216. Eugene’s Realization: Fourth Day of The Festival

“Aria Morgen,” Ravenna purred, rising from her seat with feline grace. “Cousin. Welcome to Kim City. You’ve come just in time… to witness a new change to the world’s balance.”“Your Highness,” Aria replied, bowing low with practiced elegance before settling onto the sofa opposite Ravenna’s desk.

“It’s been a while since we last met,” Ravenna said, her black eyes narrowing slightly as if searching through memories.

Aria nodded softly. “True. The last time we stood in the same hall was… at Aunt Dahlia’s funeral. The Empress.”

A flicker of grief cracked through Ravenna’s mask, her smile faltering into something fragile, almost tender. For just a heartbeat, she was not the Raven of the Sun Palace, not the tyrant of Kim Island, but a daughter remembering the warmth of her mother’s hand. The moment passed. She straightened, smirk tugging once more at her lips, razor-edged and alive.

“Yes… that’s true,” she murmured, tapping the desk once. Then her voice shifted, brisk, commanding, dismissing sentiment as if it were weakness. “But enough of mourning the dead. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Aria leaned forward slightly, her composure noble yet tinged with awe. “I can’t believe the advancements of your dukedom, Your Highness. Roads paved in stone, water flowing freely through iron pipes, steel towers in the desert heat… These are wonders that not even the Imperial Capital can boast. All of this, and yet not a whisper of it escapes to the court.”

Ravenna’s lips curved upward, her amusement cutting through the weight of the compliment. “Don’t mistake me for a woman so shallow that she lives on flattery. But,” she added, her eyes gleaming, “it pleases me to know the mainland has yet to grasp the scale of what I’ve wrought.” She tapped her finger on the desk, sharp as a judge’s gavel. “So then.. your father, Uncle Morgen, He has taken it upon himself to rebuild our faction?”

“Yes,” Aria said with a firm nod. “Father has resolved to journey to the Imperial Capital himself once the dukedom stabilizes: once the Conley Empire’s invasion remnants have been fully repelled, and the unnatural cold from the Dungeon brought under control.”

“And leave you in charge of the dukedom?” Ravenna asked, arching a brow.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Aria’s tone carried both weight and pride. “Father believes it is time to plant our banner in the capital once more, to rebuild a foundation of loyal allies before you can find a way to step back into the court. By the time you are ready, he hopes to have gathered enough strength for you to return not as a supplicant… but as a rival to be feared again.”

Ravenna chuckled darkly, her voice low, velvet lined with steel. “Uncle has always been one to seize initiative. Bold, never idle, A useful trait in a world of cowards.” She leaned back in her chair, the desert sunlight spilling across her form like a crown. “And he is right. With my exile still in effect, I cannot step into the capital unless the Imperial Family themselves extend an invitation. But if your father rebuilds the faction in my stead… then perhaps that leash will finally fray.”

Aria reached into her satchel and slid a sealed report across the polished surface of Ravenna’s desk. “Father also asked me to inform you of His Highness Landon’s dealings in the vassal states region. He moves faster than expected.”

Ravenna broke the seal and scanned the parchment with sharp, predatory eyes. Her smile faded into calculation. “I see… so my dear brother Landon hastens his preparations.” She tapped the desk slowly, each knock echoing like the beat of war drums in her mind she thought “Just as in the novel… he plans to set rebellion aflame.”

Her gaze sharpened, and for a moment her aura thickened, the weight of her presence suffocating. Then, as if tossing aside the storm, she slid the map of Kim City across the table toward Aria with one hand.

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“And now, cousin…” Ravenna’s smile returned, sly and deliberate. “Let us not allow politics to sour the festival. Kim City is transformed: stone, steel, and indulgence woven together. You’ve seen the armband system, yes? It will allow you to enjoy our celebrations without unnecessary intrusion.”

Aria hesitated, her lips parting before she finally voiced what had been on her mind since she arrived. “Your Highness… forgive my bluntness, but we wished to verify something. The rumors have spread far and wide. Is it true? Is the Saintess of this era truly here, on this island?”

Ravenna’s black eyes gleamed with an amused cruelty as she leaned forward, resting her chin lightly on her hand. Her other hand tapped the map once more, pushing it closer to Aria.

“Enjoy the festival, cousin. Walk the streets. See the wonders. Taste the indulgence. We will speak again: on the final day of the festival.”

Her smirk widened, feline and dangerous. “By then… you’ll have your answer.”

One of the Hotel Rooms, Western Shore Region, Kim City, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

The sky above Kim City shimmered with stars, scattered like jewels on black velvet. Midnight had long since passed, yet the city showed no sign of slumber. The festival’s fourth day had begun, and with it came a tide of revelry that refused to ebb. Torches burned along the wide Romanesque avenues, lanterns strung across balconies bathed the streets in soft gold and violet hues, and the sound of laughter, flutes, and tambourines mingled with the heady scent of wine and roasted meat.

From his hotel balcony, Eugene sat still, a solitary figure against the chaos of life below. The iron railing was cool beneath his arms as he leaned forward, watching the city pulse with vitality. His expression, however, was not one of joy.

“Impossible…” he whispered, voice almost drowned by the music from the plaza below. His jaw tightened, his eyes glinting with disbelief and sorrow. “Something like this did not exist in my past life. Not even close.”

He had expected Kim City to be a decadent ruin under the thumb of an arrogant tyrant princess. He had imagined neglected streets, oppression dressed as indulgence, the stench of corruption hiding behind Herptian’s lustful creed. Instead, what he found unsettled him far more than a battlefield scarred with blood.

This city thrived.

The Romanesque towers of stone and steel, things he had thought impossible outside the capital pierced the desert night like beacons. Aqueducts carried clean water openly, a luxury he’d never seen. Beasts called Steam engines hissed faintly from the industrial quarter, their smoke stacks muted but steady, pushing wealth into the city’s veins. Sellers crowded the stalls even at this hour, exchanging coins with an ease born of trust, not fear. And interwoven through it all: the music, the colors, the indulgence, was the culture of Herptian itself, shameless and alive, shaping the city’s heartbeat into something magnetic.

He watched couples kiss openly in the streets, hands roaming without restraint, saw groups of men and women alike disappear into taverns where laughter gave way to moans behind painted doors. No one judged. No one hid. And yet… the order was undeniable. Guards patrolled the main avenues, but their presence was not one of oppression. It was discipline. Control.

Eugene exhaled, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “Maybe… I’ve been going at this wrong.”

He clenched his fists, resting them on the railing, the faint scars across his knuckles catching the moonlight. For years after regressing he had sharpened his blade, convinced the only path to victory was to become strong enough to cut down the Witch himself. To burn away her corruption with steel and holy power of the saintess.

But here, on this forsaken island once called Jola: a place meant to be Ravenna Solarius’s graveyard, thrived.

His throat tightened, and guilt, bitter and lingering, coiled around his chest like a serpent. Memories of his past life clawed at him: the failure, the bodies left behind, the Saintess lost, the world smothered by chaos.

“Maybe…” His voice cracked, low and heavy with shame. “…maybe the reason we lost wasn’t because we lacked strength. Maybe it was because we weren’t united. Because we tore each other apart while the true enemy laughed.”

The revelry outside surged louder, a roar of voices rising with a new wave of music, but Eugene barely heard it. His thoughts were a battlefield of their own, torn between the hatred he had nursed for Ravenna, out of his own failure and the undeniable proof that her city prospered in ways the empire itself could not dream to match.

He leaned back into his chair at last, staring up at the stars as though seeking judgment. His heart felt heavier than any sword he had ever lifted.

For the first time in years, Eugene wondered if his path had been wrong from the very beginning.