I Possessed The Immoral Empress

Under the fierce surveillance of the mages, Ermedeline arrived at the battlefield.

Although she had no intention of committing treason or attempting to escape, the mages who accompanied her openly kept a vigilant eye on Ermedeline.

‘Well, I expected to be treated like this, but it’s not a pleasant feeling.’

Still, she couldn’t completely blame the mages. The atmosphere, now so dense that it could be felt on the skin, was undoubtedly filled with the magic of the Francoise Duchy, which was familiar to Ermedeline.

“The situation is quite unfavorable. Most of the troops have been concentrated in the capital, leading to a severe numerical disadvantage. The remaining soldiers and local priests are holding out as best they can, but the soldiers of Frianton are…”

The commander, who was about to mention the curse, trailed off, noticing Ermedeline’s gaze.

Nominally, Ermedeline was the supreme commander of the border army.

As the highest-ranking empress and a mage directly participating in the battle, this was only natural.

However, having never experienced a real war or even properly watched a vivid war movie, Ermedeline could only sit uncomfortably, nodding her head.

“The sacrifices among the ordinary soldiers are too great. The soldiers of Frianton, empowered by mental curse magic, seem to feel little to no pain.”

“I see.”

She had seen soldiers indifferent to their own pain before, in the dungeons of Francoise Castle.

“I know you came to confront Lord Ermond, but right now, merely holding out is all we can do. The current front line might collapse before the day is over. It would be best if you could move to the most critical locations and dispel the curses first…”

“Understood.”

Before the commander could finish his sentence, Ermedeline nodded and stood up.

“Where should I go first?”

Ermedeline appeared remarkably calm on the surface.

So calm, in fact, that it was hard to believe she was a woman heading into battle. Many mistook it for the composure of a grand mage, but her two closest aides knew Ermedeline’s true state.

‘She still doesn’t seem to grasp the reality.’

‘She really doesn’t have a clue.’

To Ermedeline, battlefields were something she had only seen on TV or movie screens in her previous life.

Although she theoretically understood that war was a terrible thing, to her, it was just a matter of swords clashing in the air and arrows striking armor.

Felio, with his abundant battlefield experience, was worried.

He knew all too well how soldiers reacted when they first faced real combat.

Because he was a mage and the heir to the Batistian family, Felio had to roam the battlefields even before he reached his mid-teens.

The nobles, eager to earn merits by resolving minor border disputes that had persisted since the previous emperor’s reign, often took their talented young children to the front lines.

Even now, when Felio closed his eyes, he could vividly recall those horrific scenes as if they were happening right before him.

Ian, who was two years older than him, wept and vomited, while Mienna, who was a year younger, took her own life after her first battle.

The children who barely endured the desperation of needing to kill to avoid being killed, and the guilt of surviving by killing others, gradually lost their humanity as they roamed the battlefields.

Thus, boys and girls turned into soulless weapons that killed people.

Felio was exactly like that when he first met Ermedeline.

As the border disturbances gradually stabilized, he could finally focus on his primary job as a lawyer, but his mind was still stuck on the battlefield.

In a place where one must kill to avoid being killed, this binary thinking influenced his daily life, turning everyone except his allies into enemies.

At that time, his greatest enemy, the so-called immoral Empress Ermedeline, was the public enemy of the empire.

Felio was furious.

He still vividly remembered the small feet of Mienna, who had been dangling lifelessly in the air, and the friends—or rather, comrades—who had died on the battlefield without receiving treatment. Yet, within the borders secured by the blood and sweat of these boys and girls, the Empress, instead of being a proper empress, cursed her own people with a plague.

He vowed to uncover everything about Ermedeline, the greatest enemy of the empire, and ensure she faced the most severe punishment of all, burning at the stake.

That was the background when he followed his father to the capital and officially started his work as a lawyer.

A sudden image flashed through Felio’s mind, a scene he could never forget or erase.

The moment he first saw the true smile of the witch, when she was tying a ribbon in Rooney’s hair, genuinely happy.

Such a trivial scene.

Just one woman tying another woman’s hair.

But the moment he saw that smile, the black-and-white world he had lived in completely shattered.

The witch, whom he had thought to be a demon or monster, was smiling like a human.

His world, which had crumbled, began to reshape around Ermedeline.

With just a glance from her, a soft smile, or a small gesture, an entirely new world unfolded before him.

Feeling like he might burst into tears, Felio clenched his teeth tightly and looked up at the sky.

The sky, which should have been filled with the tension of war, was clear and blue, like the height of summer.

With such weather, the horrors of the battlefield would only more vividly ravage Ermedeline’s soul.

Felio did not want to leave even a small stain on her soul.

He desperately wanted to protect the occasional girlish smile and mischievous glint in her eyes.

But soon, her soul would be completely shattered into pieces by the horrific scenes.

Swallowing the emotions that kept trying to surge, Felio maintained a calm facade and stayed by Ermedeline’s side.

Not yet, not yet.

He could not show any agitation yet.

Now, with all eyes on them, was not the time to act.

To safely help Ermedeline escape, he would have to endure her soul being broken.

Arvian glanced sideways at Felio’s soul.

Usually hiding his deep blue passion, his soul now seemed to be trembling as if it might break at any moment.

‘I guess I need to stay sharp.’

Finally, the family banners began to appear one by one on the horizon.

The seasoned warriors and veteran mages, familiar with the battlefield, shuddered as they caught the familiar scent of war.

The clear summer air was now thick with the pungent smell of blood.

***

“Indeed.”

A deep smile of triumph spread across Henry’s face as he read the report from Count Hallstein.

A genuinely heartfelt smile, the first in a very long time.

“Most are minor crimes, but there is one assault case. While there is no direct evidence linking him, it seems to be the work of the group he was associated with.”

“I see,” Henry nodded slightly, pressing his lips together.

“They assaulted a merchant as a group. The merchant’s injuries worsened, and he died three days later.”

“What about the punishment?”

“Since the merchant had a poor reputation and the group had already left the area, the investigation was not actively pursued.”

“Can we link him to it?” Henry asked, receiving the report from Count Hallstein, who nodded affirmatively.

“Arvian’s distinctive appearance stands out, and there are plenty of witnesses who can testify that he was part of that group.”

“I see.”

“We need to investigate further to determine if he was directly involved in the assault, but even these facts alone could be damaging to his candidacy for the next High Priest.”

“Hmm.”

Henry placed his hands on the back of his head, thinking for a moment before issuing a somewhat cheerful order.

“Contact the Grand Temple. Let’s see how Priest Noctavinus reacts.”

***

“Alright, it’s not difficult. Just stand here and recite this spell. Think of the person you hate.”

“Do I need to draw blood too?”

“No, the curse magic will activate with just the caster’s blood,” Countess Brienta replied.

Standing on the magic circle, Valliere murmured something under her breath. A faint light briefly illuminated the previously empty ground in the shape of the magic circle before vanishing.

It was midday, and the glow of the magic circle was so brief that no one took notice.

“Not too difficult, is it? What’s next?” Valliere, wearing a black cloak, asked as she turned to head to the next magic circle. Just then, her foot stepped on something.

“Hm.”

It seemed to be a newsletter, likely printed after a recent fire. Unable to ignore the major scandal in the capital, the newsletter detailed in excruciating detail how the Emperor’s mistress had been abandoned and completely fallen from grace, even outside the palace.

This was expected since the palace servants, who harbored a grudge against Valliere, eagerly spread what they saw and heard.

Valliere’s eyes, gleaming vividly, scanned the street. Countless pieces of paper, varying in color and texture, were strewn all over.

The printers, eager to profit from the scandal, had all printed stories about the fallen mistress. Some newsletters even featured illustrations, one of which caught Valliere’s eye.

In the black-and-white image, a woman with a desolate face shed tears as she gazed at a burning mansion.

Someone passing by stepped on Valliere’s printed face.

The Emperor’s mistress had now become a public laughingstock of the empire, her image trampled by pedestrians on the street.

If Valliere were still the Emperor’s mistress, or even the Marchioness Belian, no matter how big the scandal, she would not have been subjected to such blatant ridicule.

Even when diseases broke out in the provinces because of her, when maids died, or when women approaching her were murdered, the people cursed and mocked the Emperor’s mistress. Still, they never created such incriminating newsletters with vivid testimonies and humiliating illustrations.

But Valliere was no longer the Emperor’s mistress or the Marchioness Belian.

She was just the illegitimate child of an obscure barony in a remote province.

Officially using the surname Louise, the Louise barony had never acknowledged her existence.

Even when her brother Pierre visited the palace, everyone knew he was her half-brother, but Pierre always introduced himself as Valliere’s distant relative and guardian.

Valliere coldly stepped on the already trampled and crumpled newsletter with her face on it, showing no emotion as she moved on to find the next magic circle.

Such newsletters could no longer leave a scratch on her soul.

Upon reaching the next location, Valliere chanted the spell again, and once more, the magic circle briefly glowed and vanished.

As she chanted, she fervently wished that this fabricated world, this mere story, would completely disappear if it wasn’t going to exist for the sake of its protagonist—herself.