Myrcella’s POV
Today was the day.
The first expedition for the heroes was finally happening.
From the mont I woke up, that thought sat heavily in my chest, like a stone I couldn’t quite swallow. This expedition wasn’t just so routine mission or ceremonial outing—it was ant to be their training. Their first real step into the world of blood, fear, and uncertainty. Their first genuine experience with battle, not sparring matches or controlled exercises, but sothing real. Sothing that could hurt them. Sothing that could kill them.
It would be the first ti they were ever subjected to sothing like this.
On the surface, I told myself I wasn’t worried. I repeated it again and again, like a mantra ant to keep my thoughts in order. The heroes were strong—exceptionally so, even compared to trained knights. And they weren’t going alone. There would be many people accompanying them, people who were more than capable of protecting them if things went wrong.
That alone should have been reassuring.
For one thing, Miss Shredica would be there.
Even now, thinking about her presence eased just a little. Although she was officially labeled as "skillless," she had already proven—countless tis—that such a label ant almost nothing. Being skillless had never truly hindered her. If anything, she had shown, again and again, that raw experience, instinct, and discipline could more than make up for what skills could not provide. She had displayed her abilities so clearly that anyone who underestimated her quickly learned their mistake.
Still... this was different.
No matter how strong they were, no matter how many capable people surrounded them, this would be the heroes’ first ti stepping into real danger. They didn’t have true battle experience. They hadn’t felt the pressure of life-or-death decisions, the chaos of an actual fight where mistakes weren’t reset and injuries didn’t fade after a good night’s rest.
It was only natural to be doubtful. To worry.
I wanted to go with them. More than anything, I wanted to stand at their side, to see for myself that they were safe, to intervene if sothing went wrong. But that desire had been shut down imdiately.
My father had forbidden it.
He told that if the heroes remained in a stagnant position—constantly protected, constantly shielded—they would never grow as much as they could. Growth, according to him, required exposure to danger. Pressure. Fear.
And... logically, I understood that. I really did.
But then he said sothing else. Sothing that still made my stomach churn no matter how many tis I replayed it in my head.
He said he wouldn’t care if one or two heroes died during the expedition.
Not with anger. Not with regret. He said it calmly, like it was a simple calculation. According to him, such losses would only serve to strengthen the resolve of the survivors. It would force them to acknowledge their own weakness and solidify their need to grow stronger. If they didn’t, then dying would simply be the natural outco waiting for them.
I hated it.
It was sickening—the way my father looked at them, not as people, but as tools. Resources. Pieces on a board that could be sacrificed if the outco was favorable enough. I wanted to scream at him. To argue. To demand that he stop.
But I couldn’t.
I still didn’t have the power to do that.
"Letting children fight like this... you people are absolutely sick."
The sharp voice cut through my thoughts.
One of the summoned heroes was shouting near the courtyard entrance. She looked a little older than the rest, and the way the others instinctively gravitated toward her made it obvious—she was their teacher. Or at least, the closest thing they had to one.
She was wearing what looked like standard hero attire, adjusted to suit her role as a healer. The fabric was lighter, more flexible, designed for mobility rather than offense. Despite her outfit, she herself was very petite. Small. At a glance, anyone would assu she was the youngest among them.
In reality, she was the oldest.
Right now, she was facing off against one of the magic knights assigned to escort the heroes.
"Have you no sha?!" she continued, her voice rising. "I understand your kingdom is in danger, but forcing us into this? Dragging us out of our world and making us fight for you like this—how is that right? We have families! Lives! You yanked us away and now expect us to pick up swords and wands like it’s nothing!"
She was practically screaming at this point, doing her best to make herself seem larger and more intimidating. She even stood on her tiptoes, puffing out her chest as if that alone might make the knight take her seriously.
Unfortunately, the knight was far taller than her. Vastly so.
He didn’t respond. Not a single word. He simply turned around and walked away, completely ignoring her outburst.
"Hey! Wait! I’m talking to you!" she shouted after him.
Watching her like this was... honestly, a little adorable. The way she tried so hard, despite knowing how futile it was. But beneath that, her words carried weight. She wasn’t wrong. And unlike most people in the castle, I couldn’t just pretend she was.
"Lady Hasegawa," I called out.
She froze.
"O-Oh—P-Princess!" she said, imdiately bowing deeply the mont she realized who had spoken.
"You don’t have to bow every ti you see ," I said gently, offering her a small smile.
"B-But I do," she replied, her voice trembling. "You’re royalty."
"Fufufu... it’s really not mandatory," I told her. "You’re fine like this." I paused, then added, "It looks like you’ve been trying to get them to send you back again."
She nodded quickly. "Yes. But a normal magic knight won’t even listen to . They just walk away."
"That’s because they don’t have the authority to do anything about it," I said quietly.
Her shoulders slumped. "I can’t even get an audience with your parents. And the Commander didn’t seem interested either. If they won’t listen to you... then what can I even do?"
I didn’t have an answer for her.
I had tried. I really had. And I had failed just as badly. No matter what I said, no matter how much I argued, the decision had already been made. That was why Lady Hasegawa had resorted to appealing to lower-ranking officials, even though they had no real power to change anything.
"H-Have you spoken to the person you ntioned before?" she asked hesitantly. "The one you said might be able to help us?"
She ant Leon.
I had told her before that he might be able to find a way to send them all back ho.
"Yes," I said. "I did."
Her eyes lit up, just a little.
"But he only returned last week," I continued. "I want to give him so ti to rest before asking him what we can do. I don’t want to rush him."
That small spark dimd almost instantly. I could see the disappointnt clearly on her face. Even knowing that I had already spoken to Leon, it still hurt that nothing could be done in ti to stop this expedition—an expedition that might very well put their lives in danger.
"I see..." she murmured.
Then she bowed again.
"Thank you, Princess," she said softly. "I really do appreciate everything you’ve done."
Even in her disappointnt, she still thanked .
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