CHAPTER ELEVEN
A thick silence settled over the court like smoke.
Ryuuka stepped forward, her chin lifted, her voice crisp and unwavering. "Before we begin with border reports, let us address the matter most pressing—Princess Samara's engagement to Prince Skaal of Valheim."
Gasps and murmurs rippled across the court.
"This engagement was only ever delayed—not annulled," she continued, her tone precise. "The political weight it carries for the safety of Nippon's northern flank cannot be overstated."
She turned toward Samara without flinching. "Given the recent events and threats upon the capital, it is clear the Empire cannot afford to delay this alliance any longer."
"Convenient," Ayato said, stepping forward, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "To twist my sister's pain and near-death as some ticket to diplomatic favor—really classy."
"She's a Kintaro—like the rest of us," Ryuuka said, her voice cold and clipped. "And being one means our names carry weight, not comfort. We were born with duties, not choices. You think I want this for her? I don't. But I want Nippon to survive. And survival doesn't care how we feel about the cost."
"That's easy to say when you're not the one being packaged and sent to a man you've never met."
Ayato's voice cracked briefly. "She's not just a pawn, she's—" He stopped. Then softer, "She's my sister. The only one who shares my mother's smile. And the thought of sending her away, to be owned by another kingdom, when she just clawed her way back from death… that's not strategy. That's cruelty."
Samara stepped forward slowly. Her body ached, but she kept her head high. "If I'm just a pawn… why bother dressing me like a princess?"
The room hushed.
Kuruma laughed behind her fan, her eyes cold and glittering. "Because even broken dolls still look presentable. We've all bled for this family. The difference is—most of us weren't handed crowns and pity."
Homura's grin spread like fire eager for dry leaves. "Trial by combat, I say. Let her prove she's not dead weight—or just get rid of the drama once and for all."
"She already did," Ayato snapped. "Held the north gate longer than most would. Ask Sumire."
The council summoned Sumire in front.
Sumire stepped forward, bowed to each side of the royal courtroom, her hands clasped. "I was at the gate. She fought. No armor. No training. But she fought. Her instincts were lethal. Crude, but effective."
"She survived because others bled for her," Kamezou muttered, barely concealing his disdain. "If she has power now, it's borrowed—from corpses and favors."
"She shielded wounded men," Sumire continued, her voice trembling with the weight of memory. "Created weapons out of nothing—broken wood, shattered stone, anything she could grab. She didn't flinch—not once. Even as her arms bled, even when her legs buckled, she stood. She fought. And when I screamed for her to retreat, she refused—because there were still people left to protect."
Sumire's hands tightened into fists at her sides. "She was reckless, yes. But she was brave. And in that moment, I saw someone willing to die not for glory, but for strangers. Her instincts were disturbingly sharp—she didn't hesitate. Every slash, every angle she moved to defend, it was like she knew exactly where to strike. But her body—" Sumire's voice tightened, "—her body couldn't keep up. Weak knees, poor stamina, she almost collapsed twice. But she didn't stop."
"She stood toe to toe with the demon prince Xelvar for a moment, even distracted him long enough for Lord Tenchi to intervene. That kind of courage? It wasn't born of training. It was something else."
Sumire looked directly at the council. "She created Iyashi in the middle of that chaos. Through her blood and a bottle of health potion, through sheer desperation. I watched her build that doll from a prayer and a scream, and it saved lives—including mine and Lord Tenchi's."
"That's not luck. That's valor. That's will," Ayato added.
"You want to crown her for not dying?" Kuruma said with a sneer.
"No," Ryuuka answered. "But I'll acknowledge this—she didn't retreat. She stayed. She fought. She lived."
Ayato clenched his jaw, watching the seething faces of their siblings. They don't hate her for being weak—they hate her because she still matters.
Samara said nothing—but the knot in her chest was growing tighter, hotter. Her face remained composed, but her heart was a battlefield of pressure and restraint. Her fingers curled into her lap. She stared at the polished floor as if it might swallow her whole.
They didn't want her to succeed. They wanted her to disappear.
Tenchi exhaled slowly and spoke, his voice calm but final. "What she did may not change your hearts, but it changes my judgment. That was valor—a true Kintaro spirit."
Ryuuka gave the smallest nod. "I agree."
"But the marriage will proceed," Tenchi added after a pause. "Regardless of her actions and valor."
Sam didn't flinch—not outwardly. But inside, he clenched his teeth. So that's how it is. I can fight and bleed—but it will never be enough to change the path they set for her… or for me.
Still, she forced her spine straight. This wasn't over. This was her life now. Sam would not give up—not when she'd already clawed her way back from death, not when every step forward came at the cost of the girl who came before her. Whatever waited ahead, she would endure it. And not just survive. She would rise.
Ryuuka's voice returned, clipped and controlled. "Now, with that resolved—let us proceed to the strategic border reports."
She faced the assembly. "Two days ago, Ayato repelled an undead wyvern raid at the Northern Border. The enemy came prepared, but their assault was only a distraction. The real target... was the capital."
Gasps rippled across the hall.
She turned slightly, voice still composed. "A week before that, I was stationed at the Southern Border. The demons staged a calculated siege—brutal and disturbingly organized. It was brutal, we lost good men. I lost good men. And I fear this was only a test."
Kamezou followed. "Ten days prior, the Western Border faced a surge of giant-class demons. I intercepted and neutralized them with minimal loss."
Ayato raised an eyebrow. "Alone?" he repeated, tone sharper. "With demons of that size? You expect us to believe you handled that without significant backup?"
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Or are you just leaving out details because they'd contradict this neat, tidy story you brought back with you?"
Kamezou's eyes narrowed. "With support," he replied, his tone clipped and deliberately vague. "The situation is under control. And I see no reason to dissect a successful outcome just to entertain your suspicions."
There was a cold undercurrent in his voice—controlled irritation wrapped in noble restraint. He didn't look at Ayato as he spoke, but his jaw tightened, as if biting back something heavier.
Kuruma interjects, her voice like silk over steel. "I entered demon territory for reconnaissance," Kuruma said, her voice low but firm. "What I saw confirms our worst fears. Their army is no longer scattered raiding parties. It's formation—military, structured. Uniforms, sigils, coordinated movement. They are not preparing for a siege—they are preparing for eradication."
Her eyes swept the room. "I encountered two separate warbands moving in calculated patterns. The roads were watched. I was nearly intercepted three times. Their scouts weren't clumsy—they were surgical. Quiet, brutal, intelligent."
She paused, letting the silence stretch. "They weren't looking for soldiers. They were looking for names. For bloodlines. For royals."
She offered no smile this time. Only silence.
The final message came from the twins, delivered through a secure crystal that flickered to life with static.
"Ehem! Ehem! Hello! Wait, is this thing on?" came a mischievous voice. "Oh, yep—it's recording."
Another voice chimed in, slightly deeper but equally amused, "If this gets us court-martialed again, I'm blaming you."
The image steadied, revealing the twins grinning side by side.
"We've reached the last known dwarven refugee camp," said the first. "Negotiations for safe haven are underway. They're suspicious, naturally—but curious."
"We offered them warm beds, ten barrels of sake, and a front-row seat to the Empire's doom. Pretty sure they're considering it."
Then their tone shifted.
"In all seriousness," one added, face hardening slightly, "they're broken, but not gone. If we can bring them in, we gain skilled craftsmen, warriors, and allies who know what it means to lose everything. That is all! Over!" The magic crystal popped and sizzle.\
Samara's gaze lingered on the fading crystal as the twins' message ended. A small part of her stirred—wondering what it would be like to learn from dwarves who forged weapons not with spells but with centuries of wisdom. Could she master their craft? Could she learn to make something that wouldn't fail her body?
She clenched her fists gently, a quiet promise in her chest. If I can earn their trust, I'll learn everything.
Ryuuka stepped back, addressing the court.
"Three truths have emerged from these missions."
"One: Demons live among us. In the capital. In noble homes. Wearing our faces. Adopting our mannerisms. They walk among us not as invaders—but as neighbors, servants, advisers. Some Royals… even commoners… are working with them—willingly or not. Traitors wearing smiles. Shadows in court robes. And we welcomed them through the gates."
"Two: Their preparations for war are no longer whispers or rumors—they are fire coiled beneath the skin of Ertha. Their intent isn't conquest. They don't want just our borders. They don't want just our gold. They want it all. Piece by piece. Kingdom by kingdom. Nippon is only the beginning—the easiest prey. The weakest wall. They'll claw their way through us and devour what's left of Ertha. This isn't conquest. It's domination. And we're first on their map."
"Three: Samara—" Ryuuka turned her gaze, level and sharp, "—has become their target. Not out of fear... but greed."
She let the weight of her words settle, then continued, her voice harder. "Her resurrection," Ryuuka said, "has created a mana pool that may rival—or exceed—the Demon Lord himself. She is no longer the weakest daughter. She is a spark they intend to claim and use for their most wicked agendas."
Gasps spread like wildfire. Some council members stood halfway from their seats. Faces twisted in disbelief. Others clenched their fists—some in anger, some in fear.
"Lies!!!! Samara? The worthless princess?! The manaless Royal?!!! That has to be the funniest joke I have ever heard today," Kamezou sneered, his laughter sharp and mocking. "She couldn't even lift a practice blade without fainting. Now you expect us to believe she stood against demons?"
Homura scoffed from across the room. "Next you'll tell us she's the new hero of Nippon. Please. I've seen broken sticks put up more resistance."
Kuruma clicked her tongue, folding her fan with a snap. "All this over one fight? She probably tripped into the battlefield and got lucky someone didn't gut her. A royal miracle, no doubt."
"She's a liability," one muttered.
"She's a weapon," another replied.
Tenchi raised his blade, commanding silence.
"Let her finish!" he said.
Silence filled the royal courtroom.
Ayato stepped forward next. "Samara fought to protect the Capital. Many people saw it. Sumire witnessed it. She bled, she stood her ground—and she lived."
Samara stood.
And spoke.
"I don't care what you all expect of me," she said. "I didn't ask to come back. But I did. And I fought. I may not be the daughter you wanted, but I'm the one who's still standing."
"I don't know why I came back. Or why there's power in me now. But I won't run. And I won't kneel."
She reached to Iyashi's shoulder. Iyashi kneels in front of her.
"This is my creation," she said, placing a hand over Iyashi's head. Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. "And if you give me the chance—I'll learn everything. I'll train harder than anyone. I'll forge myself into something unrecognizable to the weakling you remember. I'll be the weapon you all thought I'd never be."
Her voice rose, not in fury, but in defiance. "You wanted me dead. You wanted me forgotten. But I'm still here—and I'm not leaving."
A quiet ache crawled into her chest, heavier than it had any right to be. Samara's face didn't betray the turmoil Sam felt inside, but his thoughts churned.
They want me gone, he realized. All of them. They want me to disappear—to die in a wedding bed instead of a battlefield.
They hated her for her bloodline. They hated her because Ayato and Ryuuka—strong, feared, and respected—still cared for her. Because she was born from the Empress, not a concubine.
They see me as her ghost, Sam thought. But I'm not her. Not anymore.
His fists clenched beneath his sleeves.
I'm still here. And if this life is mine now, then I'm going to make it count. I won't let them erase her—or me. Not again.
Then Tenchi's voice, soft but final:
"If she is strong enough to defy you all while bleeding, she is strong enough to stand here."
He rose.
"The Trial of Flame will decide the rest."
Council adjourned.
As the nobles began to file out, Kuruma whispered behind her fan, "You surprised me, little sister. Let's see if you survive."
Kamezou looked at Samara with a degrading stare, "Whatever it is you managed to fumble through, it doesn't change what you are—worthless. A lucky survivor dressed in borrowed glory. Don't think for a moment we'll swallow the fairy tale they spun in your name. You're still just trash wrapped in silk."
Homura scoffed again, louder this time. "It's cute that you can talk now, Samara. But don't mistake pity and desperation for praise. You're still a footnote in our father's story."
Kuruma tilted her head, her fan half-shielding her mouth. "And a fading one at that. Make your noise now, little sister—it'll echo less once you're locked away in Valheim."
Ryuuka's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Enough. All of you." Her tone wasn't a shout—it didn't need to be. It was steel wrapped in frost, a command honed by years of war.
She stepped forward, her crimson eyes sharp, unreadable. Then, wordlessly, she grasped Samara's left shoulder—firm, steady, and unflinchingly real. Her hand stayed there a moment longer than necessary.
"Show us," she said quietly, but every word hit like a war drum. "Show us the grit of the Weakest Daughter. Show us that we were wrong."
Her grip tightened. "Show me that I wasn't."
Ayato smiled and patted her back. "You're getting good at that whole 'talking' thing. Good luck in the Trial of Flame. I'll be waiting for your return, little sister!" Ayato playfully winks.
Samara exhaled slowly. Filled with new hope, and passion.
And for the first time since waking in this body—felt like she belonged.
TO BE CONTINUED...