Chapter 12: I don’t want you to lose to Celis.

In the blink of an eye, only twenty days remained before the Rose Knights faced battle.

Over the past ten, Isabelle drilled them in fundamentals: basic sword techniques, magic.

With theory down, they now lacked only real combat.

The Hecate Monster Dungeon under Oracle Hall control was unsuitable. Early floors—too weak, no challenge.

Later floors—stronger monsters, but swarms. One lapse from Isabelle, and the knights could be overwhelmed, suffering losses.

Too intense.

The ideal dungeon needed few monsters, each individually formidable.

After thought, Isabelle recalled one.

That night, she left the Oracle Hall for the imperial palace.

Past the grand hall, escorted by maids, she opened the door to the empress’s private study.

Entering, she saw the empress set down her red wine glass. Voice tinged with grievance.

“My, Vell, ages since you visited. The Rose Knights keep you that busy?”

“Want to try?”

“No thanks. A month apart, and your face looks dull. Training knights matters, but mind your health.”

Waving, the empress invited Isabelle beside her. As she sat, her right hand was clasped in the empress’s.

“Compared to the knights, I care more about you.”

Worried gaze on her, the empress pressed Isabelle’s hand to her chest.

Isabelle stayed silent.

Frandor—empress’s name. Golden hair, emerald eyes. Like a legendary elf—pure, beautiful.

Indeed, before coronation, she was the capital’s top beauty. Countless suitors. Even Isabelle, first arriving, nearly fell for her.

But she won. Frandor fell first.

Reason simple: Isabelle was prettier.

Since her arrival, the “capital’s top beauty” title shifted. Frandor, unconvinced, sought her out—and succumbed to her looks.

Of course, if Isabelle shared this publicly, Frandor would deny.

In her version, Isabelle fell first.

“I need a favor.”

Withdrawing her hand, Isabelle spoke. Frandor’s grievance deepened.

“Always business. Sigh. Speak, Saintess. If I can, it’s yours.”

Ignoring the tone, Isabelle continued.

“I want to borrow the Golden Dungeon.”

“Golden Dungeon? To temper the Rose Knights?”

Frandor frowned.

“Yes. Few monsters, decent strength, cunning. Perfect sparring for them.”

“But… I’d love to agree. The dungeon isn’t imperial. It belongs to the Greiro family. You know.”

Recalling, Isabelle raised a brow.

“Current head is Marquess Vanessa?”

“Yes. We have… issues. If I ask, she’ll likely refuse. Same if you do—our closeness is known.”

“But… there is a way. Want to hear?”

Frandor offered her wine glass. Sly smile blooming.

The wine was hers—lip print on the rim.

Meaning clear: drink it all, then the method.

“Frandor, you know I dislike wine.”

“Exactly. I force you because drunk, your cheeks flush—adorable. Not to mention fully intoxicated.”

“…After all these years, still obsessed?”

“Since that night I saw you drunk, I tried forgetting. Then I took the throne.”

Frandor smiled at Isabelle, but eyes dimmed. Real emotion crept in.

“On the throne, the more I tried forgetting, the clearer it became. Vell, am I ill—or should you take responsibility?”

Silence. Isabelle took the glass.

“…Just this once.”

Following the lip print, she drained it.

Empty glass gleamed under dim light. Like Frandor’s radiant smile.

“Done. The way?”

“Simple. Oracle Hall has a new saintess—Celis? Send her to Vanessa. Her identity is clean.”

Eyes calm, calculating, Frandor explained slowly.

As empress, Oracle Hall was under her watch. The new saintess surprised her.

Her networks couldn’t fully probe Celis’s origins.

Not incompetence.

Oracle Hall—closest to the divine. Anything could happen. Divine power beyond mortals.

A new saintess appearing wasn’t strange.

“Borrowing the dungeon for training—letting a saintess owe a favor. Vanessa isn’t stupid. She won’t refuse.”

Isabelle considered. True.

Celis was her secret. Only personal maid Renia knew.

Celis approaching Vanessa—flawless.

“I don’t know how this saintess appeared or your relation. But Vell, be careful.”

Tucking golden hair, Frandor grew serious.

“Two leaders in one power—factions form. Oracle Hall no exception. No matter how close Celis seems, keep a guard.”

“No one knows her true thoughts. I don’t want you losing to faction struggles—exiled from the Hall, stripped of saintess title.”