Theudifara: The Adventurer's Ambition is to Become the Empress

"Sis! Wake up! You'll miss the festival!"

"...Mmm... Just ten more hours..."

"Come on, get a grip!"

Thwack!

Fleda yanked my pillow away, and my face met the mattress with a muffled crunch.

"Come on, get up, Sis!"

I squinted up at her, clutching my blanket like a shield. "Mmm... Alright, alright! Gods, you're worse than a rooster."

Today was the 227th Anniversary of Ingvaeon's founding-a holiday even hermits like me couldn't ignore. According to legend, the kingdom was born when Aart Wulfheim united warring elf clans under one banner, creating a sanctuary for those fleeing persecution in the southern continents. Now, the "Northern Elf Kingdom" was throwing its annual spectacle, and Fleda had appointed herself my personal alarm clock.

"Hurry! Manfred's already polishing his boots!" She tossed an embroidered dress at my head. "And please try not to look like a bandit today."

I groaned but obeyed, swapping my sleep-rumpled nightgown for something marginally respectable. By the time I stumbled downstairs, the others were waiting: Manfred, stiff-backed in his militia uniform; Alruna, adjusting her brooch; and the twins, Amalia and Amelie, buzzing like hyperactive fireflies.

"Papa's taking forever!" Amelie whined, tugging Leofric's sleeve.

The charming merchant merely chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. "Patience, child. Parades don't vanish like breakfast pastries," he replied with a gentle smile.

Despite our slight delay, we arrived just in time to catch the start of the festival's opening in Königsburg. Coming from a remote village, I wasn't familiar with the intricacies of such grand events, but the sheer scale and vibrancy of the celebration left me in awe.

The plaza was teeming with people, elves from all corners of the kingdom gathered in joyful anticipation. Banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, displaying the crests of various regions within Ingvaeon.

In the center of the plaza, a regiment of soldiers stood proudly, adorned in ceremonial uniforms, their armour gleaming under the sunlight. They carried an array of musical instruments and ceremonial weapons.

"The royal family opens the festivities," Leofric explained, nodding toward the grand podium draped in green silk. "A rare sight-King Egbert seldom appears publicly."

My ears perked. In 38 years, I'd never glimpsed the man. Back in my village, rumors painted him as everything from a reclusive scholar to a shapeshifting dragon.

"Presenting His Majesty, King Egbert Aldigart von Aureo-we kindly invite you to ascend the platform and commence the 227th Anniversary of the Founding of the Kingdom of Ingvaeon," a herald proclaimed loudly, his voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd.

Soon after, a triumphant fanfare erupted, drums and horns resounding in a harmonious melody to herald the king's arrival. The sea of people erupted into enthusiastic applause.

After a few moments, the king emerged and ascended to the grand podium overlooking Königsburg. The music subsided, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. All eyes were fixed upon the monarch. I craned my neck, eager to catch a glimpse, but the glare of the midday sun obscured my view, its blinding rays thwarting my efforts.

"Good afternoon, my beloved subjects," the king began, his voice resonant and commanding. "Today is a day eagerly awaited by all the people of Ingvaeon. For on this day-"

His speech continued, eloquent and grandiose, but to me, it began to blur into monotonous droning. Nearly half an hour passed with the king extolling the virtues of our great nation, its history, and our collective future. Honestly, why do leaders always seem to relish speaking at such length? It reminded me of Old Adolf, the head of my village, who could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

"-Therefore, let us! Let us remain spirited in advancing Ingvaeon, even during these challenging times!" he declared passionately.

Finally, fortune favored me. A large cloud drifted lazily across the sky, shielding the sun's glare and allowing me a clear view of the king at last. I squinted, adjusting my eyes. Just a bit more... Almost there... And then-I regretted my curiosity.

The king was... a walrus.

A walrus with a mustache so luxuriant, it could've housed a family of sparrows. Combined with his short, wavy hair, he resembled more a disheveled vagabond than a regal monarch. The contrast between his grand attire and his unkempt appearance was simply too much.

I bit my cheek. Hard. But when sunlight hit his mustache at just the wrong angle, transforming it into a squirming caterpillar, I lost it.

"Pfft-HA!"

"Shhh! Hey, sis! Stop laughing!" Fleda hissed urgently.

She swiftly pulled me close, attempting to muffle my laughter and make me face the ground before the king could notice my outburst. But it seemed it was already too late. The immediate area around us had fallen silent, and I could feel the weight of numerous eyes staring in our direction with a mixture of shock and disapproval. Oh dear, it appeared I had committed a grave faux pas.

Even the king seemed to have paused his speech momentarily, perhaps having heard my laughter. Panic seized me. Would I be imprisoned? Or worse, face execution? Such dire thoughts flooded my mind, and my laughter died abruptly. I dropped into a crouch, pretending to tie my boot. Manfred, the traitor, was shaking with silent laughter beside me. "Not. Helping," I muttered.

Curiosity got the better of me. Had the king really stopped because of me? Risking a glance upward, I locked eyes with King Egbert himself. His gaze-sharp as a dagger-pinned me in place. For three heartbeats, the world stopped. Then Fleda grabbed my collar and dragged me through the crowd like a misbehaving hound.

Still in a daze, I stumbled alongside her, eager to escape the growing tension and avoid further attention. Once we were outside the confines of Königsburg, away from prying eyes, Fleda rounded on me.

"Are you insane?!" she exclaimed, exasperation evident in her voice. "Laughing at the king? They'll toss you in the dungeons! Or worse, make you clean the stables!"

"Did you see him?" I wheezed, tears streaming. "He looks like a drunk badger!"

"He's a monarch, not a tavern mascot! I bet no one else is as bold-or reckless-as you! It seems you need a lesson! He is the king, for goodness' sake! Show some respect!"

She continued her scolding, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. I hung my head, partially out of remorse but also to hide the lingering smile that threatened to reappear every time I recalled the king's comical visage.

***

"Understood!?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't ever pull a stunt like that again!"

Fleda's scolding echoed in my skull like a gong as we slipped back into Königsburg's bustling plaza. Twenty minutes of nonstop lecturing-twenty-and all because I'd laughed at a man whose mustache could double as a broom.

Meanwhile, the parade inside Königsburg was in full swing, the melodies shifting seamlessly from one rousing tune to another. Not wanting to miss any more of the festivities, Fleda and I hurried back inside.

Despite our delay, the spectacle that greeted us was nothing short of magnificent. The royal army lined up impeccably, showcasing an array of weaponry before the assembled crowd. They took turns marching around Königsburg, displaying their strength and armaments to the king and onlookers alike. There were colossal catapults, formidable ballistas, and numerous other siege engines whose names escaped me. The soldiers were organized according to their respective units and classes.

At the forefront marched the light infantry. Their equipment was modest yet efficient. They carried long spears, swords and daggers at their hips, and simple bronze helmets covering just the tops of their heads. Their attire consisted of thickened tunics, modified to offer additional protection without hindering mobility.

Next came the heavy infantry, whose armaments were truly impressive. Each bore three primary weapons: an exceptionally long spear, two long swords, and a substantial semi-cylindrical shield. Their armor, iron lorica molded to fit their bodies, provided robust defense. Iron helmets protected their heads, covering the top, back, and cheeks, and were adorned with striking green plumes that stood proudly upright.

In the third and fourth ranks rode the cavalry, both light and heavy, cutting impressive figures atop their steeds. The difference between the classes mirrored that of the infantry. Light cavalrymen wore green brat cloaks with modified sleeves for greater freedom of movement, wielding long swords as their primary weapons. The heavy cavalry, however, were a sight to behold. Clad in brat cloaks over iron lorica, their horses were fitted with iron chainmail protecting their fronts. Both cavalry classes shared a commonality-they could switch to bows when needed, as evidenced by some riders carrying them.

Then came the archers. My breath hitched. Their longbows stood taller than the elves wielding them, yew staves curved like crescent moons. No heavy armor-just quilted gambesons and those same skimpy bronze helmets. But their fingers bore calluses thicker than coin purses. Each quiver held arrows fletched in black, a silent promise: We don't miss.

Finally, the sixth rank comprised the engineers-the unsung heroes responsible for crafting the kingdom's war machines and siege equipment. Distinct in their dark green dyn cloaks, they didn't wear armour or helmets, as they remained at the rear during battles. They paraded an impressive array of siege devices: towering catapults, formidable ballistas, battering rams, and other intricate contraptions that stirred my curiosity.

"This is heaven," I breathed. Watching the soldiers march in perfect formation, exhibiting their weaponry with such pride, filled me with awe. This moment would undoubtedly become one of the cherished memories of my life.

Fleda elbowed me. "It's creepy. Who needs that many ballistae?"

"Someone planning to knock down a mountain," I said, eyes glued to a trebuchet.

Yet, amidst all this grandeur, I couldn't shake a niggling feeling that something was amiss. Where were the royal knights? In all the books I'd devoured about the Kingdom of Ingvaeon, the royal knights were hailed as the elite among elites-the epitome of martial prowess and chivalry. Had they marched earlier, while Fleda was busy reaming my ears off? The thought curdled my joy. Missing them was like skipping the last chapter of a saga.

"...Sis...!"

"...Sister!"

"Hmm?"

"You're spacing out again!" Fleda snapped.

I snapped back to reality, blinking in surprise. "Huh? Oh! I'm sorry, Fleda. I got lost watching all the soldiers march by."

She sighed, a mix of exasperation and fondness in her eyes. "We promised the twins we'd hit the market. Amelie's about to combust."

Sure enough, the girls were hopping foot to foot nearby, clutching coin pouches.

"Right, right." I forced a smile. "Lead the way, General Grumpy."

The market sprawled beyond the plaza, a riot of colors and haggling. Tents peddled everything from dwarven clockwork toys to intricately woven silks. Amelie darted toward a jewelry stall, Amalia trailing like a wary shadow.

"Keep up!" Fleda barked, dragging me past a spice merchant.

My feet ached, but my mind still churned. Those absent knights... Had the king kept them close as bodyguards? Or were they a myth, embellished by bards?

"Sis! Look!" Amelie thrust a silver pendant under my nose-a tiny, intricate ballista. "It's like the big ones!"

"Cute," I said, ruffling her hair. "But real ballistae don't have gemstones."

"Spoilsport," she pouted, but bought it anyway.

As the twins bartered for honey cakes, I leaned against a tent pole, watching the crowd. Laughter clashed with merchants' cries, and the scent of roasting chestnuts wrapped around me like a blanket. For a moment, it was perfect-until a flash of light caught my eye.

Across the square, a figure in silver plate armor stood motionless, helm tucked under one arm. His face was sharp, scarred, and utterly bored. Behind him, five others in identical gear scanned the crowd.

Royal Knights.

My heart leapt. Their armor bore no plumes, no gilding-just polished steel. Each carried a blade thinner than a standard longsword, its edge shimmering blue. Dwarven alloy, I realized. Lethal enough to slice through stone.

"Fleda," I whispered. "Look. It's them."

She followed my gaze and stiffened. "So?"

"So? They're legends! I've read they single-handedly broke the Siege of-"

"Sis. Breathe."

But I was already weaving through the crowd, Fleda's curses trailing behind. The knight's eyes locked onto mine as I approached. Up close, his scars looked like pale lightning.

"You." His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet. "The one who laughed at His Majesty."

Oh. Hell.

"Uh. That was... a misunderstanding?"

His lips twitched. "He found it refreshing. Said courtiers' laughs are 'tinny as rusted bells.'"

"...Oh."

"But don't push your luck." He nodded to Fleda, now glowering at my side. "Your keeper's got the right idea."

Before I could retort, he melted into the crowd, his squad following.

"Told you they'd be watching," Fleda hissed.

"Worth it," I grinned.

The knights were real. And for a heartbeat, I'd stood among them.

***

"Another day, another blistered foot," I groaned, collapsing onto a bench in our mansion's courtyard.

We'd spent hours traipsing through Aureo-browsing the Glücksmarkt's stalls, sampling sour ales, cheering at horse races, gawking at naval parades. The twins had dragged us halfway across the kingdom, their energy endless. My soles felt like mush, but the ache was worth it. New sights, new smells, new life-this was the thrill I'd missed in my hermit years.

Fleda flopped down beside me, kicking off her boots. "If I see one more 'authentic Aureo handicraft' stall, I'll scream."

"Liar. You bought three embroidered handkerchiefs."

"Shut it." She tossed a pebble into the fountain. "...They'll miss us, you know. The twins. Once we leave for the Nito trials."

The thought soured my mood. Claudia's mansion had become a refuge-warm beds, shared meals, Leofric's dusty lectures. But we were drifters here, guests who'd overstayed. Soon, the four of us will scatter. The people here have been so kind; I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to stay here forever.

We sat in comfortable silence, the future hovering like storm clouds. For now, though, the night was ours-nightingale singing, stars winking, and the bittersweet knowledge that this-the chaos, the kinship-wouldn't last.

***