Chapter 230

The moment Ye Zheng heard the maids behind her utter the words, "Your Majesty," she tucked her head even deeper into the young woman's embrace. She could hear Margaret's calm, steady heartbeat, along with a second set of footsteps drawing steadily nearer.

“Empress.”

A male voice, poised somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, called out. It was flat and measured, betraying no discernible emotion.

At the sound of his voice, Margaret shifted slightly. Only the crown of the child in her arms remained faintly visible.

“Where is Your Majesty headed?” she asked, her voice warm with concern.

“The former workers in the Luther District have rioted again. They've broken into the new factories and destroyed production equipment. I need to deal with it.”

Ye Zheng remained pressed against Margaret's chest. The delicate lace adorning the woman's bodice brushed against her face with an irritating scratch, yet she didn't dare lift her head.

From the subtle tension in Margaret's movements, Ye Zheng could tell that she, too, wanted the little girl in her arms to remain unnoticed and avoid drawing the newcomer's attention.

Just as she'd expected, the speaker was the young Aston XIV.

“Send the army to suppress them,” Margaret replied calmly, as though she were discussing the destination of a leisurely outing. “The new factories are the royal family's first great step into a new era. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong.”

“They've only become so desperate because they've lost their livelihoods and their means of supporting themselves. Wouldn't sending the army in immediately be a little too cruel and heartless...?”

“How many times has this happened this month?” Margaret asked in return.

The young emperor fell silent for a moment.

Margaret continued, “Since we've already chosen to advance this new technology, harsh sacrifices are unavoidable. Hesitation is the deadliest mistake of all.”

Margaret's words were sharp and decisive, carrying the confidence of a seasoned navigator crossing an open sea. Yet her voice remained gentle, as though she were patiently guiding someone who had lost their way.

“…I understand.”

“Your Majesty is the wisest of all. Believe me, the empire will enter a glorious new era under your reign!”

As Ye Zheng listened to Margaret's praise, she couldn't shake the feeling that the woman wasn't extolling the virtues of a sovereign so much as humoring a child, or perhaps indulging a younger brother.

The young man's voice answered with a trace of sullen frustration.

“I know, Margaret. You don't have to keep teaching me.”

“Cruel sacrifices... I'll see them through.”

He seemed to let out a quiet, icy snort.

With that, he turned and strode away without another word, showing not the slightest interest in the child nestled in Margaret's arms.

Only after he was gone did Ye Zheng cautiously lift her head to watch Aston XIV's retreating figure. The wide, innocent eyes of a child concealed a quiet, calculating gleam.

She then looked up at Margaret's face. From her angle, she could only make out the graceful curve of the woman's jaw. Even so, the heavy silence hanging in the air made it obvious that Margaret's mood had darkened as well.

Margaret said nothing.

The maids, who had respectfully withdrawn earlier, quietly gathered around once more. Their cheerful laughter had vanished, and they stood silently at a distance.

It wasn't until a maid came hurrying through the corridor to report that Miss Henry had been found that Margaret's expression softened slightly. She calmly instructed the maid to have Miss Henry escorted home.

Carrying Ye Zheng in her arms, Margaret walked through the long corridors, entered the magnificent castle, climbed the sweeping staircase lined with portraits of generations of emperors, and at last returned to the empress's private bedchamber.

She gently set Ye Zheng down upon the plush carpet.

Margaret lowered herself into a crouch until they were at eye level. Within the vast imperial chambers, only the two of them remained, one grown, one small, quietly facing each other.

“Just now, you said you knew ‘why I came here’... What did you mean by that?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Ye Zheng sensed no hostility from Empress Margaret.

She decided there was no point circling the issue.

Margaret smiled faintly.

Her uncommon crimson hair only heightened the vivid force of her presence, yet her brows and irises were an unusually pale shade, concealing a softness that was easy to overlook.

She didn't answer Ye Zheng's question.

Instead, she blinked once before asking in return,

“Then do you know who I am?”

Ye Zheng chose her words with care.

“You are the great Empress of the empire, Margaret of Southern Emerald.”

Before the Aberrant Realms descended, the empire had not yet been divided into the Upper, Middle, and Lower Districts. In those days, Southern Emerald was the richest and most fertile region in the empire's south. Margaret was the daughter of Duke Henry, the lord of Southern Emerald. When she turned fifteen, she entered the royal family as empress, bringing the entire Southern Emerald territory with her and forging an alliance between House Aston and House Henry.

Ye Zheng studied Margaret closely, estimating that she was around twenty years old.

She was still remarkably young, yet a quiet burden rested between her brows, along with a weariness so faint it was almost impossible to notice, one that seemed far older than her years.

“Well said, little Ye Zheng. But I have an even more famous title, don't I?”

The instant the woman before her spoke her name with perfect accuracy, Ye Zheng's heart lurched violently against her ribs.

She stared at Margaret without blinking, watching those rosy lips part as words emerged that grew more unbelievable with every syllable.

“...The Demonic Dragon. That's what later generations call me, isn't it?”

Although she'd already suspected as much, hearing the woman who had not yet become the Demonic Dragon calmly speak that title with her own lips sent a chill racing through Ye Zheng's body. It felt as though her blood had begun to flow in reverse, surging toward her head. A sharp ringing filled her ears. Her pupils quivered as a single question screamed through her mind.

How could the Margaret of this era possibly know?

The Demonic Dragon had yet to appear.

The Aberrant Realms had not descended upon this land.

Abilities did not yet exist. There were only miraculous machines advancing with each passing day.

The nation was racing toward a new age beneath the tide of industry.

No one should've had any inkling that the future was about to veer into catastrophe.

Margaret seemed amused by the little girl's stunned expression.

She reached out, gently brushed the loose strands of hair away from Ye Zheng's cheek, tucked them behind her ear, and let her hand glide slowly from the edge of that ear to the nape of Ye Zheng's neck.

Ye Zheng immediately caught Margaret's wrist in a reverse grip, every movement instinctively defensive and wary.

“Don't be nervous. I just want you to feel something.”

Feel what?

Ye Zheng reached toward the place where Margaret's fingers rested. Her hand found the nape of her own neck. Pressing down instinctively, she felt the distinct ridges of her vertebrae beneath the flesh.

Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto Margaret's smiling gaze.

A section of her spine was growing warm.

Other than that, it felt completely normal. Yet Ye Zheng was almost certain of what she was sensing.

It was the bone she'd extracted from Sykes's body.

The bone that had once belonged to the woman standing before her.

She had clearly sealed it away in the study. She hadn't brought it with her.

“Who exactly are you?”

Ye Zheng's throat had gone dry. Even the clear, childish voice of her eight-year-old body had turned low and hoarse.

“Don't be afraid. Although I'll kill many people in the future, and many more will die because of me...” Margaret gently took Ye Zheng's slightly stiff hand, her voice as soft as ever. “Nothing will happen to you here.”

Ye Zheng frowned.

Instead of pulling away, she tightened her grip around Margaret's hand and silently waited for an explanation.

Dong dong dong!

A frantic knock suddenly shattered the silence.

An anxious maid's voice drifted faintly through the door, carrying the unmistakable urgency of someone reporting a major incident.

Margaret let go of Ye Zheng's hand and rose to her feet, turning toward the entrance.

The warmth and gentleness in her eyes vanished without a trace. In an instant, they became as still as a windless lake, showing neither irritation at the interruption nor the slightest curiosity about what awaited outside.

Ye Zheng watched her, and an inexplicable sense of foreboding settled over her.

“Margaret...”

“Stay here for now. I have something to take care of.”

Without another glance behind her, Margaret left the chambers.

Left alone, Ye Zheng stared absentmindedly at the flames dancing within the fireplace. After a long moment of thought, she crossed the spacious bedchamber, ran to the door, and pulled on the handle.

It didn't move at all.

She pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully.

Footsteps came and went beyond it, people hurrying back and forth through the corridor outside.

Ye Zheng brushed her fingers across the miniature golden sword hanging at her side.

Even without her abilities, she still had ways of escaping. But she knew far too little about the current situation. Venturing out blindly would almost certainly be a mistake.

The little girl, barely half the height of an adult, turned and walked back into the room.

Rummaging through someone else's residence without permission was undeniably rude. But for the current Papess, it was an unavoidable expedient.

She couldn't shake the feeling that inhabiting a child's body had dulled both her reasoning and her physical capabilities by a considerable margin. If that was the case, then perhaps a little impoliteness could simply be written off as the innocent curiosity of a child.

The empress's bedchamber was enormous. Besides the usual sitting room, bathing chamber, and dressing room, it even contained a private chapel.

Ye Zheng first searched through the living room and dressing room. For a member of the royal family, the clothing and jewelry were surprisingly modest in number. As an empress, Margaret could almost be called frugal. The bedchamber held the most fascinating collection of all: paintings and sculptures, animal specimens, weapons of every imaginable shape and style, and nearly every curiosity one could think of.

She also uncovered several land deeds. It had to be said that Margaret's family possessed an impressive fortune.

There wasn't a single trace of anyone else in the empress's bedchamber, least of all Aston XIV. Ye Zheng wasn't surprised in the slightest. Judging from the conversation she'd overheard earlier, their relationship appeared ordinary on the surface, yet beneath it lay countless details that invited speculation.

From the scattered fragments preserved in the historical record, Ye Zheng had long suspected that Margaret had been an empress who wielded genuine authority and governed with a firm hand.

Yet from Margaret's exchange with Aston XIV just moments ago, she had seemed less like his wife and more like an elder sister or mentor. She probably wasn't someone who sought the spotlight. Instead, she quietly supported the emperor from behind the scenes, attending to everything with remarkable thoughtfulness.

No wonder Mercè had barely heard of this empress. Then again, at this point in history, Mercè should only have been three or four years older than Ye Zheng's current self.

Ye Zheng lowered her gaze to her tiny five-fingered hand and couldn't help sinking into a brief spell of dejection.

After searching every corner of the bedchamber, she pushed open a heavy side door and let out a quiet gasp of surprise.

Towering stained-glass windows adorned with painted figures rose into a pointed vaulted ceiling, gazing down upon every visitor from on high. Cold, unyielding shields lined the smooth marble walls. The dim, hazy light filled the chamber with an atmosphere that was at once solemn and sacred.

This was the empress's private chapel.

Ye Zheng examined the room with care. It had clearly been expensive to build, lavish in its craftsmanship and sacred in purpose. Yet the finer details revealed its age. It had likely stood here for generations, passed down through the imperial line.

At the far end of the chapel lay a memorial hall. Standing on tiptoe, Ye Zheng reached up and felt around inside, only to discover that it was completely empty.

Beside it stood a holy bookcase. Dust blanketed every shelf, and not a single book remained.

Although Ye Zheng had no idea which deity the people of this era worshipped, everything apart from the deity itself felt strikingly familiar. The artistic style, the architecture, even the rituals of remembrance bore little difference from those dedicated to the God of Hope.

The very presence of a private chapel within the empress's bedchamber was proof enough that the empire of this age held an unwavering faith in this deity. Yet, intriguingly, Margaret herself did not seem to believe in the god of her own era.

A glimmer crossed Ye Zheng's eyes. There was something deeply incongruous about Margaret.

Before she could untangle that lingering sense of unease, a faint but unmistakably unusual sound came from the doorway.

Ye Zheng made her way to the chapel entrance, intending to apologize to Margaret for her earlier rudeness and use the opportunity to ask a few more questions.

Then, at the last moment, she quietly steadied herself against the heavy bronze door, slipped behind it, and peered through the narrow gap in silence.

The person who entered wasn't Margaret.

It was a young man dressed in lavish, heavy robes.

He looked almost oppressively despondent, so much so that the magnificent robes draped over him seemed less like royal regalia and more like shackles burdening his spine.