Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"Whether it's the former or the latter, I'm happy to be a listener."

Sufby's lingering thoughts were interrupted by the beautiful woman's gentle inquiry. She was momentarily stunned, only then realizing that time had passed and that with that gunshot, they had been separated for a long time, with little chance of ever meeting again.

Now, what she desires is the same as what Watson has hoped for in her—to reclaim her past glory and become the 'newly rich of the Mossy Land' who has returned from her revenge.

Putting aside her complicated feelings, the little peacock naturally did not hide anything from her only friend in Florence, this noble and selfless doctor, and explained her current situation in detail.

"The police department I used to work for is about to be reorganized." Getting straight to the point, Sufby stated the reason for her confusion. "Nominally, it will be incorporated into the Empire's military police system, but the issuance of this transfer order was too hasty."

"So, you've become suspicious?"

Following on from the previous statement, Charlotte aptly poses a question.

"Yes, this transfer order not only draws on police forces involved in extraordinary events in a single district, but also consolidates leadership in the hands of the regional governor."

"What's your idea?"

"A storm is brewing."

After the deliberate question, the two responded in unison.

"Unless absolutely necessary, the Imperial government will not reduce its spies or concentrate its resources on them."

“It seems we’ve encountered similar troubles.” Charlotte said, taking a utensils from her side and brewing a cup of hot tea for the girl.

“A few days ago, the city hall requisitioned the medicine stockpile of the relief center, and the need for sedatives and anesthetics far exceeded the remaining medicines.”

After dealing with the plague, although she only received a minor promotion in her actual position, the added reputation and prestige made her more influential in the medical community. Even if she didn't actively get involved, her colleagues would still ask for her opinion.

“Today, the dispatch of spacecraft, the blockade of the surrounding waters, and the martial law notices for the ports have all been delivered to various medical stations.” Charlotte pushed her tea set forward, her fingertips lingering on the rim of the cup for a few seconds. “These signs, pieced together, don’t they resemble the preparations for a surgical procedure, a clearing of the room?”

The surface of the tea reflected the red-haired girl's suddenly contracting pupils.

Do you think Florence will become a battlefield?

"Of course not. The Hadings Empire is powerful, and Emperor Rothari also has the ambition to conquer and expand. Therefore, the battlefield will only be on the territory of the weaker side."

“Miss Luna, the dispatch you mentioned should be the Imperial military’s requisition of dispersed extraordinary forces.”

The tone of voice paused here, and the tone shifted.

"In other words, you are not in a safe situation. In the face of guns and cannons, low-sequence extraordinary individuals are not much different from ordinary people. They are all expendables about to be thrown into the battlefield, without distinction between you and me."

Charlotte's voice was soft, yet it was like a sharp dagger, precisely dissecting the cruelty beneath the calm surface.

Yes, she certainly knew the truth. As the weaker party, the powerful ships and cannons had already visited the land of the Golden Flower several days earlier.

After a moment of silence, Sofby's eyelashes drooped slightly.

As an ordinary girl, as Luna, she naturally couldn't make a choice or extricate herself from the established trend.

But this is not all bad for Sufby, or for the unjustly accused and disgraced Deirdre. War can catalyze many things, wash away established rules, and change the power and wealth of the past.

If she leads an army, if she achieves something, if she accumulates military merits, then she has the right to get closer to the truth, even if she is controlled by others.

only--

"Dr. Bella, so, what is your view on the current situation?"

Upon hearing this, Charlotte lowered her eyelashes, allowing the solemnity to return to her expression.

"...As an ordinary citizen, I cannot judge the right or wrong of a war."

The brown-haired beauty gently placed the pen next to the ink bottle; the crisp sound of metal hitting glass was particularly clear in the consultation room. She suddenly started talking about something unrelated.

“Three days ago, a veteran who had his leg amputated came for a follow-up appointment. He insisted on not using anesthesia, saying he wanted to leave his quota for the young people on the front lines.” Long, slender fingers brushed across the medical record shelf and stopped on a yellowed file. “But when I lifted the gauze, I found that he had tied his stump to the headboard with a belt—so that his screams in the middle of the night wouldn’t wake up other patients.”

"For doctors, war is never about macro-level victory or defeat; it is about every trembling body and every hand gripping the iron bars of the operating table. So, my answer is simple."

She stood up, waiting for the breeze outside the window to stir her pure white coat.

"I will apply for military medical services, not out of loyalty to any particular flag, but because—"

"Stand beside all those who bleed."

Chapter 205 Imperial Power

Inside the heavily guarded palace, dappled light and shadow poured down from the dome, dividing the crowned face into fragments of light and shadow.

The emperor leaned languidly on the black iron throne, the rough armrests worn smooth by the palm lines of successive monarchs. He bent his knuckles against his chin, the dark gray armrests reflecting the gleam of his fingertips, like the sharp talons of some kind of raptor.

Before dawn, the courtiers were already lined up in a trembling fan shape at the foot of the steps. The old-fashioned nobles closest to the throne maintained a kneeling position from beginning to end, and the silk embroidered with their family crests was soaked with sweat halfway down.

"Your Highness, the envoy from North York..." The Lord Keeper of the Seals' voice echoed beneath the pillars.

Without replying, the man in the masterpiece, Rota, simply stroked the ring deeply embedded in his flesh, an old wound left from his coronation—the mark of power is more unforgettable than any punishment.

He had been on the throne for over twenty years, but even after the passage of time, the throne room facing the court still bore the bloodstains of previous rulers and ministers, and was permeated with a lingering stench.

Of course, this is his masterpiece.

Fallen heads, humble pleas, vicious curses... Under the weight of war, everything from the past turned to insignificant dust; only the imperial power held in the palm of one's hand remains the eternal truth.

Rothali slowly raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the crowd below like a blade. He saw their bowed heads, taut backs, trembling fingers—fear, like an invisible thread, was wrapped around everyone's throat, and the other end of the thread was firmly gripped in his fingers.

After years of conquest and the accumulation of his authority, through diligent governance, he rightfully became Hastings' greatest emperor, and now no one dared to defy him.

Perhaps the spirit of freedom offshore was conveyed to his homeland through written words, but how could such insignificant idealism, practiced only on drafts, possibly shake his rule?

The granting of honors, the differentiation of social classes, and the promulgation of laws—Rotari did not overthrow everything from the past, nor did he discard the corrupt and backward system. As emperor, he mercifully enshrined equality and the rights of the people in the law. Was that not enough?

Admittedly, he once controlled the former royal family with an iron fist, judged good and evil from the moral high ground, and acted magnanimously on the side of the people's interests. He also made many promises that were impossible to achieve. However, the reason why the goals were so unattainable was that they were first and foremost based on assumptions and possibilities.

Perhaps there would be discontent among the people, and resentment would fester, but people always choose compromise when faced with a dilemma. After taking the throne, Rothali gained considerable insight into balancing the opinions of his subjects and was happy to observe their sorrowful and critical faces. Besides, with their numerous achievements and victorious reports scattering like petals, why would those enjoying the benefits of conquest oppose him, who was working for their happiness?

If there are those who disobey or those who are tactless, even if they are awarded merits and once valued by the master, they cannot avoid the same fate. In the end, the difference is nothing more than whether they are respectable or not, just like Lord Dill, who was once at the height of his power.

Yes, he was indeed a great and valiant emperor who scraped the fat from the people of other countries to support the subjects who bowed down before him.

"What fine gifts have the envoys from North York brought us this time?"

With a playful glint in his eyes, the ministers below, who were about to step forward to report, were interrupted by his wave of the hand.

"I suppose it's those same cracked cedar trees and fox fur again, lacking novelty, but its rarity makes it all the more appealing."

Twenty years ago, the Duke of North York stood in the same spot, head held high, his eyes burning with ambition. At that time, Rothary was not yet crowned, and the former's sword was only an inch from his throat.

Today, his head has long since turned into a skeleton beneath the throne, while the North York envoy—his eldest son—kneels where his father once stood, his forehead pressed against the cold floor tiles.

Rothary's lips slowly curled upwards.

“Raise your head,” he commanded.

The envoy straightened up stiffly, his face ashen. The outline of the duke was still faintly visible on his young face, but the flame in his eyes was gone, replaced by a shrinking shadow.

The emperor narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.

“Your father looked at me like you did back then,” he said softly, his fingertips tapping on the armrest of the throne, like the painful knocking on the lid of a coffin. “Unfortunately, his eyes were much richer than yours.”

"Of course, there is no need to be afraid. After all, I am a sentimental person and I always have a vivid memory of the faces of those who were dying."

No longer glancing at the two trembling figures, Rothali turned to look at the messenger who had been standing to the side for a long time.

"Your Highness, the Duchy of Plantagenet has not accepted the treaty we presented and has dispatched its near-shore fleet to the island chains outside."

Stepping forward, the man knelt on the ground and handed the former the battle report from the Navy Department.

"This is......"

"A blatant provocation!"

Even though it was just a slight pause in his words, it already seemed as if someone else was acting as the emperor's mouthpiece, earnestly adding a few words of 'loyal advice'.

"well said."

With his fingers clasped together, Rothali chuckled and glanced at the minister who had spoken, the deeper meaning of which remained unknown.

"Despite the fact that a new dynasty has just been established, and the internal chaos and sharp contradictions are ongoing, it dares to disregard the authority of the Hadings Empire. I really don't know if it's the powerless emperor making a show of force, or the so-called prime minister acting on his own initiative."

"Or perhaps, as these historical records say, the grudges accumulated over generations have overshadowed the importance of national strength, blinding the ignorant, and can only be washed away with bloodshed?"

The banner engraved with a double-headed dragon fluttered as he rose, and the throne room fell into a sudden silence. Even breathing became more labored, and the backs of the courtiers bent even lower, as if a thousand pounds were pressing down on their shoulders.

After a long silence, the clanging of armor echoed from below the steps. The governor, who was under the command of the Navy, leaned forward, expressing his loyalty under the gaze of the one above him. "Your Highness, please allow me to lead the First and Third Fleets to the aid of the distant seas and wipe out the naval forces of the Duchy of Plantagenet."

"very good."

Perhaps, only at this moment did this emperor truly smile from the bottom of his heart.

He patted the former on the shoulder and draped the black and red flag over the other's shoulders.

"Pass on the order!" Rothali's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a heavy weight, sending a shiver down everyone's spine. "Assemble the Eastern Fleet, integrate the special task force, and set sail for the disputed waters within half a month. Tell Goldenleaf—" He paused, a cruel smile suddenly curving his lips.

"I gave them one last chance: either kneel down and surrender, offering everything, or lie down and face the gunfire, awaiting death."

How unreasonable, how inhumane! Ambitious people portray aggression as glory and slaughter as a pleasing hymn, bullying the weak with their strength.

Chapter 206 A Girl Burdened with Sins

Turning our attention back to Tingen, after a period of continuous rain, the city finally welcomed its first sunny day of early summer.

Wiping the fine sweat from her forehead, Charlotte placed the soaked towel on a nearby shelf, put away her revolver, and emptied the spent cartridges from the chamber into her palm.

Since joining the arbitration tribunal, morning exercise has become one of her habits.

This is not merely a disguise for others, but also a means to coordinate the sensory differences between various puppets. With varying sequences and different body shapes, she must weigh the coordination of her hands and eyes, and find multiple optimal ranges for exerting force.

Of course, during this process, besides the companionship of thoughts, there are often uninvited spectators waiting quietly on the sidelines, offering their cheers and applause.

Without turning around, she knew who it was—their light footsteps carried a faint breeze; only one person in the entire arbitration tribunal would do that.

"You hit the bullseye again today!" Pedeline walked quickly closer, her long red hair like a dancing flame in the sunlight. "If you ask me, Charlotte, you should teach me too. Those bullets are so obedient, they're like they have eyes."

Charlotte smiled, her hands moving without stopping. "Good morning, Pedeline. Coming to the training ground so early, are you trying to avoid the paperwork Melvis asked you to do again?"

"Oh no! We've been found out." Clutching her chest, the red-haired girl showed no remorse. "Those files are almost overwhelming me. I don't know what's going on lately, but all sorts of miscellaneous things have piled up, and even shipping at the port has been suspended."

He paused slightly with his fingertips, then pushed the last bullet into the cylinder. "Looks like the seagulls are going to go hungry for a while."

“Yes, yesterday the dock patrol team detained three merchant ships from the ocean, saying that…” Pederina lowered her voice, mimicking her superior’s rough tone, “…a routine inspection.”

“Pfft, alright, Pedeline, you don’t have to be so vivid in your description.” Charlotte smiled as she took off her training gloves. “When I was a child, I kept a cage of larks. Before every storm, they would hide the grains from their feeder under their feathers.”

The Conch Girl blinked her emerald eyes and leaned closer curiously: "And then?"

“Then one morning, I discovered that they had scattered all the food they had stored for half a month at the bottom of the cage.” The girl gently blew away non-existent dust from the revolver and whispered in my ear, “That afternoon, hail shattered half of the greenhouse in the garden.”

This is naturally a metaphor, a subtle allusion to war. However, without the pre-existing reminder and the impetus of the situation, Pederin would likely have had difficulty understanding her own expression.

If feasible, Charlotte really wanted to continue this peaceful and tranquil life. Although the work of the arbitration tribunal sometimes piled up, there were also free days off. Being only responsible for clerical work and some light tasks would not bring her too much burden. In fact, it was a leisurely and alternative pastime.

The reason for the initial praise followed by a decline is that, through her spiritual insight, she has keenly sensed the shifting threads of fate. Ms. Z and Pederina's fortunes are subtly declining, plummeting to the point of serious injury and death. Perhaps, before long, their current tranquility and warmth will vanish like smoke, mercilessly destroyed by a disaster.

As a member of the arbitration tribunal and as the party being cared for, she should have reminded her colleagues, such as reminding Pedeline not to act alone recently and advising Ms. Z to pay attention to clues in events big and small. But how could she, with such an almost intuitive feeling, produce evidence written on paper and explanations flowing from her mouth?

Charlotte Earl was destined not to be able to do it; she was only a Sequence 8, unable to save others in the face of overwhelming circumstances, and even to protect herself, she had to feign a wounded helplessness.

So, should she stand by and watch Zelena and Pederina suffer misfortune a few days later? Should she ignore the care and concern she has received during these days?

Gazing at the bright and beautiful face before her, Charlotte did not speak, but simply reached out and gently cupped the former's slightly chubby cheeks.

"Oh, Charlotte, what's wrong?"

Her clear eyes blinked incessantly, and the warm, moist breath from her nose made her momentarily dazed. This usually energetic girl was now tilting her head in a daze, completely unaware of the terrible things that were about to happen.

“It’s nothing,” she released her hand, a gentle smile playing on her lips, “I just suddenly realized that this hairband really suits your eyes today.”

Pedeline immediately perked up, like a cat being stroked, and rubbed against her palm: "Right, right! I just bought this at the market in the harbor!" She twirled around, her fiery red hair tracing arcs in the morning light, "Charlotte, you finally appreciate my fashion sense! I told you Melvis didn't understand romance!"

The morning light streamed through the domed windows of the training ground, casting shadows on the girl's pale eyelashes. What a beautiful morning—if it weren't for those ominous signs that were becoming increasingly clear in her clairvoyance.

Charlotte remained silent, her heart softening in the end.

In this world, girls like Zelena and Pederina are rare. Their character is shaped by the world and by themselves, and their beautiful appearance is a gift from heaven. They are among the few people who can interest me.

Well, let's just consider it a moment of impulsiveness. Even if it leaves flaws and traces that can be discovered, it's still better than watching Ms. Z get hurt or even die.

Ultimately, they were influenced by themselves and were very considerate and forgiving of themselves. Even if they were keen to watch the scene of shattered hope and laugh at the intertwining of tragedy and resentment, there were necessary prerequisites.

When a person dies, there is nothing left, nothing is known, and history books leave only hasty records.

Lowering her gaze to conceal the undercurrents in her eyes, she gently twirled her fingertips around the end of Pederina's hair, causing the girl to blush slightly and feel utterly flustered.

"Want to go to the White Rose Theatre tonight? I remember you mentioned it back then."