Prologue
Beneath the chilling sky, crimson flags fluttered like waves. Amidst the thunderous clap of horses' hooves on Feldif's white brick road, the faces of those who greeted the invaders' march were etched with a look of deep sorrow.
Great Cardion, great desert sun.
Dancers in white scattered flowers along the path of the victors. The white, fluttering flowers were gradually ground down by the rough hooves of their horses. Unable to bear the sight, one of them burst into rage.
“Damn it, a declaration of surrender without even a fight... Does our King not only lack ability, but even pride?”
Even a small, remote nation with nothing to boast about is still a nation. Feldif's army, charged with guarding its borders and protecting its people, was unilaterally defeated by Cardion's invasion without even a single battle. It's said that the soldiers fled in all directions like a flock of chicks at the sight of a hawk's shadow, their backs swept by a hail of arrows.
By the time less than a tenth of his force returned in miserable disarray, the King of Feldif had already sent a surrender message via his fastest horse. Those who had hoped to hold out until the very end, barricading the gates, were more devastated by the King's cowardice than anything else. Their King had never intended to fight in the first place.
“God, you are so heartless. Now Feldif is finished.”
"It's too early to give up hope. We have Princess Diara."
Princess Feldif's name was heard amidst the gloomy sighs of the crowd. What the Kingdom lost in exchange for defeat wasn't just territory, sovereignty, or a cartload of gold and silk.
Instead of bringing destruction to the tribes and nations he had trampled, the Emperor of Cardion took their daughters as concubines. Known as a warmonger and snake lover, he never slept without a woman, even on the bloody battlefield, and was renowned for not holding a woman for long.
He would select the most beautiful of the Princesses of the defeated kingdoms, taking and discarding them as he pleased. This was his way of treating women, and the treatment of the Princesses offered to him was as clear as day.
Nevertheless, as the notoriety of the Cardion Cavalry grew, more and more Kings chose to give up their Princesses as tribute instead of offering pointless resistance.
Even the most precious Princess was no match for a Prince who would lead an army and continue the lineage. For Kings who prioritized the preservation of their royal family above all else, losing a daughter or two was a matter of course, as long as they had another. Therefore, if giving up a Princess meant avoiding national destruction, it was highly unlikely any King would refuse.
So in this war, the King of Feldif also chose easy submission instead of fearful resistance.
Of the Princesses of Feldif, only one had yet to be married, despite having completed her coming-of-age ceremony. The youngest, Diara Iliaf, was so cherished by the King that she was never given to anyone. So, it was almost certain who would become the scapegoat in this war.
“Poor Princess Diara. Poor Rose of Feldif.”
The march continued, the muffled sobs of those in attendance echoing behind them, followed by dancers bearing flower baskets. Great Cardion, great desert sun. Beneath the dancers' melodious singing, the prayers of the elderly weighed heavily.
Beneath the chilling sky, crimson flags fluttered like waves. Amidst the thunderous clap of horses' hooves on Feldif's white brick road, the faces of those who greeted the invaders' march were etched with a look of deep sorrow.
Great Cardion, great desert sun.
Dancers in white scattered flowers along the path of the victors. The white, fluttering flowers were gradually ground down by the rough hooves of their horses. Unable to bear the sight, one of them burst into rage.
“Damn it, a declaration of surrender without even a fight... Does our King not only lack ability, but even pride?”
Even a small, remote nation with nothing to boast about is still a nation. Feldif's army, charged with guarding its borders and protecting its people, was unilaterally defeated by Cardion's invasion without even a single battle. It's said that the soldiers fled in all directions like a flock of chicks at the sight of a hawk's shadow, their backs swept by a hail of arrows.
By the time less than a tenth of his force returned in miserable disarray, the King of Feldif had already sent a surrender message via his fastest horse. Those who had hoped to hold out until the very end, barricading the gates, were more devastated by the King's cowardice than anything else. Their King had never intended to fight in the first place.
“God, you are so heartless. Now Feldif is finished.”
"It's too early to give up hope. We have Princess Diara."
Princess Feldif's name was heard amidst the gloomy sighs of the crowd. What the Kingdom lost in exchange for defeat wasn't just territory, sovereignty, or a cartload of gold and silk.
Instead of bringing destruction to the tribes and nations he had trampled, the Emperor of Cardion took their daughters as concubines. Known as a warmonger and snake lover, he never slept without a woman, even on the bloody battlefield, and was renowned for not holding a woman for long.
He would select the most beautiful of the Princesses of the defeated kingdoms, taking and discarding them as he pleased. This was his way of treating women, and the treatment of the Princesses offered to him was as clear as day.
Nevertheless, as the notoriety of the Cardion Cavalry grew, more and more Kings chose to give up their Princesses as tribute instead of offering pointless resistance.
Even the most precious Princess was no match for a Prince who would lead an army and continue the lineage. For Kings who prioritized the preservation of their royal family above all else, losing a daughter or two was a matter of course, as long as they had another. Therefore, if giving up a Princess meant avoiding national destruction, it was highly unlikely any King would refuse.
So in this war, the King of Feldif also chose easy submission instead of fearful resistance.
Of the Princesses of Feldif, only one had yet to be married, despite having completed her coming-of-age ceremony. The youngest, Diara Iliaf, was so cherished by the King that she was never given to anyone. So, it was almost certain who would become the scapegoat in this war.
“Poor Princess Diara. Poor Rose of Feldif.”
The march continued, the muffled sobs of those in attendance echoing behind them, followed by dancers bearing flower baskets. Great Cardion, great desert sun. Beneath the dancers' melodious singing, the prayers of the elderly weighed heavily.
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