The Regressed Princess - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: The Bell Tolls; Eleanor Looks in Disbelief at the Youth on the Throne…

Swish… This regression was like a gust of wind.

The moment Eleanor opened her eyes, she was back on horseback in the early morning.

At this moment, no one had set out yet. Andra was pacing nearby, trying to strike a handsome pose in front of her.

Eleanor gave a bitter smile: she shouldn’t have ridden a horse; she should have arranged for a carriage. That would have made it a bit more difficult for Atilla to snatch her when she arrived.

However, the reason she had been reckless enough to take to the field in person was precisely because she possessed the ability to reset.

When her personal guards began to suffer casualties, she would choose to reset regardless of whether the mission was successful or not. She was truly greedy.

Eleanor lifted the pendant and glanced at it; the first petal was clean.

There were no more bloodstains in this life. No matter what happened next, she would not be able to regress again.

It wouldn’t have much impact.

Eleanor let go of the pendant and steadied her mind. The series of things she planned to do next were extremely risky; even if she were given ten more regressions, it would be impossible to achieve a result with zero casualties for everyone.

“Andra!”

As soon as she called, Andra came galloping over on her horse. The tall youth tilted her head, mimicking Eleanor’s mannerisms as if acting spoiled: “Princess, why did you call me.”

Seeing her like this, the anger brought by Atilla dissipated quite a bit.

Eleanor rode over and whispered into her ear: “Head toward the sun later. Before long, you’ll see your sister. She’s taken a portion of her people off their horses and is hiding in the woods by the roadside.”

“Mhm, eh?!” Andra’s gaze was filled with suspicion and shock, but she had grown accustomed to the Princess’s seemingly prophetic talent and calmed down in an instant.

“Everyone, follow me!” Andra shouted. A portion of the cavalry left the formation in a tacit understanding, following her to outflank a certain point.

Not long after, Manju also received new orders and circled around from another direction.

Clip-clop, clip-clop-clop.

The sound of orderly hoofbeats crushed the morning dew. The Hetuyans squatting in the bushes were instantly stunned.

“Dammit! They’re coming from both sides!” Atilla grit her teeth and drew her long blade with a shing.

Are those Nolannans’ brains broken? Why won’t they just take the main road? They had to circle around from both sides! Don’t you realize this terrain isn’t suitable for a cavalry charge at all?!

A cavalry charge was indeed difficult here, but there happened to be a decent patch of shrubs.

Generally speaking, the forests and grasslands within Nolanna were quite humid and didn’t burn easily. Fortunately, gunpowder and fuel offered a slightly different opinion.

Whiz, whiz.

Specially prepared arrows flew into the forest one by one, exploding with a crack-pop in the center. The explosives went off in the Hetuyans’ faces, sparking bursts of wretched screams.

Atilla did not hesitate for a second. The moment the flames flared up, she raised her blade to hack through the burning shrubs, forcing her way through the flames and out of the encirclement.

Her brilliant golden-red hair was a singed mess, and her handsome face was dotted with several holes; even when healed, they would turn into hideous craters.

Atilla had barely fought her way out of the thick smoke when she looked up and saw her damnable sister sitting on a horse, watching her with composure.

“Cough, cough, cough… Andra, it—it’s you!!” Her eyes looked ready to burst.

“Oh, you’re mistaken.” Andra casually drew her bow and notched an arrow.

Whiz—thwack.

Eleanor stood not far away, watching Andra effortlessly finish off her own biological sister.

With just one person and one arrow, the great enemy who had posed a massive threat and even killed several personal guards in the previous round vanished like smoke.

Cruel and cold-blooded, selfish and confident, brilliant and brave, joyful in battle…

Eleanor clutched her heart with complex emotions.

When Andra occupied the position of a companion, regardless of the type of battle favorable, adverse, or desperate; legion warfare or street fighting so long as it involved a physical struggle, she was the most reliable support.

Last time, even without using a regression, she could have relied on Andra to gain a chance for a reversal.

But Andra was not her “companion.”

When such a terrifyingly strong person stood on the opposite side, heaven knows how many regression chances it would take to win a slim chance of survival.

Andra put away her bow and arrows, and incidentally instructed her subordinates to give her sister a few more greetings with their swords to ensure the body didn’t stay warm.

“Your Highness, you truly are like a god in your predictions~”

Having finished her business, she approached Eleanor with an elegant air. She gazed intently at the little Princess, then extended her right hand.

“Princess Eleanor, I am willing to go back with you first to help your sister stabilize her throne. Would you be willing to return to Hetuya with me after the dust settles and become my wife?”

She spoke these words openly, without hiding from anyone.

Thorns wanted to step forward excitedly to say something, but she was stopped by her sister Manju’s raised hand.

Eleanor trembled slightly under Andra’s serious gaze. She smiled and shook her head. “I wish you a safe journey.”

Bong— Bong.

The bells of the capital rang continuously, rippling out layer by layer like waves.

Miscella was sitting in a courtyard eating when she heard the sound and dropped her spoon with a clink.

“Oh my!”

Mother has passed away! She scratched frantically at her hair and cheeks, sniffing and letting out two dry wails, but the tears simply wouldn’t flow.

Miscella truly had little impression of Eva. When she was young, she had heard many small stories about the Sage-King before her accession, but over the last few years living in Enlin, those previous feelings of admiration had long been forgotten.

What do I do next?

She hesitated: she had agreed with her sister and everyone else that she would lead everyone to the palace, and if they encountered resistance, they would storm inside.

Eleanor had said, “Sister, you are the legitimate heir. Many great nobles will be willing to support you provided, of course, that you can bring enough benefits and take the initiative to stand up before they make a choice.”

By rights, there was no turning back once the arrow was shot. She should mount her horse right now and gallop toward the palace gates.

However, many redundant thoughts surged into her mind at this moment, such as.

Perhaps Mother is faking her death. She wants to lure me in, and I’ll be shot dead the moment I reach the palace gates.

Or does Ophelia have a trump card? What would her trump card be, and how should I deal with it?

Her entire body was trembling. Rebellion was a capital offense, and failing to seize the throne was also a crime punishable by death.

Seven years had passed; Miscella’s body had grown quite a bit, but being far from the court, she had grown even less confident in her status as the legitimate younger child.

Her legitimate status had gradually become like a thin garment in winter; it could cover her body, but it offered no warmth at all, leaving her feeling chilled to the bone.

Miscella wasn’t afraid of death; death was but a head falling to the ground.

But she placed great importance on a warrior’s honor and dignity: if she entered the palace only to be shot into a porcupine by Ophelia’s people, how would history record it? Wouldn’t her name stink for ten thousand years!

How about I have everyone wait a bit longer, and wait for Eleanor to return before making a plan?

She moved her lips.

Crash! The door was pushed open forcefully by a pair of hands.

Hudora’s figure stepped through the gate. Leading two guards, she walked quickly to Miscella and bowed. “Your Highness! There is no time to lose. Please give the order.”

More and more people gathered. As the number of people around her increased, Miscella’s courage inflated like a balloon.

She remembered that Eleanor had also said the words “no time to lose.”

“Ahem!” She cleared her throat and said loudly: “Good, let’s go!”

She took a running start and flipped onto the white horse brought by an attendant, pulling the reins and charging out the door with great heroic spirit.

Trot-trot, trot-trot-trot!

The sound of the group’s hoofbeats echoed through the streets. The citizens had locked their doors and windows and shut themselves in their homes the moment they heard the bells.

According to Nolanna’s custom, when a King dies, the people must mourn for at least a week. During this week, they must stop all entertainment, wash their faces with tears, eat only small amounts of vegetarian food, and prepare to pay a “Coronation Tax” for the new King the following month.

Thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.

Miscella was leading her people halfway there; they hadn’t even cleared the city district when they heard a rhythmic sound of drums.

What’s going on?

She twisted her head nervously, looking left and right. Didn’t Eleanor say the city guards had all been bribed? Why were there still soldiers beating drums?!

Whoosh.

A group of warriors dressed similarly to ordinary citizens ran out from various alleys. They hurled pitchforks fiercely at Miscella, who was on her horse.

“Split up, quickly!” Miscella shouted in a hurry.

The people she had brought out were all cavalry; it was difficult to maneuver around these dense alleys. They had to stay on the main road. Even so, she didn’t dare rashly dismount and become infantry; heaven knows how many people were hidden in the small alleys. It would be a joke if she were surrounded and killed by the enemy.

Miscella drew her sword decisively. Her mentor was the best swordsmanship master in the country; she certainly wouldn’t die here!

“Charge with me.” Boiling with passion, she rode out, hacking down two people who dared to approach her horse. These people truly weren’t ordinary citizens; they were wearing leather armor beneath their clothes.

The battle fell into a stalemate for a time…

Whiz, whiz!

An arrow broke through the air, followed by a second and a third.

Whiz, whiz, whiz—thwack.

Arrow after arrow formed a curtain of rain, washing over the enemies from above.

Miscella looked up excitedly and squeezed her fist tight.

Yay! It’s the archers Eleanor arranged. She truly predicted that the enemy would set an ambush here!

The archers occupied the high ground, giving the cavalry below wings. They quickly killed and drove out most of the enemies in the alleys. Miscella did not lead her troops inside to pursue, but turned and rushed toward the palace with all her might.

When the horses galloped through the long street, the palace gates—which were always closed and seemed exceptionally tall to her when she was little—stood right before her eyes.

Miscella’s heart accelerated with every moment she looked up at the palace complex, beating faster and faster.

Faster, just a bit faster! She was about to move in and become the new monarch of this land!

Trot, trot-trot.

The hoofbeats flew, but the palace gates did not open for a long time. Miscella still didn’t slow down, charging forward at full speed with the people behind her.

Trot.

While on her galloping horse, she suddenly saw a figure running from the other side.

It was Eleanor!

The girl’s pitch-black hair fluttered in the wind. Her beautiful younger sister was also rapidly approaching the palace gate on a white horse. She and the people behind her were very alert; those familiar Princess Guards were also carrying a string of jars and cans.

Miscella knew those jars. It was said they could blow open the gates directly in the worst-case scenario.

Grind… Just as Eleanor reached the palace gate, the heavy doors finally began to open slowly.

On both sides of the gate stood several familiar figures, including her mother-in-law and the connections she and Eleanor had built over the years.

How wonderful… Miscella let out a huge sigh of relief. I’ve won this battle!

At the same time she relaxed, a tiny bit of discomfort suddenly surged in her heart.

Why didn’t the gates open when I charged toward them? Why did they have to wait until Eleanor arrived to open right on time? I am the King ordained by heaven!

However, she also knew this grievance was baseless. The people inside hadn’t opened the gates that slowly; what did it have to do with Eleanor? The only ones fighting for the throne were her and Ophelia.

After thinking this through, Miscella’s mood finally settled, and she squeezed the reins again to charge through the gates.

“Sister—I’m taking the lead!” She bypassed Eleanor, who was talking to the ministers, and rushed into the main hall with urgent impatience.

Everything that followed went quite smoothly.

The Eldest Sister, Dasha, had passed away from eating too much honey a year ago. Ophelia, meanwhile, briskly handed over her “forged” edict and proactively begged to move into the tall tower to spend the rest of her life.

“You’ve won. I never did anything; they forced me to do it all… Please spare me.”

Ophelia’s expression was blank as she said these words, but she had always had that half-dead expression; she looked no different than she did several years ago.

Miscella waved her hand. She was just about to say something when she turned to look at Eleanor.

This time, her younger sister did not nod, shake her head, or give her any hints.

Eleanor’s behavior made Miscella very happy, so she made a grand gesture toward Ophelia: “Oh, we are sisters after all. You should live in the side palace from now on; don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Thank you for your mercy.” Ophelia prostrated herself on the ground and gave a respectful kowtow, then left immediately without a lingering look.

After the last outsider left, Miscella giggled as she picked up the crown presented by the ministers. she balanced the crown on her head and looked again and again into the bronze mirror in the center of the hall.

“Hehehe. Great! I’ll be coronated tomorrow~”

Eleanor waited until she was finished before patting her sister’s shoulder to remind her: “A legitimate coronation ceremony takes several days to prepare. No one is fighting you for it anyway; wait a few more days.”

“Oh~” Miscella agreed casually. She picked up the scepter beside her and struck the ground, saying with an air of authority: “Sister Eleanor, hear my command!”

Although she hadn’t officially ascended the throne, Eleanor gave her face by lifting her skirt in a salute, indicating her sister could give the order.

Miscella cleared her throat and said loudly: “I appoint you as—the Great Lord of the Border!”

What kind of official position was a Great Lord of the Border?

However, rulers on the Moon Mist Continent often made up official titles on the spot; there were even many Kings who sold titles and offices. Everyone waited quietly for Miscella to explain.

She spoke fluently: “Enlin was given to you by Mother. I want to give you all the uninhabited lands around it~ Anyway, you can take as much of the empty land around the border as you want.”

Doing this was actually a bit cunning. Miscella, as the newly appointed King, didn’t dare to offend the Great Lords of any city-state, so she nominally granted the wilderness and uncontrolled “empty lands” to her sister, who had the highest merit. It was somewhat like being a Frontier Expansion Marquess.

Especially since the neighbor next to Enlin was Hetuya, this “Great Lord of the Border” title could basically be called the “Great Sucker of the Border.”

Eleanor wasn’t angry. She knew Miscella hadn’t studied geography or politics well; it likely wasn’t intentional. Miscella was probably just lazy and a bit cowardly, believing that so long as her sister had a title, she had the ability to take enough land from others—which was indeed the case.

“Yes.”

Eleanor agreed respectfully. As she stood up, she asked casually: “May I ask when I should take office?”

She was actually asking: How much longer can I stay in the capital?

Because the King sitting on the throne was now Miscella and not Eva, Eleanor was no longer the little Princess who could enter and leave the capital freely. Her current title was “Great Lord of the Border,” which was nominally an official, and she needed to stay in her own territory.

Eleanor was waiting for Miscella to say three or five years, so she could stay in the capital to help her sister handle the initial government affairs. It would be best if she could revitalize a national-scale chamber of commerce, at least maintain the stability of the order in the capital, and settle all those freed slave soldiers…

“How about in one week!”

Miscella said carelessly, “You have to attend my coronation ceremony after all.”

One week…

Eleanor looked in disbelief at the youth on the throne, and she believed the expressions of the people around her were even more spectacular than hers.

Miscella blinked and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong, Lily~ I’ve successfully become King; do you still refuse to believe in my strength?”

Eleanor moved her lips. She had many things to say, but looking at her sister’s self-satisfied face, she ultimately just lowered her head.

“Of course. I believe you will do your best. I will leave immediately after the ceremony is over.”

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