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墨書 Inktalez
The Emperor had no intention of disturbing the two little princesses as they drifted into slumber, and he waited until she was sound asleep before he left.
At that moment, the Emperor felt a bit restless. He couldn't quite understand why he felt such strange emotions towards the little princess.
As the first girl in the family, she was unable to learn swordsmanship and was destined to be eliminated in the brutal competition for succession. This was a family tradition; everyone had gone through it. Yet, why did he feel a twinge of reluctance in his heart?
Moreover, she was cursed to die at the age of twenty-one, wasn't she?
The thought of this only muddled the Emperor's mind further. To alleviate his inner turmoil, he called upon Biaton, who was sleeping, to practice swordsmanship with him. Biaton wanted to refuse, but alas, the sword was already swinging toward him.
Time flew by, and before long, the little princess turned three. Thanks to her royal lineage's excellent genetic traits, she grew quickly and was in great health.
As per tradition, it was time to assign her a teacher, and that would be none other than Biaton, the Emperor's trusted aide.
The little princess was curious as to why Moria wasn't the one teaching her. Their family had always had Moria as the instructor for princes; according to the original storyline, it should have been so. However, the Empress was unsure and suggested that the little princess ask Biaton herself.
Biaton, a swordsman from a family of magicians, often used magic to entertain the little princess, making their time together particularly joyful. The little princess adored him. "Having met with the Empress Princess, I will be your teacher from today onward," he announced.
The little princess rushed up to him, and they exchanged smiles as old friends. "Why are you my teacher instead of Moria?" she asked. Biaton feigned a pitiful expression.
"So it turns out the princess likes Moria and not me," he lamented dramatically. The little princess sighed and tried to comfort him, saying that if he truly cried, it would make her sad. But since he was only pretending to cry, she wasn't upset at all. "You actually saw through my skilled acting! You are truly wise!"
Faced with such praise, the little princess was not happy. She accused Biaton of deliberately using words she couldn't understand.
It turned out that the little princess had noticed that Biaton often used terms like "wise" and "skilled" to subtly test her, to see if she could comprehend them.
"I don't like being tested. I just want to get along with you. Anyway, I won't live long and will die soon."
Biaton was taken aback. How did this child know? He scolded the Nursemaid for daring to tell the princess about the curse.
The little princess, fearing that the innocent Nursemaid would suffer consequences, couldn't reveal that she had crossed over into this world. Under Biaton's persistent questioning, she claimed she had heard it from the midwife.
"The midwife? Are you referring to when you were born?"
"You actually remember what others said when you were just born?" The little princess knew this excuse was flimsy, but given the situation, she had no choice but to stick to it.
"I remember my mother crying, and everyone saying a princess had been born, while my father said my mother had given birth to something useless." The little princess wasn't sure if she could get away with this.
However, it seemed that Biaton didn't care much about the truth of her story; instead, he asked if the little princess felt sad.
In reality, she was filled with joy at being reborn and hadn't taken her father's words to heart.
To comfort her, Biaton secretly slipped her some delicious candies.
When Biaton reported this matter to the emperor, the emperor was somewhat astonished. A three-year-old child actually understood the meaning of death, and her demeanor was so calm and composed.
Biaton told him that the little princess remembered every word she had heard since her birth. He asked the emperor if he had indeed said that hurtful thing, but the emperor instead inquired about the little princess's reaction at the time.
Upon learning that his daughter was not angry, the emperor felt a pang of discomfort in his heart. He regretted it; even if his daughter could not learn swordsmanship, she was still his only little princess.
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