With the supplies id out before me, I braced myself to power through this before I could crawl into bed. Writiers wasly my idea of a thrilling evening, but it had to be done.

  First up: creating the personal guard position. Officially.

  In the pace, guards were chosen by some overly plex special nominee system that only a sadist could have designed.

  It involved yers of bureaucracy so tangled you’d need a map, a transtor, and probably a therapist to navigate. But here? ape. No pointless ittee debates. Just me, my pen, and my plete ck of experience doing this the right way.

  I kept it simple: “I empower Alma as my Captain of the Guard.”

  And with a flick of the quill, yes a quill, I sighe letter, pressing my seal onto the part for that extra yer of offiess.

  [Position of Guard Captain filled.]

  I bli the notification. Wait… this system actually tracks that? My lips twitched upward in a faint smirk. This version of the system ractically spoon-feeding me like a baby bird. No plicated rituals or endless approvals—just “Bam, you’re Captain now.” Kind of refreshing, actually.

  Curious, I tried experimenting. Uhm… employees? List? Guard? I mentally called out for some kind of roster to pop up, but nothing happened. Not even a spark. Well, worth a shot. Guess this isn’t THAT user-friendly, and it’s buggy.

  “Preteo be pretender…” prince murmured in my mind.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “I o sleep… Don’t wake me up…” he sounded exhausted. Have I used his powers too much?

  Satisfied with the letter, I hoped Alma would get the respect she deserved. Not from me, obviously. I wouldn’t respect myself either, not with how spdash this process felt. But maybe the soldiers around here were more disciplihan I’d ever been.

  Good luck, Alma.

  up: another letter for Alma. This one was to the quartermaster, instrug them to issue her proper armor. Somethier thaandard-issue k she was wearing now. The st thing I needed was my brand-netain being mistaken for a random soldier.

  Or worse, losing a fight because her gear was a joke.

  I pressed my seal onto that ooo. “Done,” I muttered, stag it ly. Hopefully, the quartermaster doesn’t throw a tantrum.

  The third letter was for Imperial Doan-ander Mi. I owed him one—well, owed him an apology, at least. I’d dumped the entire defense of the fort on his shoulders while I wasn’t around, and he robably two steps away from mutiny.

  ’t bme him, really.

  I kept it professional, inviting him to meet me irategy room in an hour to discuss ‘defense pnning.’ Transtion: I’ll let him scream at me for a while, and then we’ll strategize.

  Seal pressed. Letter done. I ha to one of the couriers standing awkwardly nearby. “Do you know Mi?” I asked, keeping my toral.

  “Of course, Lady!” he yelled, grabbing the letter like it rized artifact. He spun around to dash off—only to immediately trip over the doorframe. With a yelp and a spectacur fil of limbs, he disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint echo of his cttering footsteps.

  I stared at the open door, blinking in disbelief. What the hell just happened?

  From her post outside, Alma turo look at me, her face mirr my fusion. Our eyes met, and for a moment, her of us said anything. Then, as if deg she’d rather not know, Alma slowly reached out and closed the door.

  Good call.

  I exhaled a long breath and slumped ba my chair, rubbing my temples. “This fort’s going to be the death of me,” I muttered. But despite the chaos, a small smile crept onto my lips. Things were messy, sure—but I was finding my rhythm.

  Sort of.

  The imperial attaché—the nameless idiot of polished clothing and infted ego—o be part of the defense's discussion.

  As much as I hated the idea of including someone who practically oozed smug superiority, his input might actually matter. If nothing else, having him in the room would keep him from pinihat I’d ignored his oh-so-important perspective.

  I hate politics.

  I sighed, my pen h over the part. What was his name? Did he even tell me?

  Probably not.

  He had the same air of self-importance as those snobs ba the pace, the ones who loved titles more than they loved breathing. My fiapped idly against the desk as I debated how to address him. Eventually, I settled for the vague-but-polite approach: “To the Imperial Attaché.”

  The letter itself was short and to the point: an invitation to join the meeting with ander Mi in one hour and a half. Half an hour felt fair—enough time for Mi to yell at me uninterrupted before the attaché sauntered in with whatever grand ideas he had.

  With the letter signed and sealed, I gnced up at another courier lingerihe table.

  She looked young—probably not much older thahers—and she stood at stiff attention like a recruit waiting for a drill sergeant’s wrath. Her wide eyes flicked nervously between me and the letter in my hand.

  “Could you deliver this to the imperial attaché?” I asked, holding out the letter. She nodded so quickly it was almost ical, her enthusiasm shining off her in waves.

  “This isn’t time-sensitive,” I added, watg her closely. “If you get it to him within half an hour, that’s fine.”

  Her face split into a wide grin, and she nodded again, so fast I half expected her head to pop off. Without a single word, she darted forward, snatched the letter from my hand, and bolted for the door like a priestess fleeing a mud wolf.

  I blinked, stunned by the sudden burst of energy. “Uh… okay?” I muttered, watg her disappear down the hall at a dead sprint.

  The door swung slightly in her wake, creaking on its hinges as it settled bato pce. Why are they all running like their lives depend on it?

  Did someone spread a rumor about me being terrifying?

  Outside, Alma peeked into the room, her expression a mix of and bemusement. Our eyes met, and I gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Is this normal?” I asked, pointing in the dire the courier had fled.

  Alma tilted her head, sidering the question. Then, with the same deliberate slowness as before, she reached out and closed the door.

  Guess that’s a yes.

  I g the st courier, who looked like he was about to faint from sheer nerves. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands were trembling, and he had the unmistakable air of someone about to face the firing squad.

  “Why are they running so fast?” I asked, keeping my tone casual but firm enough to draw a straight answer.

  His eyes widened in pure panic. “Please don’t throw me in the dungeon!” he blurted, his words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “I’m new here! I’m not that good at fighting, and I swear I’ll do better!”

  I blinked, momentarily stunned by the outburst. Then, with a groan, I pihe bridge of my nose and massaged my face.

  “Soldier,” I said, f myself to adopt a more posed tone as I looked him in the eye. “Why would I throw you in a dungeon? It’s not a punishment—it’s fhting monsters and improving skills. Not… whatever you think this is.”

  He hesitated, still breathing heavily like he’d just sprinted a marathon. “But Sir Lucas said…” He trailed off, gulping audibly before rushing to expin. “He said if we don’t fulfill our roles, you’d get furious and punish us!”

  I froze for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. Lucas, you son of a—

  Deep breath. Stay calm. It worked, didn’t it? The fort, the wall… all of it was done. But seriously? Using me as a boogeyman?

  I let out a slow exhale, f a small smile to my lips. “Soldier, there’s no punishment today,” I said evenly, waving a hand toward the door. “You may go. I don’t have any more letters for you.”

  His relief was almost ical. “Thank you, Lady!” he gasped, bag out of the room so quickly he nearly tripped over his owhe sound of his hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, apanied by the faint wheezing of someone desperately trying to catch their breath.

  Before Alma could close the dain—I called out, “Alma, e in.”

  “Yes, Lady?” she asked hesitantly, stepping ih the caution usually reserved for bomb disposal.

  I studied her for a moment, leaning ba my chair. “You may be able to help yourself, but first, I need some answers. Is my reputation scary?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “What was that idiot Lucas telling people about me?”

  Her gaze shifted to the window, avoiding mine, and she seemed to choose her words carefully. “He… said you have a short temper,” she admitted slowly, dragging the words out like they might explode if haoo quickly. “And that you… punish people for doing a poor job.”

  I groaned, slumping forward onto the desk.

  “Figures,” I muttered, letting my forehead rest against the cool wood for a moment before sitting up straight again. “And everyone just believed him?”

  Alma hesitated, then nodded. “Well… you weren’t here, and he was, so…”

  “So, I’m the scary absent overlord with a reputation for doom.” I sighed, leaning bad running a hand through my hair. “Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.”

  Alma looked uain, like she wasn’t sure if she should agree or disagree, so she just stayed silent, standing stiffly by the door.

  “Alma,” I said, folding my arms and giving her a pointed look. “Do I look like someone who’d throw people into a dungeon for being bad at their jobs?”

  She blinked, caught off guard, and fidgeted with the edge of her gau. “Uh… no, Lady. ly.”

  “Then why does everyohink I’m se-fueled overlord punishing people left and right?” I spread my hands wide in exasperation. “Details, please.”

  Alma hesitated, gng out the window again as though the answer might be written in the sky. “He told the soldiers… that you’re quick to anger,” she began, her words careful and drawn out. “And that you have very high standards. He said anyone who doesn’t meet them gets… well…” she trailed off, her eyes darting nervously to my expression.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Gets what?”

  “Thrown into the dungeon,” she finished in a rush, wing like she expected me to sh out. “Or forced to do extra drills until they colpse.”

  I stared at her, then buried my fa my hands with a groan. “Fantastic,” I muttered, my voice muffled.

  Alma shuffled awkwardly, clearly unsure whether she should respond or wait for me to finish venting.

  I peeked at her between my fingers and sighed. “Alright, let’s set the record straight. One: I’m not throwing ao the dungeon uhey’re, like, actively sabotaging the fort. And even then, it’s a st resort. Two: I’m not here to terrify people int. Lucas might’ve thought that was a great motivational tool, but I’m not about to rule by fear.” I leaned back, giving her a smile. “Tell me, Alma—does that sound fair?”

  She blihen gave a hesitant nod. “Yes, Lady. Very fair.”

  “Good. Spread the word.” I waved a hand toward the door. “Tell the uards. The dungeon’s for monsters, not humans. And if anyone has a problem gestion, they bring it to me directly. I’m not as scary as Lucas wants people to think.”

  “Yes, Lady,” Alma said quickly, bowing her head. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “But… if I may, Lady… his methods got results.”

  “Of course they did,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “Fear wreat—until it doesn’t. Then everyoes you, and you end up alone in your castle, w why nobody wants to e to your birthday party.”

  Alma blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to that, so she just nodded again and turo leave.

  “And Alma,” I called after her. She paused at the door, looking back expetly. “Thanks for telling me. I appreciate the hoy.”

  A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’re wele, Lady.”

  She turo leave, but something clicked in my brain. Wait a sed... I fot something. “Wait!” I called out, louder than I intended. Stupid Lucas, derailing me again with his dungeon nonsense.

  Alma froze mid-step, gng back at me with clear hesitation. “Yes, Lady?”

  I grabbed Alma's papers from the stay desk and slid them across the table toward her. The weird sound of this weird part against wood filled the room. “This,” I said, tapping the paper with my finger, “is what you show anyone who questions your authority. You have it now. And with that authority, you’ll recruit ten soldiers.” I leaned forward slightly, fixing her with a pointed look. “I don’t care who you pick—I trust you’ll choose wisely. These will be our personal guard.”

  Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared at me like I’d handed her a instead of paperwork. Her surprise was almost cute, but I wasn’t about to let her stand there gawking.

  “Don’t just stand there—pick up the letters,” I said, shaking my head with an amused grin. “Oh, and before you start recruiting, make sure you get the best armor you from the quartermaster. That’s another letter,” I added, gesturing toward the pile of part. “Sound good?”

  Alma blinked a few times, her mouth opening as if to say something, but instead, she dropped to one kh a sharp thud and bowed deeply. “It’s an honor, my Lady!”

  The siy in her voice caught me off guard for a moment.

  My grin softened intenuine, and I waved a hand to dismiss the formalities. “Alright, alright, enough bowing. Get to work, Captain Alma. We’ve got a lot to do, and I’m running on fumes here.”

  She rose quickly, clutg the letters to her chest as if they were about to disappear, and gave me a nod that was equal parts determination and nervous excitement. Without another word, she turned ahe room, her steps purposeful.

  As the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned ba my chair with a sigh. I wanna go to a dungeon.