door closed gently, and the knights resumed their positions. As the carriage began its journey, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the cobblestone path echoed through the air.