Chapter 230-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
Hearing the handmaidens behind her call out "Your Majesty," Ye Zheng, nestled in the young woman's arms, buried her head even lower. She could hear Margaret's steady heartbeat, and the footsteps drawing ever closer.
"Empress."
A voice that hovered between youth and adolescence called out, flat and devoid of discernible emotion.
At the address, Margaret turned her body slightly. The child in her arms revealed only an inconspicuous patch of the top of her head. Margaret asked in a concerned tone, "Where is Your Majesty headed?"
"The old workers in Luther District have rioted again. They broke into the new factory and destroyed the production equipment. I need to go handle it."
Ye Zheng was pressed against Margaret's chest, the lace on her bodice scratching her face, but she didn't dare peek out.
She could tell from Margaret's movements that Margaret also wanted her to minimize her presence and avoid attracting the visitor's attention.
As expected, the speaker was the young Aston XIV.
"Send the army to suppress them," Margaret said, her voice calm, as if she were discussing where to go for an outing. "The new factory is a groundbreaking step for the Royal Family in this era. There can be no mishaps."
"They're only acting out because they've lost their jobs and livelihoods. Isn't sending the army directly a bit too cruel..."
"How many riots has this been this month?" Margaret countered.
The other side fell silent for a moment. Margaret continued, "Since we've already decided to push forward with new technology, we must be willing to make painful sacrifices. Wavering is the most fatal thing of all."
Margaret's words were incisive and decisive, fearless like the most seasoned helmsman on the open sea, yet her tone could be called gentle—guiding, coaxing.
"...I understand."
"Your Majesty is the most brilliant. Have faith—the Empire will usher in a great era under your rule!"
Listening to Margaret's praise, Ye Zheng couldn't help feeling that her tone didn't sound like someone lauding a sovereign—more like someone coaxing a child, or a younger brother.
The young male voice responded in a muffled tone, "I know, Margaret. You don't need to keep lecturing me."
"Painful sacrifices... I'll carry them out perfectly." He seemed to let out a cold scoff.
With that, he strode away without so much as a glance at the child in Margaret's arms.
Only then did Ye Zheng poke her head out, watching Aston XIV's retreating figure. Her round, childlike eyes held a contemplative look.
She then tilted her head up to observe Margaret's expression. From this angle, she could only see a sliver of her jawline, but the stiff atmosphere made it clear that Margaret's mood had soured as well.
Margaret said nothing. The handmaidens who had retreated to a distance gathered around once more, their earlier laughter gone. They stood silently to the side.
It wasn't until a handmaid hurried into the corridor to report that Miss Henry had been found that Margaret's expression relaxed somewhat. She instructed the handmaid to arrange for Miss Henry to be sent home.
Carrying Ye Zheng, she walked through the corridor and into a magnificent castle, climbed a grand staircase lined with portraits of past emperors, and finally arrived at the Empress's Royal Chambers.
Ye Zheng was set down, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. Margaret crouched to meet her at eye level. In the vast sitting room, it was just the two of them—one tall, one small—facing each other.
"You said just now that you know 'why I'm here'... What did you mean?"
"Do you know who I am?"
Empress Margaret bore her no ill will. Ye Zheng decided to be direct.
Margaret smiled faintly. She had strikingly rare red hair that made her presence all the more vivid and bold, yet her brows and irises were remarkably pale, concealing a tenderness not easily noticed.
She didn't answer Ye Zheng's question. Instead, she blinked and asked in return, "Then do you know who I am?"
Ye Zheng chose her words carefully. "You are the great Empress of the Empire—Margaret of South Emerald."
Before the Demonic Domains had descended, the Empire was not divided into upper, middle, and lower districts. Back then, South Emerald was the most fertile and prosperous region in the Empire's south. Margaret was the daughter of Duke Henry, lord of South Emerald. At the age of fifteen, she married into the Royal Family along with South Emerald, becoming Empress—uniting the Aston dynasty and the Henry Family.
Ye Zheng studied Margaret and guessed she was currently around twenty years old. Still very young, yet the weight in her brows betrayed something beyond her years, along with an almost imperceptible weariness.
"Well said, little Ye Zheng. But I have another, more famous title, don't I?"
The moment the woman before her accurately called out her name, Ye Zheng's heart began pounding like a drum. She stared unblinking at Margaret, watching her rosy lips part and close, the words that spilled forth growing ever more incredible.
"—The demon dragon. That's what posterity calls me, isn't it?"
Though she had already suspected it, hearing the woman who had yet to become the demon dragon speak that title with her own lips sent all the blood in Ye Zheng's body rushing upward. Her ears instantly filled with a ringing hum. Her pupils trembled as a single question screamed inside her—
How could Margaret, at this point in time, possibly know?
The demon dragon had not yet appeared. The Demonic Domains had not yet descended upon this land. There were no supernatural abilities—only wondrous machines evolving day by day. This nation was rapidly transforming under the tide of industrialization. No one should have had any inkling of the drastic reversal the future would bring.
Margaret seemed to find the little girl's expression amusing. She reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Ye Zheng's ear, then let her hand trail from the ear all the way back to the nape of Ye Zheng's neck.
Ye Zheng's hand shot back to seize Margaret's, her posture one of wary vigilance.
"Don't be nervous. I just want you to feel something."
Feel what? Ye Zheng's hand moved to where Margaret had pressed, exploring her own nape. She pressed down firmly through the skin and flesh and felt the distinct ridges of her spine.
Ye Zheng's head snapped up to meet Margaret's smiling eyes.
A segment of her spine was radiating heat. Apart from that, it felt no different from normal, but Ye Zheng was almost certain—it was the bone she had extracted from Sykes's body, a bone that belonged to the woman standing before her!
She had clearly locked it in her study. She hadn't brought it with her at all.
"Who exactly are you?" Ye Zheng's throat went dry, the clear, bright voice of her eight-year-old body turning hoarse.
"Don't be afraid. Although in the future I will kill many people, and many will die because of me..." Margaret held Ye Zheng's slightly stiff hand, her voice gentle. "You won't come to any harm here."
Ye Zheng furrowed her brow. She gripped Margaret's hand tightly and waited for an explanation.
Knock knock knock!
A sudden, urgent knocking broke the silence. A handmaid's anxious voice filtered through the door—something major seemed to have happened.
Margaret released Ye Zheng's hand and rose, turning toward the door. The pale tenderness in her eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by the stillness of a windless lake—no annoyance at being interrupted, and not a trace of curiosity.
Ye Zheng watched her, and an ominous feeling suddenly welled up.
"Margaret..."
"Stay here. I need to take care of something."
Margaret left the sitting room without looking back. Left alone, Ye Zheng stared blankly at the flames burning in the fireplace. After a moment of thought, she crossed the vast Royal Chambers and ran to the door, tugging at the handle. It wouldn't budge.
Ye Zheng pressed her ear against the door, listening to the activity outside. Footsteps came and went beyond the door.
Ye Zheng touched the miniature golden sword at her side. Without her abilities, she still had a way out—but she knew far too little right now. Rushing out blindly might not be the wisest choice.
The half-height little girl turned and walked back into the room. Rummaging through someone else's quarters uninvited wasn't exactly polite, but for the current Pope it was an unavoidable expedient.
Besides, this child's body seemed to have diminished both her cognitive faculties and physical capabilities. In that case, her rudeness could pass for childlike innocence.
The Empress's Royal Chambers were spacious. Apart from the usual sitting room, bathroom, and dressing room, there was also a private Chapel.
Ye Zheng first searched the sitting room and dressing room. The clothing and jewelry were modest for royalty; by an empress's standards, Margaret was downright frugal. The most interesting things in the chambers were the eclectic collection of curiosities—paintings, sculptures, taxidermied animals, and weapons of every variety.
Ye Zheng also came across some land deeds. Margaret's personal fortune was clearly substantial.
There was no trace of anyone else in the Empress's chambers—least of all Aston XIV. Ye Zheng was hardly surprised. Judging from their earlier exchange, their relationship appeared ordinary on the surface, yet there was much to read between the lines.
From the fragmentary historical records, Ye Zheng had speculated that Margaret was a powerful empress who wielded real authority with a strong hand.
Yet from the conversation between Margaret and Aston XIV, Margaret seemed more like his elder sister or mentor—not someone who enjoyed being in the spotlight, but rather a perceptive supporter working behind the scenes.
No wonder Marcy had barely heard of this Empress—come to think of it, at this point in time, Marcy would only be three or four years older than Ye Zheng's current age.
Ye Zheng looked down at her tiny, stubby fingers and sank into a brief bout of gloom.
After combing through the chambers, Ye Zheng pushed open a heavy side door and let out a small gasp.
Stained-glass windows painted with figures formed a pointed-arch vault, gazing down from on high upon their human visitor. The smooth marble walls bore austere shields. The light was dim and hazy, solemn and sacred.
This was the Empress's private Chapel.
Ye Zheng examined it carefully. The room was clearly built at great expense—lavish and hallowed—but the details revealed considerable age. It had likely been passed down through several generations.
Deep within the Chapel was a Memorial Hall. Ye Zheng stood on tiptoe to feel around, only to find it completely empty.
Beside it stood a sacred bookshelf, covered in dust—not a single book on it.
Ye Zheng didn't know which deity the people of this era worshipped, but apart from the specific god, everything else looked much the same as the way they commemorated the God of Hope—the artistic style, the forms of remembrance.
Clearly, having a Chapel built right into the Empress's chambers indicated that the Empire was deeply devout in its worship of this deity. And yet, interestingly, Margaret did not share the era's faith.
Ye Zheng's eyes glinted. There was a strange sense of incongruity about Margaret.
Before she could untangle that feeling, her sharp ears caught an unusual sound from the doorway.
Ye Zheng walked to the Chapel entrance, ready to apologize to Margaret for her intrusion and continue asking questions.
But then her hand gently braced against the heavy bronze door. She hid behind it, peering through the crack.
The person who entered was not Margaret. It was a young man dressed in heavy, extravagant attire.
He looked excessively gloomy—so much so that the splendid garments seemed like shackles bending his spine.
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