The Regressed Princess - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Diary – Chronology: Zero, The Beginning of All Things

Zero, the beginning of all things.

The concept of “Year 0” was first proposed by Eleanor in her previous life. She had designated the day of Andra’s official coronation as Year 1 of the Common Era, implementing a new calendar called the Sun-Moon Era throughout the country.

Eleanor paused her pen naturally, then marked a point roughly one-third of the way across the timeline, writing in elegant script: Year 21 CE, Previous Life – The date of Andra’s coronation.

As for the Year 0 of this life it was today!

0, Year 0 CE – The Backtrack Point.

Eleanor marked the two points, organized her thoughts, and moved her pen to the end of the line: Year 57 CE, Previous Life – The date of my death.

From Andra’s coronation to my passing, it was a total of thirty-six years. Such a long, long time.

As Eleanor caressed her still-youthful face, she carefully sifted through her blurred memories. Her recollections of Andra’s other consorts and children had scattered to the winds, leaving only Andra’s face.

The pleading Andra, the joyful Andra, the proud Andra, the determined Andra, and finally… the despairing, heartbroken Andra.

Eleanor sighed. She could draw no satisfaction or solace from that final scene before death—only deep confusion.

Did Andra truly love me? Likely she did. When she promised, “Even if Nolanna falls, I will never tolerate anyone trampling on your dignity,” she must have been sincere.

And I… I loved Andra just as deeply.

She clutched her aching chest. That was why, even at the very end, she hadn’t truly used all her strength to leave her.

Leave. I must leave.

Eleanor looked up abruptly, discovering her right hand had scrawled a line on the parchment, the ink nearly bleeding through. It seemed that even with divine mercy, some scars from the previous life still flowed through her.

She pulled herself together and marked a point between 0 and 21, adding: Year 19 CE, Andra defeats her sister Atilla in the final battle at Enlin; Victory.

Enlin was her Princess Eleanor’s territory. This world was still in transition from slavery to feudalism; the royal family maintained rule through the enfeoffment system. Although a princess didn’t possess the same succession rights as a King’s primary heir, she still held titular lands.

As for Atilla she was Andra’s full sister.

When Eleanor first heard that name in her past life, she was startled, wondering if some historical figure from Earth had reincarnated. She later learned that this world held the “A” sound in high esteem, believing it to be the first sound of human birth. Thus, the name “Atilla” was very common, almost equivalent to “Mary” or “Jane.” If you shouted “Atilla!” at a grassland market during a festival, at least a dozen tall, rugged women would look up and respond, “Aye?”

Atilla was the eldest daughter of Aguno, the King of Hetuya. Since this world generally practiced primogeniture, Atilla was groomed as a general from childhood; everyone assumed she would eventually be a subordinate to one of her younger sisters.

Andra, the youngest daughter, fared no better because their mother, Aguno, was still young and had plenty of time to continue having children with the Queen. Thus, Andra was also dismissed as an unlucky spare without succession rights and was crudely sent to the neighboring kingdom of Nolanna as a hostage. Of course, later…

Eleanor marked another point and wrote: Year 16 CE, King Aguno of Hetuya dies; suspected murder by Atilla.

It didn’t matter how the King actually died; everyone assumed Atilla did it because the second princess of Hetuya died on the same day. This left only Atilla and Andra. Naturally, to deal with the younger sister who had automatically gained succession rights, Atilla turned her sword toward Nolanna, intending to kill by another’s hand—or her own. It was a logical move; the relationship between Hetuya and Nolanna was complex, and furthermore.

Eleanor silently wrote: Year 16 CE, Bitter cold and famine.

The winter that year was exceptionally cold. Even the warmest southern regions of Nolanna were buried under a foot of snow, let alone the northern kingdom of Hetuya. Most conflicts between people and nations can be resolved through trade or compromise, but famine offers no such luxury.

Eleanor shuddered at the frozen memory. That winter… was truly cold. Only Enlin, under her rule, possessed unimaginable prosperity.

By Year 16, Eleanor had managed Enlin for eight full years. During those years, the high-quality seeds she found and the planting methods she promoted had benefited all of Nolanna and even the neighboring plains. However, the heavy taxes of other lords acted like blades in the mouths of the starving commoners. Hetuya, in particular, was on the brink of collapse due to the Great Frost.

So, in the dead of a silent night, the Hetuyan cavalry broke through Nolanna’s gates. The main force crossed several territories within days, staining Enlin with dripping blood.

The fear branded in her heart drove Eleanor’s pen, filling the next page with fading details: specific ratios for ink and pulp, vital parts for agricultural tools, and key personnel.

In my past life, I was… too naive.

Eleanor’s tears fell onto the back of her hand. She had been sheltered in the royal gardens, indulging in a romantic childhood romance with Andra. It wasn’t until she was 18 due to her mother’s illness and a desire to avoid Nolanna’s treacherous politics that she and her companions hurried to Enlin.

From Year 8 to Year 16, she and her craftsmen had created waterwheels and mills, improved paper, pens, and ink, and refined numerous farm tools. She had also collected three extremely useful seeds naming them corn, rice, and cotton and promoted farming methods suited to the local climate.

She had completed many of the standard tasks for a “reincarnated lord,” so she had felt justified in returning to her romantic games with Andra. When they first took over the territory, they were so busy it nearly strained their relationship. Later, both she and Andra slowed their pace. Once things were on track, they hunted together, searched for mountain springs, played in fields of wildflowers, or simply went home to blow out the lamps and roll into fluffy cotton quilts together.

Eleanor covered her forehead. Many memories of her past life were blurred, yet she remembered every detail of that night. She had been patting the quilt with one hand and stroking Andra’s cheek with the other, saying happily: “See? Cotton is so useful. By next year, we can take this warmth to…”

Bang!

A messenger kicked open the door, shouting hoarsely: “Enemy attack—!”

Clang—Clang-clang.

Simultaneously, the tower bells and firelight pierced the cold night. The smiling Andra leaped from the bed in an instant. She donned her light armor with terrifying speed, drew her longsword, and walked out.

“Eleanor, wait for me.” Her expression was grave, but her tone remained light.

Whether out of worry for her lover or her duty as a lord, Eleanor had pushed aside the quilt, thrown on a cloak, and rushed out after her. “I—I’ll… I’ll watch you from the tower.”

That was all she could say. How could a “weak bird” rush to the battlefield with a God of War?

Eleanor smiled bitterly as she wrote. The difference between a “Princess” and a “King’s Heir” was that a princess did not drink the “Waters of Grace” to suppress the Blood River before age twelve, so her muscles and bones would not undergo a third stage of development. The common terms “Bearer” and “Non-Bearer” resulted from similar medicinal soups.

In truth, Non-Bearers weren’t strictly infertile—their “blood river” still came for a few days a year but if they did conceive, they faced a nearly 100% chance of fatal obstructed labor. Hence the name.

In a world where a hero can easily defeat dozens of ordinary people, this gap was lethal. So, even as a spoiled princess and a reincarnated soul who saw the world as a romance game, Eleanor could only climb the high tower under the guard of her elite Princess Guard, using a homemade telescope to watch Andra’s retreating back.

Andra was strong. Very strong. Eleanor never doubted that—not just because of Andra’s golden name, but because…

Click.

Her writing pen paused. Eleanor looked out the window. Manju and Thorn were changing shifts with the adult guards, preparing for morning training. In her previous life at this time, they were sparring with Andra. As for the reason…

“Princess, I shall become the sharp sword that protects you.”

Eleanor had looked at the kneeling girl, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She had stepped forward to take Andra’s hand, her heart and eyes full of this golden beauty. Andra had smiled back, and the little princess couldn’t help but clutch her chest: So beautiful.

She had suffered ten years of headaches, yet they vanished quietly on that day. Then… Eleanor’s eyes reflected Andra’s young image: We must be fated lovers.

If this were a romance game, the main quest of her life was meeting Andra. As fated partners, everything should be special. The little princess took Andra’s sword, kissed her forehead before she could rise, and announced loudly: “From now on, you are my Guardian Knight!”

She was so focused on holding Andra’s hand that she didn’t look back to see Manju’s pale face or Thorn’s grim expression. They did not remain silent.

“Princess, I believe this matter requires further discussion,” Manju had stepped forward.

Thorn’s opposition was even more direct. She knelt on one knee, drawing her sword and holding it up. “Princess, please arrange a duel between me and Andra. Only the winner is qualified to protect you.”

They disliked this newcomer who so easily stole the princess’s heart, and they doubted the sinister intentions of this Hetuyan hostage. But the Princess Guard was independent of any other organization; all appointments depended on the whims of the King and the Princess. A duel was their only way to intervene.

“Eh, you don’t have to—” Eleanor tried to laugh it off, but Andra had already stepped past her shoulder, shielding her in shadow.

The blonde girl slowly drew her longsword against the sunlight, chuckling: “You two come at me together.”

The cold wind of the sword blurred the garden with that snow-filled night. The young Andra easily brushed aside Thorn and left a mark on Manju’s chest. The adult Andra was like a tiger, a lion… no, she was a black dragon from a nightmare. When the falling stones on the wall ceased and the gates groaned open, the silk-like night was torn by the synchronized thud of hooves.

Only one person rode at the very front Andra, leading a corps called the “Peacekeepers,” which was in reality her direct cavalry. They tore through the Hetuyan phalanx like a knife through butter, branding deep fear onto faces both mature and young.

Fire, blood… blood, more blood!

“Ha, hahahaha!” Andra laughed aloud on the battlefield, her longsword harvesting lives like wheat.

She was a wraith hunting life. High in the tower, Eleanor, at some unknown point, had become covered in tears and collapsed into Manju’s arms, her face pale. She knew… Andra was right. Fighting to defend one’s country is absolute justice; any slaughter resulting from it is to protect more innocents.

But what had the people, driven by disaster and exploitation, done wrong? They never even had the chance for an education.

Snow mixed with tears fell steadily. She hated war, hated killing, hated the smell of blood. If only we could completely end all wars, she buried this naive, grand ambition deep in her heart.

“Eleanor, I know you don’t like fighting, and you hate war even more.”

Facing her wife’s bitter face, the victorious Andra did not complain once. She knelt by the bed, gently cupping Eleanor’s face, imprinting a tender kiss like a true Guardian Knight, and made a solemn vow. “Noble Princess, in this lifetime, I will never let blood splatter your hem. As long as I live, no blade shall harm you.”

Yes, Andra, you fulfilled your promise well—except for that final day.

Eleanor smiled bitterly and rubbed her eyes, realizing a major problem. She had already recorded the most critical events of her past life:

1. 1. Year 8 – She is 18. Her mother dies; the country is in chaos. She barely reaches Enlin alive.

1. 1. Year 16 – She is 26. The King of Hetuya dies; the Great Frost arrives. Atilla invades.

1. 1. Year 19 – She is 29. Andra utterly defeats Atilla on the first and final battlefield.

1. 1. Year 21 – She is 31. Andra is crowned.

1. 1. Year 57 – She is 67. Dies as the Queen of Hetuya.

Looking closely, every single one of these major events was tied to Andra. How could she avoid Andra while still steering the future toward the best possible outcome? Aside from anything else, the internal and external wars at ages 18 and 26 were daunting enough.

Eleanor bit her lip, her head aching. Who, without Andra, could win those two campaigns? Manju? Or Thorn?

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