Triumphant Return and Speech
Arland was roaring with cheers. The long-time nemesis, the Granzur Empire, had been utterly trampled by Arland.
Did they gain much territory? Hardly. But the reparations were immense. More than that, the people of Arland had no desire to meddle with the central continent—why would they covet land they wanted nothing to do with?
What brought the greatest joy was that Alicetia was returning home.
This war had wounded the pride of Arland’s people deeply. They had been forced to stain their kingdom’s treasure with blood.
Alicetia was a princess loved by many of the people. True, she was free-spirited and caused no shortage of commotions. Yet, time and again, those “troubles” had ended with great benefits to the kingdom.
The once narrow royal capital had expanded to a vast scale, and countless citizens now found work. Its funding? Alicetia’s pocket money. Officially, the kingdom claimed to have “discovered ancestral treasure,” but no one truly believed it.
The people of the capital knew Alicetia too well. She despised power struggles, yet always thought of her country. For her to hand over wealth without personal gain was far more believable than some tale of buried treasure.
And then there were the magic tools. Once, such things were luxuries beyond the reach of commoners—owned only by nobles, wealthy merchants, or famed adventurers. But not anymore. Now, even the average citizen could buy them. High-performance, affordable magic tools flooded the markets, enriching daily life.
With the construction of airships, transport became efficient, goods flowed more freely, and prices dropped everywhere. Jobs overflowed. Merchants and workshops raised wages continuously. Arland was no longer the precarious kingdom of yesterday.
Now, everyone believed tomorrow would be brighter—and the next day brighter still. Alicetia had become the very sun of hope for the kingdom. That was why she must be cherished, thought all.
But when the kingdom was in crisis, the people had been powerless. Alicetia had refused to call on them, unwilling to drag them into further suffering. So they had taken and taken from her, unable to give anything back. Throughout the war, despair had weighed on every heart.
And yet, Alicetia had returned alive.
The airship touched down at the capital’s temporary port. Normally, civilians were forbidden from entering the runway, but when the airship landed, the people burst past soldiers and surged forward.
“Princeeess!!”
Alicetia stepped off the vessel to a storm of cheers. She looked a little overwhelmed, but her face remained calm. In truth, she wondered why such a crowd had gathered—but seeing her people’s joy, she gave up questioning it.
Behind her followed the war criminals, marched out in chains. No matter how they begged Alicetia for mercy, she had refused. Now they wore despair like a shroud as they were paraded.
The cheers turned to a flood of jeers. Hatred poured from the crowd. No one threw anything, though. Knights and soldiers of Arland escorted the prisoners, and none would risk striking their brave protectors. Without that shield, the criminals would never have reached the gallows alive.
Soon after Alicetia’s return, the royal family addressed the people in the capital square. Draconia and Gilbert declared that the imperial threat was gone and swore such disgrace would never be allowed again. The crowd cheered wildly. The army may have failed to protect Alicetia from the battlefield, but they had fought hard and bled heavily. No one could blame them.
Then, Alicetia herself mounted the stage. The podium was removed beforehand—if she stood behind it, no one would see her. Alicetia drew a deep breath. Now she would deliver a warning to the world.
She spoke of their ancestors, once driven from their homeland by reckless human factions, forced to settle in this monster-haunted wilderness. She spoke of the sacrifices—of comrades lost, of blood spilled—to carve a nation from the forest.
“This kingdom was built upon the blood of our companions!”
Her voice, normally calm, flared with passion. She told of Arland’s history of unyielding survival, of forging a safe land at last—only to be stalked constantly by the Granzur Empire from the south and monster hordes from the north.
The people clenched their fists so tightly that blood was drawn.
“We are a nation that does not yield. In the central continent, other races have been erased. The central alliance recognize only human supremacy. But our kingdom has always lived by harmony among races. To bow to the central powers would mean abandoning that harmony. That would be an insult to the blood of our forebears!”
Her voice rose.
“We have resisted until now—and today, one of the great enemies who tormented us has fallen! The Granzur Empire is no longer a threat to Arland!”
A thunderous roar answered her. People wept, crying out with joy. They had suffered long at the hands of the empire. Many had lost family and friends. But now the empire had bent the knee to Alicetia, surrendered unconditionally.
The people had hated the thought of Alicetia on the battlefield. But now, hearing her, they cried out in triumph. Alicetia herself flinched at the sheer volume of their voices.
“But our struggle is not over,” she continued.
Silence fell.
“We defeated the empire. But the Central Nations Alliance remains—those who declare the continent belongs to humans alone. The next war will come against them. And it will be far greater than the one we just fought.”
Despair spread. If fighting the empire alone had nearly destroyed them, how could they endure this?
“We defeated the empire—and that is why they will fear us. Once, the central humans feared other races, and in that fear, destroyed them. They crushed those nations, and any humans who defended them. Now Arland stands in the same place—our existence disrupts their order. And so they will not forgive us. To restore their false order, they will bring fire and war upon us.”
The central continent lived under the Church’s doctrine, where humans were supreme and others were lesser, destined only to be ruled. And now, Arland had the power to topple the greatest empire. Conflict with the central powers was inevitable.
The people looked down in gloom. Alicetia clapped her hands.
“I don’t care.”
Faces lifted in confusion.
“I reject the history of Arland. Dying for the next generation? That’s nonsense.”
Her words shocked the crowd.
“If our history means death for those who come before, then I deny it! Our forebears deserved to watch the nation grow, to live out their days surrounded by family—not to die for tomorrow! Entrusting the future to death—what a sick joke!”
Her voice rang out.
“I declare this: in my lifetime, I will end the old ways. I will not spill my blood to become a foundation. We will cut off this cursed chain of sacrifice with our own hands. That is my warning to the world! Against the Granzur Empire, I did not even fight in earnest. That war was the warning: to all who covet our land, we will show a fate more tragic than theirs!”
Her words lit a fire in the people’s hearts, unspoken feelings they had long carried.
“We live here. Driven from our old homelands, cast to the edge of the world, still we live with pride! And we will go on living, never discarding that pride. Someday we will die. But when we meet our ancestors again, we will tell them with smiles that Arland has grown worthy of their devotion. For that, I need your help. Not alone, but together, we must build that future.”
For the first time, Alicetia asked for her people’s aid.
Yes—they thought. It had to end. If not, their children, their grandchildren, would inherit this cursed cycle. They had long felt it, wondered when the dying would stop, only to realize they themselves had become the “forebears.” Now they looked at their children, wondering if they too would have to bear that same burden.
“We must end this chain of sorrow in our own generation. And to do so, we must prosper. A rich nation is a strong one, able to crush its enemies. But national wealth is the people’s wealth. If the people are poor, the nation is poor. We must prosper—and for that, I need your strength.”
Alicetia bowed. At that instant, a cheer so great it shook the capital rose.
From that day, Arland transformed—from a united nation to one bound with orichalcum strength. The people swore to end the cycle with their own generation.
That same day, the war criminals from Granzur were executed. But none of the citizens came to watch. They no longer cared for vengeance—they cared only for Arland’s tomorrow. They returned to their work, determined to build a better future. The victory festival would come later.
At nearly the same time, the elves’ homeland was restored.
Alicetia’s clones had nearly all faded, their mana exhausted. By the time the World Tree and elven lands touched down, only one remained. That clone collapsed before the elves, giving a thumbs-up. Its last words were: “Miscalculated my mana use—nearly crashed,” but drowned by cheers, none heard.
In truth, they had lost altitude before even reaching Arland, and barely reached the elven lands at twenty meters above the ground.
But once they landed, elven, dwarven, and other contracted spirit-users worked together with earth and water spirits to anchor the land. In just a week, they solved issues of ground stability and groundwater.
What do you think about this chapter?
