Lord's mansion of Chernobyl, Perfikot now leads a leisurely life without the vexing entanglent of political affairs.
Although she still retains the governance over the Northern Territory, under her persistent guidance, the administration system of the north is already quite complete, capable of good self-regulation even without her intervention.
Though there are still so matters that require her personal involvent, they do not take much of her ti.
A couple of hours spent each day on approving docunts, listening to reports from the officials of relevant departnts, and issuing instructions is sufficient.
The remaining ample ti allows Perfikot to do whatever she desires.
Whether soaking herself in a hot spring until her skin wrinkles, or setting a table in the greenhouse garden to enjoy afternoon tea, Perfikot has enough leisure and leisureliness.
This makes her sigh and wonder why she hadn't resigned from all positions earlier, allowing herself to relax happily.
Those troubleso political affairs that feel like a hangman's foot should have long been assigned to others, rather than taking on them alone.
"Oh, the Pri Minister attended to every affair personally in the past, resulting in working himself to death, I can't make such a mistake!" Perfikot leaned back on a giant lounge chair, nearly drifting into sleep in comfort.
Soft bear fur lay beneath her, it's a huge polar bear pelt, with white fur over two ters long, capable of enveloping her entirely.
Lying upon it, allowing the furry sensation to wrap around her, she felt comfortable enough to keep her eyes closed.
Yet soone had to disturb her just then, the loyal old steward Foster approached her and whispered, "Miss, urgent telegram from Beloburg, Her Majesty the Empress is critically ill, requesting you to proceed to Beloburg imdiately."
"What? Her Majesty the Empress is critically ill at this ti?" Perfikot opened her eyes, her gaze laden with shock.
Although she knew the Empress's health had always been poor, and that she had little ti left, critically ill at this mont...
"Understood, prepare the Flying Airship imdiately!" Perfikot did not overthink and promptly instructed the old steward to prepare for travel.
However, the old steward did not leave instead, hesitated a mont before saying to Perfikot, "Miss, this matter might be tricky! Because along with this telegram ca another piece of news.
Our people in Beloburg reported that the Royalist Party recently had a conspiracy, they seem to decide on so action; then ca the news of the Empress being critically ill, as well as the mobilization of army and Knight Order loyal to the Royal Family."
Beloburg is now controlled by army and Knight Order loyal to the Royal Family; should there be anything amiss, your proceeding there could be..."
The old steward knew he shouldn't say such things, but seeing as Perfikot is the sole descendant of the Brandlis Clan, he couldn't possibly watch his Miss step into danger.
Upon hearing the steward's explanation, Perfikot hesitated for a mont, closed her eyes, and fell into contemplation.
The steward's intention was clear: the news of the Empress being critically ill was likely fabricated by the Royalist Party to lure her to Beloburg and then employ military against her.
They could either be planning to confine her or to eliminate her once and for all.
After all, Perfikot has no heir; should she perish, the leadership of the Northern Territory in both legal and nominal terms would cease to exist.
At that ti, even the entire Northern Count's territory will cease to exist, the empire would reclaim the northern lands, and the entire northern forces would disintegrate.
Perfikot did not anticipate anyone in the north could inherit her mantle, possessing sufficient reputation and influence to hold the Northern camp together.
After all, she is just eighteen years old, unmarried, and without offspring, should she die, the Northern Faction would vanish like a castle on the sand.
Especially since the Brandlis Clan is indistinguishable from being extinct, her death would lead to the family's obliteration.
As for the branched families? They might have the qualification to inherit Baron Brandlis title handed down by Perfikot's grandfather, but they do not have any chance at Perfikot's Northern Count title.
And this constitutes the greatest flaw in the north.
Originally, this was no issue; given Perfikot is just in teenager years, she could lead the north for at least several decades, with no one worrying about this issue.
However, should anyone target her, even planning to eliminate her with force, then this flaw suddenly becos the north's most fatal weakness.
There haven't been no attempts on this notion before; many have initiated attacks and assassinations against Perfikot nurous tis, even continuous events of such.
Nevertheless, these attempts have been foiled by the northern territory's powerful security asures and ard forces, with many being uprooted by the northern intelligence system and Assassin Brotherhood, extending cleaner to the instigators behind.
So gradually, both Perfikot and the Northern Faction mbers beca indifferent to this, as long as security asures are properly ensured, safeguarding Perfikot's safety is enough.
"They set their sights on , did they? These people are really..." Perfikot reopened her eyes and shook her head helplessly.
anwhile, she also admired them for pinpointing the crucial point of this breakthrough.
Indeed, once resolved her, the Royalist Party's current predicant becos non-issue.
Upon thinking this, Perfikot told the old steward, "Grandpa Fu, please prepare the Flying Airship and my special train."
"Miss, are you still planning to go?" Foster attempted another persuasion.
However, Perfikot rely waved her hand, "Her Majesty the Empress has shown profound kindness, regardless whether the news is true or false, I must visit Beloburg. So Grandpa Fu, spare more persuasion.
But don't fret, their attempt to manipulate with this move lacks so maturity."
"Miss, since you said so, I request to accompany you, under any circumstances I must personally ensure your safety." Perfikot held her resolve, Foster held his principles and baseline.
Facing the steward's persistence, Perfikot did not reject, nodding and said, "In that case, Grandpa Fu, prepare your Steam Armor! It will co in use for this trip."
"Yes, Miss." Foster took orders and departed.
"Seems like the plan I originally intended to not execute is being pressed by them to pursue this necessary path." Perfikot's eyes revealed a sense of lancholy.
Despite all this can be considered her calculations and planning, when it cos to this point, she can't help but feeling helpless.
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