Looking toward the eastern Valeria city lay the Iron Aegis District, the absolute military heart of the capital. The outer walls of this massive sector were forged from runed volcanic iron, humming with defensive wards that absorbed kinetic energy. Inside the barracks, the training grounds were a marvel of high magic; the entire terrain was controlled by shifting elemental arrays, seamlessly transforming from jagged volcanic rocks to slippery sheets of glacial ice to simulate any battlefield. Overhead, armored griffins and tactical scouting familiars patrolled the skies, weaving through floating enchanted banners that bore the golden crest of the empire.
At the center of this magical proving ground, the air was thick with the sharp crackle of mana-fused blades and the rhythmic, thunderous stomp of runic marching boots.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Standing atop a raised stone overlook, clad in full, heavy elite armor forged from cold-silver and enchanted mythril, was Princess Ingrid. She was both the commander and the most ruthless instructor of this elite garrison. "Move! Move! Come on! You can all do better than this!" her voice rang out, amplified slightly by her personal aura. Despite her breathtaking beauty and flawless physique attributes that had caused countless nobles to fall hopelessly in love with her, she was known across the empire as a force of absolute terror.
Whispers of her brutality were deeply rooted in the barracks' history. When she first joined at the tender age of five, a seasoned soldier had looked down on her, provoking a spar. Ingrid had left the man permanently crippled. When the other soldiers attempted to spite and bully the young princess, they woke up the next morning covered in severe fractures and deep bruises. From that day on, men were traumatized just by looking at her, and many fled the garrison entirely.
Built on that early foundation of survival, Ingrid grew up despising the weak and constantly seeking the strong just to force them onto their knees. Now, at seventeen, her Nordic bloodline had reached its peak. She was a master of the sword, the bow, and the spear, seamlessly combining her devastating physical prowess with a little bit magic to create a highly versatile, lethal combat style. The same nobles who had initially dismissed her now looked up to her with fierce admiration, feeling deeply honored to serve under her.
A young officer rushed toward her, coming to a sudden halt before snapping into a rigid, respectful salute. "Report, Commander! The slaves and prisoners have been successfully rounded up and secured."
Ingrid nodded approvingly. "Good. Deliver them directly to my brother, Zerc. Once that is done, return here and join the drills... Galahad."
Galahad’s eyes widened with intense devotion as she touched his armored shoulder. He saluted again, his chest swelling with pride. "Yes, Commander! Right away!"
Galahad was a high-ranking noble who had abandoned his luxurious lifestyle solely out of his obsessive adoration for Ingrid. He kept his infatuation hidden behind a mask of perfect loyalty, but in the shadows, he harbored a terrifying secret: any man who dared to show romantic interest in Princess Ingrid would mysteriously vanish within days. Galahad was thoroughly obsessed with his commander.
"Ah, my fierce little warrior," a soft, familiar voice echoed from behind.
Ingrid turned around at the sound of clicking heels. Instantly, the cold, rigid mask on her face melted away, replaced by a radiant, genuine smile. "Mother!"
She threw her arms around Astrid Sicilia, hugging her tightly. The sight of the terrifying commander smiling so warmly sent a wave of butterflies through the stomachs of the nearby soldiers both men and women alike found themselves dazed by her sudden charm.
"Did you miss me, my child?" Astrid asked with a gentle laugh, stroking her daughter's hair. In front of her mother, Ingrid let out a soft, vulnerable side that no one else in the empire would ever witness.
"Of course I did, Mother," Ingrid replied softly, her voice devoid of its usual military edge. "What brings you all the way to the dusty barracks?"
Astrid smiled, handing over a neatly wrapped cloth package. "I brought you some sustenance for your training. I personally made your favorite... honey bacon, just the way you like it."
In the frozen, harsh landscapes of the Nordic kingdoms, honey was an incredibly rare and prized luxury. Because of this, those carrying Nordic blood harbored an almost instinctual, profound love for anything sweetened by it.
Ingrid’s eyes lit up. "Thank you, Mother. You always know exactly what I need."
Seeing the feared commander making such a sweet, pampered face was a sight the guards found almost impossible to believe.
"Tell me, Ingrid," Astrid suddenly transitioned into a more serious, worried tone. "Why are you so determined to seize the throne? It is a harsh, bloody path you have chosen."
Ingrid’s expression instantly turned cold, her eyes narrowing as she gripped the package. "Mother, you know exactly why."
A sudden, violent surge of frost aura leaked from Ingrid's body, causing the temperature in the entire courtyard to drop drastically. The soldiers shivered, freezing in place. Ingrid took a aggressive bite of the honey bacon, using the sweetness to forcefully suppress her rising anger.
"I refuse to let us remain as mere objects for his depraved gratification," Ingrid whispered, her voice laced with venom. "That wretched old man treats everyone like toys to be thrown away when he grows bored. The only reason he hasn't discarded us is because he still sees me as a functioning weapon for his military."
Astrid felt a deep wave of guilt wash over her, gently caressing her daughter's cheek. "My dear... I am so sorry I brought you into this twisted court."
Ingrid smiled softly, placing her hand over her mother's. "It's okay, Mother. You don't need to apologize anymore. From now on, no one will ever look down on you. I will make every single one of them kneel, and I will force this entire empire to watch as an outsider takes the crown."
Watching her daughter's unyielding determination, Astrid felt a mixture of relief and deep anxiety. "Oh, my sweet girl... But if you are to take the throne, you will eventually need a partner by your side. Have you chosen anyone?"
Ingrid rolled her eyes, letting out a dismissively haughty laugh. "Heh. None of the men in this kingdom are worthy of me. I will only choose a man who possesses the power to make me kneel. And as of today... no such man exists."
Astrid chuckled, nudging her playfully. "Aww... but I want to hold my grandchildren, you know! What about Kael?"
Ingrid hissed in disgust. "No! Kael is nothing but a hollow, walking puppet now. Even if he used to be a powerful Hero, his very life is currently under Damien's absolute control. He is pathetic."
"Ah, right, I forgot," Astrid nodded, tapping her chin. "Then what about Lancelot from the neighboring kingdom? He is remarkably strong and handsome enough to match you, isn't he?"
Ingrid’s face turned into an absolute block of ice. "That arrogant womanizer? You must be joking, Mother. We aren't even equals. He only won our last duel because he had more battlefield experience I was barely eleven, and he was already nineteen! If we were to spar again today, I would make him eat the dirt in seconds."
Astrid placed her hands on her hips, sighing dramatically. "My goodness, it's going to be impossible to find someone stronger than you... I don't want you to remain single for the rest of your life, dear."
Ingrid groaned, clearly annoyed by the matchmaking talk. "Ugh, Mother, I just turned seventeen! What is the massive hurry? Besides, I don't care if I stay single forever. In this world, power is the only absolute currency. If you have power and authority, you have everything. So just relax."
Astrid sighed, her eyes reflecting a profound, lingering sadness as she looked down at the cobblestone. "Haah... I hope you are right. But if you do happen to find the one you love, promise me you will fight for it. Don't end up like me... forced into a political marriage with a man you despise."
Seeing the sudden sorrow in her mother’s eyes, Ingrid quickly wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "Well, it is what it is. Look at it this way, Mom if you hadn't married that old tyrant, you wouldn't have me, remember? So don't feel down."
Astrid squeezed her tightly, a tear forming in her eye. "You're right... maybe it was fate. Having you makes it all worth it... but I still want those grandchildren!"
"Mother!!!" Ingrid yelled, her face instantly turning beet-red.
With a satisfied laugh, Astrid finally bade her daughter farewell and left the barracks.
Once her mother was out of sight, Ingrid's soft demeanor vanished instantly. She stepped to the edge of the stone overlook and jumped down, free-falling before slamming into the shifting courtyard below. The impact cracked the enchanted stone ground, sending a booming shockwave across the area.
"Alright, you useless lot!" Ingrid shouted, her voice roaring with her newly suppressed frustration. "Time for an unscheduled, surprise mass-sparring session!"
A collective groan erupted from the hundreds of soldiers. "Ah, not this again!" "Man, I don't want my body full of broken ribs..." "Last time she did this, half the vanguard passed out!"
"QUIET!" Ingrid roared, her frost aura flaring wildly around her fists, chilling the air to a freezing point. "COME AT ME ALL AT ONCE! FIGHT ME! IF YOU DON'T MARCH FORWARD, I WILL COME AND HUNT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU DOWN!"
Within seconds, the barracks turned into a chaotic battlefield of groans, flying bodies, and shattered armor. It was a brutal display of violence but to Ingrid, this was simply her Nordic way of letting out a little family stress.