Arc-6 Ch-13

 **Warning: This chapter contains spoilers for the MobuSeka poll bonus Marie Route final episode.**

The world ends.

Unfamiliar massive airships soar the skies; colossal weapons shaped like human faces, unlike kingdom armor.

They ravage the floating islands of Holfort Kingdom.

No—'existed' is more accurate.

The nation called Holfort Kingdom no longer exists. King and princes have journeyed to the underworld.

Some royals may survive—details unknown.

National survival is hopeless. A dynasty boasting martial might ends pathetically. Sun sets, night falls—how many more nights like this?

The noble coalition that toppled Holfort nears annihilation. Survivors rest briefly to live another day. Countless kingdom nobles perished—including my brother.

Father, unable to accept Brother’s death, descends into madness, blurring dream and reality.

Why did this happen?

No matter how I question myself, the answer is clear.

Me. I caused this. Unforeseen events piled up—true. I prioritized emotions over political judgment—fact. This is the outcome.

I hated the woman who stole my place. 

Couldn’t forgive the prince who nullified my efforts.

So I destroyed them. Centuries of history, opulent architecture, noble bloodlines, elite forces.

All reduced to ash.

I became flame, burning everything in sight.

The intrigue-soaked kingdom was a powder keg; the blaze consumed all, unstoppable.

It awakened slumbering horrors from history’s depths—ones never to be roused.

Frantic attempts to extinguish failed.

Now I’m a dying ember.

Awaiting the final puff. End it quickly—I barely know why I live.

Something catches my eye’s corner.

Not a shooting star—ominous hue.

Black. That black armor sends inexplicable pain through my chest.

Him.

No idea why—I sense him in the black armor.

Staring blankly, I see a crying girl.

Familiar—no, same age; “girl” feels wrong.

He fought for her.

That truth pierces deeper than pain—something beyond. Why am I drawn to him, yet strangers?

Why couldn’t I be his precious one?

Simple.

I never loved him.

No matter how favorable I found him, I saw him as a tool. Countless chances to grow close—I rejected them.

I have no right to cry. It all started with my anger. The world is saved. At the cost of many. He saved cornered humanity. Sacrificing himself to stop the machine horde bent on extinction.

Yet I feel detached. Lost the one I love most—no tears. Regret, mourning—nothing more.

Why?

I’m me—yet different. My anger drove him to death. Yet no anger, no grief. Just terror.

I don’t understand. I was wrong.

Father I revered maddened; beloved brother lost—still I walk forward. Clinging to a corner of my heart a thought I can’t discard, though it would ease me.

I want a redo.

To meet him again.

To laugh together this time.

※　※　※　※　※

The capital view from the carriage window brims with vitality unmatched by the frontier. Not just population—new buds on avenue trees herald spring. My carriage rolls central on well-kept boulevards—no one stops it.

Adorned with decorations, a massive Holfort royal crest screams status. I’m alone inside; burly guards constantly surround. It broadcasts: royal kin or invited guest aboard—unsettling.

Frankly, this lavish treatment disquiets me.

My capital stay should be secret from the ducal house. Yet the recent soiree and today’s escort are ostentatious—political intent clear.

Bartfort serves the Holfort royals as viscount before being Redgrave vassal. No matter martial or political prowess—mere subject. Half show of force, half ducal check.

『Redgrave plots ill behind scenes; royals know and hold the daughter hostage.』

Polite blackmail—or vile provocation. Risky oil-on-fire, but Father isn’t hotheaded enough to rage. If Redgrave were simple enough to send troops for me, things wouldn’t have twisted this far.

Exhaustion lingers. Physical: pregnancy, near term, swollen belly. Mental: power struggle between royals and ducals. Plus this morning’s nightmare drained my spirit.

Why such a dream?

No answer asking myself. I’ve had such dreams often. Especially post-breakup years—repeatedly dreaming of razing the capital, slaying royals and saintess. After marriage and child, frequency dropped sharply—now a few times yearly.

But this morning’s was vivid, with new faces—confusing. I had a similar dream days ago. Outlandish and unpleasant, but far better than today’s. That one: Leon attends academy, duels to save me, ultimately claims the throne.

Foolish—still clinging to queenship. Stubborn ego in my heart’s corner surprises yet makes sense.

Longest life phase: duke’s daughter, prince’s fiancee. Years multiple of married life with Leon—new path found, but old habits die hard.

Today’s dream was intolerable—nonsensical, intent unclear. Dreams manifest buried desires or emotions. This one must mean something. It traced my life until academy. Born Redgrave lady, raised Julius’s fiancee, engagement broken by saintess Olivia.

Difference: two who shouldn’t exist appeared.

Leon Fou Bartfort and Marie Fou Lafan.

Their enrollment the biggest divergence.

Broken me raged, rallied disgruntled nobles, rebelled. Vengeance-possessed, I slandered the saintess, assassinated the king, collapsed the nation. Worst: dragged Leon’s fiancee Marie into the fray to use his power.

Dream-me was somewhat friendly with them—yet felt nothing exploiting them. To erase Holfort, I used every means, losing precious things. Hometown, kind brother, revered father.

End: Leon’s death. I regretted but felt no grief or anger.

More real than reality—can’t dismiss as mere dream. If prophetic, it has meaning.

In-dream: Holfort defeated Fanoss; Redgrave formed noble coalition of royal malcontents.

Too similar to now.

No bloodshed yet, but sparks everywhere—undeniable. Lost item army bent on world destruction too fantastical—likely another threat manifested.

Possible: Voldenova Holy Magic Empire or Holy Rachel Kingdom.

Allies Alzer Republic or Lepart United Kingdom unlikely; Fanoss annexed, gone. Coalition won but at massive cost—national renewal impossible then. The kingdom may fall—this nightmare is revelation. The tipping point is now. Even if Redgrave usurps the throne, smooth governance seems impossible. No matter best efforts, new rulers demand blood—that’s the way.

Moderates and upright nobles/knights loyal to royals exist; persuasion near-impossible.

If unpersuadable, force removal—tyranny breeds suspicion, new rebellion seeds. The kingdom needs rest above all.

Ten—no, five years.

Raise green youths, tend wasted lands, normalize trade, grow commerce. Peace to recover national strength. Holfort royals may be figureheads, but most commons want peace. Father’s rightful reforms or not, people will reject more bloodshed. Even co-opting wildly popular Saintess Olivia changes nothing. Fanatic crowds seek emotional outlets—unpredictable, dangerous.

Gather any allies to stop Father. Glancing at the window glass, a grim woman stares back. Fretting civil war, dreaming kingdom’s end. Loving husband, yet treating dream-him as disposable pawn—I’m riddled with contradictions.

No matter growth, I’m selfish. Dragging into conflict for vengeance. Betraying birth house to shield husband and child from war. No matter excuses, ego-driven, trampling decency.

Indeed, unfit for queenship. For country and people, quietly sealed in frontier with family suits.

Pathetic, but if it helps—fine. Even witches do good sometimes. Warm weather and rhythmic jolts lull sleep. Rest until destination.

Hopefully, a calm dream this time.

※　※　※　※　※

Destination reached—carriage stops. Door opens; guards handle me carefully.

Queen’s guest? S pregnant woman?

Subordinates reflect master’s character most.

Host: Lucas Rapha Holfort—former prince, current chancellor, royal faction pillar.

Yet shockingly little known.

Withdrew from succession vs. King Roland, became top court noble and duke (sans Redgrave), long absent from governance.

Change post-Fanoss peace and Frampton purge. Frampton’s once-dominant faction gone—massive governance impact. Already noble-depleted, plus purge—administration teetered. Few royals left; retired ex-prince couldn’t lounge. Returned as chancellor. Since, queen Mylene’s political partner replacing Father in duties.

This chancellor personally requested meeting via lady Mylene.

Just talk—he insisted.

My reform proposals relayed through her highness Mylene—near full agreement bar tweaks. No need for face-to-face.

I subtly declined: "Can’t trouble busy chancellor." But with fervent request— anymore refusal will be disrespectful.

Thus, meeting set. Heavy gates creak open—echoing. Long unused, yet no squeal—well-maintained. Over five years since I was here.

Stepping in, building’s gaudiness stings.

Didn’t feel excessive then—now seems wasteful. Accustomed to Bartfort’s simplicity.

Royal Academy—few good memories.

Nobles’ kids gambling, romancing, scorning studies; elites despising slaves/regulars by blood; even traitors colluding with Fanoss.

Scandals and war escalation—indefinite closure. Now just maintenance staff.

Female staff-like bows; I return.

One guard escorts inside; with polite guidance.

Three footsteps echo empty halls—no chit-chat.

Not rude—care evident in demeanor. Academy holds near-zero fond memories for me.

Julius broke engagement; no allies; lost duel, fled in disgrace. Post-departure academy worsened, I heard. Olivia’s rising feats aside, student rot accelerated. Bullying staff with family rank; finally, Countess Stephanie Fou Offrey allied sky pirates, attacked nobles—suppressed by Olivia and company. Pre-war Fanoss intel leaks exposed.

Now symbol of corrupt nobility—Holfort’s last gleam, mocked.

Yet halls spotless; gardens trimmed. Such structures need upkeep—neglect accelerates decay. Top materials with mechanisms demand hefty maintenance budget.

Academy’s preserved glory: ex-principal chancellor’s doing. But I never saw the principal—nor other students.

Never appeared; succession-withdrawn recluse; chancellor never leaves palace office, skips noble events. Elusive figure. Leon’s eccentric noble, but chancellor tougher.

"Meet him—you’ll be surprised."

Lady Mylene smiled playfully. We’ve met, apparently. Her mischief—not amusing for me.

Guided to principal’s office; guide bows out. Guard signals wait by door.

No escape.

Frankly, I don’t want to meet. This unpleasant academy bad for prenatal. End quick.

*Knock knock knock*

“Come in.”

Resigned, I knock. Male voice inside. Steel myself, open principal’s door. Eyes down, bow—staring royal face rude.

“Welcome, Miss Angelica. Or Mrs. Bartfort better?”

Cool, gentle voice echoes. Mature male—familiar somehow. Want to look, but need permission.

“Please raise your face.”

Gracefully, I lift—see him. Near-white hair, neat mustache, right-eye monocle, distinctive speech.

Striking looks and refined air—unforgettable.

Indeed, etiquette teacher; we have met often.

Never named himself—common for high and low birth teachers.

High: no need. Low: risk disdain.

Queen-training me found tea lessons review-level. Thus forgot him till now.

“Please seat. Ungentlemanly to mistreat pregnant lady.”

“Call me as you wish. Honored by chancellor’s invitation.”

“No need formality. Selfish of me, ignoring your circumstances.”

“Then so. Never realized you were principal in academy.”

“Hiding status often wise—especially withdrawn ex-prince; narrow shoulders anywhere.”

Half truth, half lie. Rumors swirled even then: the former prince withdrew succession rights fearing kingdom split. Disappointment and rage from nobles backing him were fierce—greater than Roland’s supporters, I heard. Father was one.

Father barely hides contempt for King Roland; rarer scorn for the ex-prince laced with resentment.

Thus, the once-retired ex-prince returned via war as chancellor, allying with the queen—now Father’s foe.

Understandable Father wants to crush Holfort.

“I reviewed Mrs. Bartfort’s reform proposal. As chancellor, I fully support bar details.”

“…Truly acceptable?”

“Yes. Rather, a policy from Redgrave’s leading duke’s daughter is splendid.”

“Even if Holfort’s authority crumbles?”

My reforms pushed: commoner rights up, noble status down. Not just nobles—ripples to ruling royals. Royals hollowed, noble power wanes, commoners rise.

Denial of current system—poison decaying nobility.

Victory over Fanoss, yet national decline; noble losses; potential civil split—passes now.

Peaceful times: branded traitor, lifelong confinement.

“I’ve watched the kingdom’s shifts long. Withdrew succession, became principal—my ways to worry for future, act. All backfired.”

“…Including Olivia as scholarship student?”

Long wondered: why academy for Olivia?

She had saintess qualities—post-growth.

Entry: standout but not elite; no better than regular-class low nobles or wealthy commoners.

Common-born pushed into scholarship—hidden intent.

Twice-savior saintess’s resume too perfect. Feels orchestrated from start.

“Admitting Miss Olivia was my call. But she far exceeded expectations. Meant to curb noble rot—a panacea—turned nation-splitting toxin.”

“Why her?”

“As said. Noble corruption peaked. Late king no mediocrity, but noble overreach threatened crown. True succession war puppets: those puppeteering king. My faction had more corrupt nobles numerically.”

“So you withdrew.”

“Welcomed talented Princess Mylene from Lepart; planned educating youth. Academy to sort loyal talents from harmful deadwood.”

“But failed.”

“…Correct.”

Even pampered duke’s daughter me saw noble kids’ rot. Spoiled to fifteen in domains/manors—worldly naïves; easier to raise infants than reeducate. Selfish marriages breed selfish kids—vicious cycle.

High nobles crush talents to protect privileges, enslave. That was academy; Holfort bred pests eroding nation while seeking allies.

“Admitted Miss Olivia to break academy culture. Planned gradual scholarship increase with queen, promote in court—slow education anf personnel reform. But Miss Olivia too brilliant; with Fanoss war ruined all.”

Not all is chancellor-queen’s fault—kingdom too long peaceful. Chose stasis over correction, connections over merit, parasite-riddled near-corpse. Uncontrollable even to brain-like royals—doomed.

Sole salvation: Fanoss war and Frampton purge culled many corrupt nobles.

Now or never to rebuild—but Redgrave usurpation sparks chaos, further weakens.

More strife exhausts noble/commoner hearts, depletes governance talent. Royal-ducal reconciliation essential—I believe.

“Saintess blood: royal poison. Bartfort blood already in Redgrave. Absorbing founder’s blood risky for royals. But Redgrave eyes saintess blood too. Both as justification—Holfort loses ruling legitimacy. Vince thorough.”

“…Why my husband’s blood?”

We lock eyes—mutual confusion. Wall clock ticks in silence. Soon, chancellor covers mouth.

Gesture like slip—unease surges.

『Vince pulled it off.』

King Roland muttered seeing my pregnancy.

Thought just Father drawing Leon to ducal faction. But another meaning?

“Mrs. Bartfort, you married without knowing Bartfort blood’s meaning?”

“Father proposed; I chose.”

“You don’t know why Vince proposed you and Mr. Bartfort?”

“Leon Fou Bartfort slew Fanoss commander, routed army—hero. Marriage for new noble trust.”

“Truly unaware?”

“No idea what you mean.”

“What…”

Chancellor looks skyward, facepalms. Overwhelmed by unexpected. Our marriage: promising new noble + daughter = faction growth.

That’s all.

Yet chancellor sees deeper meaning. Chill shudders spine; want or don’t want to know—nausea.

“…Sir, tell me. Who is Leon—Bartfot?”

“Some truths better unknown. It will clearly change you and your husband’s relationship. Burdens unborn child.”

His gaze on my belly. Warning loses to curiosity.

Ignorance shadows me, Leon, kids’ lives.

Regret or not—I want truth.

“Please, teach me the truth.”

“…I’ll prepare tea. Long story.”

Watching his back rise, regret hits. Alone here—lonely. Only recall distant Leon’s face to distract.

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Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

Lucas debut—wanted to include, but poor role.  

In canon, Leon idolized Lucas as mentor; motivated, he’d prevent many troubles—thus this.  

Suemitsu Shō voice nice middle-aged klutz—huge mismatch. Marie Route secrets start here.  

Unread beware.

Addendum: Per client, illustration by Ero Daisuki-sama. Thank you.

Ero Daisuki-sama: Pixiv (Adult warning)

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