At the same time, on the other end of Terra, aboard a landship named Rhodes Island.
A ‘young woman’ in plain robes, with long cherry-blossom white hair, was sprawled over her desk, deep asleep, emitting faint breaths.
A shallow smile graced her face, as if she were having a pleasant dream.
Faint light streamed through the window, falling upon her fair cheeks.
Together with the tranquil atmosphere of the office around her, it formed a harmonious and beautifully picturesque scene, making one involuntarily wish to pause time at this very moment and admire this beautiful ‘painting’ forever.
But alas, this painting would soon be ‘torn apart.’ A Feline woman with short silver hair tinged with emerald green streaks and green eyes expertly opened the office door.
Somewhat surprised, she looked at Theresa, still in her slumber.
A flicker of heartache passed through her eyes, but that heartache only existed for an instant before quickly vanishing into those green eyes, calm as a still pond.
Though she felt heartache for Her Majesty, the current civil war was still unfavorable for Babel.
How could Her Majesty waste time like this, sleeping while the frontline soldiers were shedding blood and laying down their lives?!
Even if it wasn’t intentional—and she deeply knew Her Majesty’s usual diligence—this Feline named Kal’tsit would still crack down heavily on such behavior from Her Majesty!
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, are you awake?” “…Not awake?
Haah, forget it.
Then I’ll just have to trouble Doctor first.” Placing her small cat-like paw on Theresa’s shoulder—where, even through the fabric, one could feel the delicate texture of her skin— Kal’tsit gently, gently shook Theresa’s shoulder with an amplitude of practically zero.
But upon discovering that Theresa paid her absolutely no attention, Kal’tsit sighed helplessly.
Then, after draping her own white lab coat over Theresa, who was sleeping slumped over the desk, she gathered her documents and turned to leave the room.
However, just as Kal’tsit turned, the lynx ears atop her head twitched, catching the faint, drowsy murmur Theresa made upon waking.
This halted her originally retreating steps.
She turned back around and saw Theresa, whose expression seemed somewhat dazed, as if she had just woken up.
“Your Majesty?
Are you awake?…
Since you’re awake, then let us briefly go over today’s schedule.
First, we need to…” “Kal’tsit, how is it that you’re not dead yet?” “Hm?
Your Majesty, you…
what do you mean by those words?” Kal’tsit was instantly choked speechless by Theresa’s words.
Then, suspiciously, she placed the back of her hand against Theresa’s smooth forehead.
Finding no fever, she became even more perplexed.
Theresa took a moment to sort out her muddled mind and realized she seemed to have misspoken.
A slight, apologetic smile curved her lips.
“Sorry, Kal’tsit.
I don’t harbor any dissatisfaction with you as you are now.
It’s just…
I had a somewhat distant dream just now…” “…I understand.
Then, Your Majesty, please go freshen up first.
I’ve reserved breakfast for you.
Afterwards, we’ll discuss today’s schedule in the command center.” Kal’tsit looked at Theresa.
Upon catching the key words in Her Majesty’s words, she likely thought of some unpleasant memories as well.
Saying nothing more, she simply briefly outlined the day’s arrangements and left Theresa’s office.
And Theresa, seated where she was, watched Kal’tsit leave.
The apologetic smile on her face vanished, replaced by a complex and troubled expression.
She held her head.
Within her mind, two different sets of memories cycled and alternated, leaving Theresa somewhat disoriented.
In her slumber just now, she had lived through a life entirely different from the one in her memories.
That Grand Duchess had brought her back to Victoria, and through a single game, had threaded through the entirety of both her remaining years and her own entire life.
They had influenced each other, experienced several years of mutually unreconciled yet warm and peaceful days, and lived through many, many things together.
Whether it was the silent company she provided when—back when their relationship was not so good—she secretly took food from the kitchen at night to feed the stray cats outside on the street, and in the end, when she herself was hungry, handed her bread…
Or the time, when she went with her to a prestigious jewelry store and she was falsely accused of theft, her unhesitating trust and the calm manner in which she sought justice for her…
Or when she personally taught her Arts and swordsmanship, and sent her to the higher academies of Victoria…
These were all things this version of herself had never experienced.
And there were many more such things: for instance, cold-faced, throwing her a birthday party she herself didn’t even know about; always suddenly appearing by her side when she was in a bad mood; always silently offering help when she needed it…
They truly had experienced so much together.
And Theresa could not forget that final kiss Ecaros gave her in her embrace, and those words that seemed to be a confession of love…
…
…
Uuu…
—o(≧口≦)o Aaaaaah!
Why did I dream of such weird things??!!!
Probably because she had pondered too deeply, and the memories were just a little too vivid.
Theresa felt her sense of shame could barely take it anymore.
Even that maiden heart, sealed and dusty for so many years, had been unsealed along with it, making the Queen—mature in every sense—unable to resist letting out an adorable wail in her heart!
But once she finished recalling all those beautiful things, what followed was an unspeakable loneliness, sorrow, and a century-long campaign that was nearly cathartic in its fury…
Probably because of Ecaros, Theresa discovered that the ‘her’ on that side had become far less cherishing of the lives of all, and had also developed an immense thirst for power and authority.
And after Ecaros’ death, she had thoroughly lost her final shred of composure, shifting in a single leap from conservative to ultra-radical, frantically searching for any possible way to resurrect Ecaros.
But when, in the end, after conquering all of Terra and still failing to find a method, after doing everything she could do, she grew utterly despondent.
Taking Ecaros’ ashes, she went to the former site of House Manchester and chose to self-disintegrate using the power of the Sarkaz King.
And that originally hazy affection for Ecaros had, because of that person’s final words, that embrace, and the centuries-long pursuit and extreme path taken by that other ‘Theresa,’ grown somewhat twisted and pathological.
It had even reached a point where Theresa herself had to admit—that feeling was far too heavy.
She absolutely dared not undergo empathy or contact with it.
That segment of emotion was somewhat too terrifying.
If she truly allowed herself to undergo empathy and contact, she was truly afraid that she would be influenced by that emotion, and begin to disregard the weight of life, and start frantically searching for that person named Ecaros…
After all, no matter how one put it, that was ultimately the weight produced by a Sarkaz King’s centuries-long obsession.
Theresa did not think she could casually touch such a thing.
Even if it was just her own dream.
Still…
Theresa felt that her ‘dream’ might not be as simple as just a dream.
After all, this dream was far too real, far too detailed.
In particular, the emotions contained within it were also far too intense and genuine.
Several times, it had nearly made Theresa lose herself within it.
Otherwise, the moment Theresa woke from the dream just now, she wouldn’t have been so mentally disoriented that she nearly instinctively drew her sword and turned Kal’three’tsit into Kal’four’tsit.
Nor would she have instinctively refused to empathize with those final hundred years of emotion, and instinctively blurred the emotions she had empathized with at the moment of Ecaros’ death.
Because Theresa’s Originium Arts would only actively shut down her abilities to empathize and detect emotions when it determined that her psyche would be greatly affected.
Thus, all things considered, one could clearly see just how real this so-called ‘dream’ truly was.
One had to know—while dreaming, Theresa had merely empathized with the memories of those brief few years within it, and it had already made the her within the dream somewhat suspect that perhaps she truly had once been adopted by a noble named Ecaros, and had begun to develop feelings she shouldn’t have…
But after waking from the dream, once Theresa distinguished the boundary between dream and reality, this Sarkaz King—though still affected—could tell them apart for the time being.
“…However…
Ecaros, was it?
Ecaros Richard Serena Manchester?” “Perhaps…
I could take some time, and briefly look up information on this family in Victoria, and information on this Grand Duchess.” Recalling that beautiful figure who had, under the setting sun during their very first meeting, told her her full name, Theresa murmured softly, her thoughts faintly drifting toward the faraway Victoria.
But that was a matter for the future.
After all, Theresa had not forgotten that she was still in the midst of a civil war.
And the elder brother she had once needed to protect had also become the enemy she was forced to turn her blade against.
Thinking of this, Theresa couldn’t help but sigh.
Then, looking at the mountain of documents piled high on her desk, and thinking of the heap of tasks likely awaiting today, Theresa’s face grew even more deathly pale.
Yet in the end, she had no choice but to compose her emotions, pull herself together, temporarily cast that ‘dream’ to the back of her mind, and begin reviewing documents.
After all, she still had many matters to deal with.
This matter could be set aside for her spare moments.
Moreover, Theresa had, in the end, only been deeply influenced by the ‘dream’ of some ten-odd years.
Compared to her own memories spanning centuries, it could not produce an earth-shattering change in her within a short time.
But in the future, as time progressed, nothing was certain.
One had to understand—some memories do not produce obvious effects right at the beginning…
Furthermore, Theresa, in the bottom of her heart, was actually, faintly, somewhat attentive to the memories brought by this ‘dream.’ After all, who could blame her?
The Sarkaz were a wandering race, a people without roots.
Thus, they would forever be like seeds adrift upon the sea, yearning to find their own shore, their homeland, and their own final belonging.
Even Theresa, the Sarkaz King, would absolutely be no exception…