Princess’s Struggle for Survival

According to Astrid's battle preparation plan, on the day before the finals, Lyra abandoned all training. After breakfast in the cafeteria, she went to the library to read some random books. She returned to her dormitory for a nap at noon, and when she woke up, it was already past three in the afternoon. She freshened up, petted the cat, then sat by the window lost in thought.

After dinner in the evening, Astrid took her for a walk outside the academy, strolling from the west district all the way to the east district, stopping and wandering leisurely, before returning under moonlight to the training tower, where she swung her sword for half an hour, just enough to keep her sharp for the next day's match.

Finally, Lyra drank a cup of moonlight grass tea that helped induce sleep, and went to bed early. When she opened her eyes again, it was seven in the morning. The girl rose and freshened up under Elise's reminder, preparing for her final pre-match meal.

............

"Princess Astrid, His Majesty invites you to join him in the VIP section to watch the match together."

Arriving at the bustling arena, Astrid was about to take her seat when she heard the attendant's words, glancing at him with mild surprise.

"Has Father already arrived?"

The attendant nodded gently in response.

"Your Highness, His Majesty arrived half an hour ago and is currently waiting for you in the audience seats."

"If Your Highness is concerned about Miss Livia being left unattended, His Majesty has also arranged a seat for her. She may join you at any time."

They had even prepared for Amalia's presence. With things said this plainly, Astrid seemed to have no reason to refuse.

Looking down at the little girl beside her, dressed in a creamy white princess dress and holding her hand, Astrid paused for several seconds, her pink lips slightly parting.

"Alright, lead me there shortly."

Perhaps Hibbort simply wished for his daughter to spend more time with him, this aging man whose days were growing smaller.

Unlike natural death, those whose life's affairs remain unfinished grow increasingly reluctant as death nears, yearning to remain in this world just a little longer. In her previous life, Astrid had deeply understood this.

Perhaps due to increasing physical burdens, Hibbort had begun paying special attention to things he'd previously neglected, granting him a warmth as a father, no longer merely the aloof Emperor.

After replying to the attendant, Astrid turned toward Lyra, who was about to take the stage. Her voice was soft.

"Good luck, Lyra."

"This is your final trial. Remember my words, no matter the outcome, give it your all."

Hearing Astrid's gentle tone, Lyra nodded slightly. The nervousness that had just begun to bloom in her heart seemed soothed by these brief words.

"I understand, Astrid."

She had adjusted her mindset, no longer as lost as she'd been in recent days.

Astrid faintly, her long, slender lashes, dusted with flecks of light, gently fluttering as she spoke.

"Mm. Then do your best, Lyra."

"Even though my seat has changed, I'll still be watching you carefully from the audience."

Having spoken, Astrid turned and prepared to follow the attendant towards the VIP section. Amalia, who had remained silent all along, tugged her sister's hand. Her princess shoes paused slightly against the floor.

Just before leaving, the girl lifted her head and spoke, voice utterly flat.

"Good luck, Lyra."

With that, Amalia stepped forward, following Astrid's pace.

Surprised that the Fourth Princess, who rarely spoke to others, would actually offer words of encouragement in public, Lyra froze momentarily. Only when she saw the fluffy white skirt fabric behind Amalia and her pale white legs glowing under the light did she realize the kindness behind those words.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Livia."

Not only Princess Astrid, but even Amalia, the sister-obsessed princess, hoped she would win.

Good luck... Lyra...

Meanwhile, as Astrid followed the attendant towards the VIP seats, she passed by Monica's seat. The woman was dressed, as always, in an extremely saintly manner, white dress, white hair ribbon, white gloves.

Their gazes briefly met. The woman softly greeted her with a good morning, and Astrid politely returned the greeting before continuing forward without looking back.

Watching the imperial princess in her form-fitting black dress, exuding elegant grace, Monica's gaze lingered briefly on Astrid's back, only slowly shifting away after a long while.

Recently, she had gathered more information about Astrid, knowing of the Third Princess's contributions to the empire in recent years, and some of the rumors that once surrounded her.

In just two short years, Astrid seemed to have completely transformed, from a spoiled, capricious imperial princess into the composed, emotionally restrained, and impeccably mannered Third Princess.

Perhaps, like that pink-haired girl wielding the sacred, a god truly had cast their gaze upon her, allowing the once lifeless empire to gradually show signs of vitality.

Unfortunately, the Kingdom of Velys didn't seem to be favored by the gods. Despite being the nation that most fervently worshiped the God of Light, it now resembles a dying patient experiencing a final burst of energy, its surface fanaticism unable to conceal the internal decay.

Her gaze shifted to the arena. The two competitors had not yet taken their positions. Holy light fell upon the arena, illuminating the gaps between bricks.

No one knew that in this match between Lyra and Iris, Monica, as the Light Saintess representing the Kingdom of Velys, actually hoped the former would win.

She wished to see the power capable of changing the world within Lyra. This match was a perfect opportunity.

Let her see just how far someone watched over by the Light God could go.

At the same time, Astrid arrived at the seat reserved for her by Hibbort, the position at the Emperor's immediate right, one of the closest spots to him.

"Good morning, Father," Astrid said softly.

Today, Hibbort was dressed in full regalia, adorned in a luxurious velvet robe, wielding an expensive imperial scepter in hand, radiating the mighty aura of a supreme ruler.

Hibbort's gaze swept over Astrid, then changed at Amalia behind her. His blue eyes narrowed slightly before his thin lips parted.

"Good morning, Astrid."

"Please, take your seat."

Hearing this, Astrid gave a slight nod and sat beside him. Amalia sat to her right, placing herself between her beloved sister and the father she overlooked most.

To Amalia's right, Lucas and Alistair sat side by side. These two brothers, seemingly estranged since birth, made no trouble before their father, quietly remaining in place as they waited for the match.

To onlookers, Hibbort's actions were another display of boundless favor toward Astrid, he was even willing to grant the Third Princess the seat closest to him, separating the two princes, and even allowing her adopted younger sister to share the clearest viewing position.

Yet in Astrid's mind, the Emperor's series of maneuvers only intensified suspicions she'd long harbored.

Along the entire row of audience seats: on Hibbort's left were his four trusted ministers; on his right, his two princes and one adopted daughter. Examining this seating arrangement carefully, it seemed as if Hibbort was trying to hint at something.

Strictly speaking about the closeness of relationships, Livia Calliste was nominally Astrid's adopted sister with no blood relation, and she herself was Hibbort's adopted daughter. Roughly speaking, Amalia could be considered the Fourth Princess, her presence here wasn't particularly unusual.

But under this scenario… another interpretation was equally plausible…

One row, three direct bloodlines, three different choices.

Astrid tilted her head toward Hibbort. The man was staring at the arena. From her angle, she could only see the sharp outline of the Emperor's profile and his neatly trimmed light brown stubble.

She absolutely couldn't ask. If it turned out she was overthinking it, doing so would be exposing her hand, surrendering all initiative.

So what was Hibbort really thinking? Did he know Livia Calliste's true identity? Did he understand the schemes and plans she'd laid out?

If the Emperor concluded she intended to use Amalia's royal bloodline to seize the wealth and power belonging to the Valeria family, despite her being the daughter of a childhood friend, she would certainly not escape retribution.

The clicking of high heels against the floor, Astrid's thoughts raced. After a while, she turned toward the other protagonist in her mind, Amalia, the black-haired girl sandwiched between royal family members, her identity still unrevealed to the world.

The little girl sat obediently with legs pressed together, placing Astrid's hand on her knee, her other two hands gently folded. Her expression was filled with timid innocence.

Amalia, though disliking conversations with strangers, was definitely not shy.

Even facing her enemies, this future blonde tyrant maintained excellent facial composure, her eyes revealing no anger or dissatisfaction, only unfamiliarity at suddenly being in an unfamiliar place, and fear of the Valeria Empire's nobles surrounding her, so much so that even Astrid couldn't spot a single flaw.

She had initially worried Amalia might fail to adjust properly, showing unbecoming expressions of her status. Now it seemed she'd been overly concerned.

Compared to the cold, aloof little girl who once couldn't suppress her emotions upon encountering her birth father right after leaving the fortress, she now resembled a gradually cunning heir to the throne.

Fingertips lightly scratched Amalia's palm, then, where no one could see, gently covered the girl's knees wrapped in thickened white stockings. Feeling her sister's comforting touch, Amalia relaxed slightly, though her crimson pupils still flickered with the timidity of a frightened bunny.

.............

At 9:30 AM, in the temporary resting room beneath the arena, Lyra sat on her seat, struggling to control her breathing rhythm.

Just as mages restore their mana through meditation, knights use breath control to bring their bodies to peak condition. Although this wasn't particularly systematic in training, experience told Lyra that it truly worked.

Earlier, she had quickly scanned the audience seats and spotted many imperial nobles she'd only seen before while accompanying Astrid as a personal maid.

The four cabinet ministers, the rarely seen academy dean, and even the Emperor himself had participated in this match.

Everyone was placing great importance on this final, on the outcome of this ultimate clash.

Lyra… it's time to submit your answer sheet…

One final effort.

Even after two extra days of training, Lyra still hadn't broken through to become a low-tier magic master. The chance of defeating Iris remains slim.

But compared to before, the shift in mindset had given her the courage to stand on stage as a challenger facing her opponent.

No matter how strong her enemy was, she had to draw her sword first to have any chance of victory.

The clock hands creaked forward. With less than ten minutes until the official start at ten o'clock, Lyra stood up, washed her face one last time, confirmed her attire was proper, opened the door, and stepped outside.

In the arena, Iris stood with her sword at her back, her light purple hair fluttering in the wind. Her eyes, matching the hue of her hair, turned toward the opposing contestant's entrance.

Lyra stepped onto the arena. Her blue eyes no longer held hesitant, only clear, pure light.

The host's voice echoed through amplified runes in all directions. Lyra stood straight, listening quietly. Her Sword of Light hangs diagonally in her hand, casting a long, slender shadow.

Every gaze was fixed upon her and Iris. At this moment, they seemed like the center of the entire world.

Facing the white-dressed, delicate pink-haired girl before her, Iris tightened her grip on her sword, her expression growing increasingly focused.

Even a lion hunting a rabbit uses full strength, let alone the fact that she knew Lyra was considered by Monica as "the one watched by the gods." Even if she only possessed the strength of a peak tier Sorcerer, she absolutely couldn't be underestimated.

After Evelyn finished her speech and confirmed the match time was near, she voluntarily stepped down, leaving the arena to the two competitors.

The sounds around her faded, leaving only the howling wind. The wind was strong today, and the sun was dazzling. Without even activating her elemental vision, Lyra could feel the drifting particles of wind and light around her.

Half a minute later, the bell signalling the start of the match rang out.

Lyra raised her sword, the sharp tip cutting through dust, pointing directly at Iris standing not far away.

"Let's begin, Miss Iris."

This was the decisive battle to determine who would become champion. And today, Lyra's two years of effort will finally be revealed.