With the crisis past, Shelika was invited to the manor of Oriel City’s lord.

In the great hall, the city lord waited with nobles who helped run the city.

They had fat cheeks and greedy eyes; their smiles shone like oil as they waddled to greet her.

“Who would’ve thought you’re truly Lady Shelika!”

“Thanks to you, this city is finally saved!”

They piled on flattery, while their rude gazes slid over her perfect figure like sticky hands.

She was used to such stares, yet the bare, disrespectful hunger still pricked her mood.

She rolled her eyes. She drew a pocket watch from her satchel and checked the time. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.”

That set them panicking.

An Earthborn noble rushed to keep her: “Your Highness, wait.

The city lord must address the citizens soon to calm hearts.

We hope you’ll appear with him.”

“Think of it as finishing the aftermath,” he added.

“Aftercare isn’t my duty,” Shelika snapped, rolling her eyes again.

“And have you considered what you did wrong, with a beast tide this severe?”

She laid out their faults, one by one, like stones dropped in a basin.

“After the last wave, you cut costs and hired no mages.

Repairs crawled, then rushed.

The west wall was shoddy as wet clay.

That colossal beast broke in, and none of you are blameless.”

“And not just the wall.

Security failed too.

Oriel City has suffered multiple beast tides.

You, as its stewards, built no true warning or shelter plan.

Chaos erupted, and the Heavenly Spirit Empire’s special unit slipped through the cracks.”

“In short, you bunglers brewed this disaster.”

The more she spoke, the lower their heads sank, until their noses kissed the table.

She finished and walked to the door.

“Deal with the rest yourselves.

I won’t stay,” she said, and swept out like a cold wind.

Outside the manor, a military representative and a citizens’ representative hurried up.

The citizens’ man was Orman, chair of Oriel City’s Chamber.

He ran the city’s trade and knew the lord’s nature.

He saw anger clouding her face.

He asked, worried, “Mr. Will has a poor reputation but isn’t all bad.

He didn’t offend you, did he?”

“A pig, nothing more.

What could he possibly do to me?” she said, sour.

The military man was Commander Kafka of the Shadowspirit Legion’s 31st Company, also called the Gaia Legion.

He was a Daemon Knight at Earth Tier.

During Fulin’s clash with the Strategic Bureau, he organized the citizens’ evacuation.

Hearing her verdict on the lord, Kafka boomed with laughter:

“Ha ha— worthy of the Dark Blood Clan’s third princess.

You’re right; the city owes its peace to you!”

Orman glanced anxiously toward the manor.

“After this, Mr. Will will be removed by the council, won’t he?”

Kafka laughed again.

“Of course.

He lied about defenses.

Flaws let the Celestial forces exploit the city.

Calling him complicit is mild.”

More townsfolk gathered.

Some brought flowers and thanks, like spring carried on arms.

Shelika accepted with graceful poise and offered words of comfort.

Their relief eased her brow like a breeze smoothing water.

The talk ran on.

Kafka eyed the Eternal War Armor trundling behind.

“Still, I didn’t expect Your Highness to return now— and with an enemy nation’s secret weapon.”

Shelika answered, cool and noncommittal: “Mm— indeed.”

Orman watched the admiring glances along the road, then murmured to her:

“Your Highness, the Blood Clan is waning at home.

The council is held by General Tahn’s hawks.

You’ve returned, and your prestige here is high.

Maybe…”

She knew what he meant.

If it were the true Shelika, she might do it.

Use Oriel City as a base.

Raise the Dark Spirit Empire anew.

Win the voice back for the doves.

But this Shelika was not herself.

Fulin wore the role.

For her, the first beat is simple: a quiet life.

Power struggles were mist she refused to inhale.

To keep that quiet, she had to guard one of the few calm havens on the Nordland Continent— the Doran Kingdom.

To protect that fragile human realm, she had to interfere with the Hymn Project run by the hawks of the Dark Spirit Empire.

Reviving the doves under Shelika’s name could hinder that project somewhat.

But the Wasteland Deity was already stirring; time was spent.

To shift the course, Fulin had to act herself, had to go to the Holy City.

So Shelika declined the offer:

“I appreciate it.

But I have many tasks ahead.

From here on, this city depends on you.”

Commander Kafka praised her again:

“As expected of the Dark Blood Clan’s third princess.

I wish more could see your beauty, caring for nation and people.”

Talking as they walked, they reached the north gate.

Shelika offered farewell:

“Then I’ll set out.

Take care, all of you.”

The two representatives and their attendants waved:

“Travel safe; may the Earth Mother walk with you.”

She looked back at Oriel City fading into the rim of the sunset.

After a day of aftermath, she finally let out a long breath.

“Hah— it’s over at last.”

She shifted to a lazier pose.

Dropping ladylike restraint, she flopped into the wagon tugged by the Eternal War Armor.

She sprawled onto a big lump like a body pillow.

“Ahh, so comfy—” she sighed.

The moment she sank down, “Yah—!”

The lump moaned like a girl’s breathy gasp.

She was bone‑tired; the sound tugged a silly memory.

Fulin’s past life held a little yellow duck that squeaked when pinched.

A small stress‑relief toy, bright as a drop of sun.

There were bigger toys too.

Not ducks, but 1:1 life‑size anime girl dolls.

Some even moaned when pressed.

Otaku favorites, or so they said.

Her thoughts wandered like clouds.

Maybe this lump was one of those.

She slid a hand to a soft spot and pressed.

Again it cried: “Ah—!”

The guess felt right.

If it was a gift for this wagon’s owner, disgust rose in her throat.

“Men are disgusting,” she muttered.

Then her past life flashed, and the thought turned like a stone onto her own foot.

She shook her head hard.

“No— don’t go there.”

She cut off the daydreams, yet her hand kept kneading the doll.

Even through the sack, it felt soft and warmly alive.

She kept playing, because it melted stress like snow.

She got hooked.

“Heheh— too fun.”

Inside the sack, the doll’s cries grew louder and more hazy.

A scent like flowers drifted out.

“Ah— ah— don’t— don’t—!”

In a world with spellcraft, Shelika marveled, “Huh.

They made this pretty convincing.”

She toyed a little longer.

Then clarity struck.

“Wait.

There’s no way they sent me a blow‑up doll!”

She hugged the sack to toss it out.

Lifting it, reality hit; it weighed far more than any doll.

She finally sensed real danger.

She ripped the sack open and found Charlotte, face flushed like a rose.

Like a gentle maiden about to give her first time, Charlotte gazed up, wounded and pleading:

“Elder sister... please be gentle.”

Shelika’s brain blue‑screened.

Her face went dark.

In a blink, she shoved Charlotte back in, hopped off, grabbed a spade, and dug a neat little pit.

She dropped the heavy sack inside, swept her hand, and closed the earth like a blanket.

She stuck a few twigs as a headstone.

“All right, done.”

She dusted her palms and climbed back aboard.

A heartbeat later, Charlotte burst from the soil.

She chased the wagon, crying, “Elder sister, I was wrong—!”