Chapter 59: The Saintess Prepares to Journey North

The Silver Moon Kingdom's capital, Moonlight City, stood majestically at the foot of the Artemis Mountains, encircled by the crystalline Silver Stream River.

This city, a radiant gem upon the earth, was adorned with ancient gray stone walls, their surfaces etched with the passage of centuries, whispering tales of a thousand-year history.

At the city's heart stood the towering castle known as the Moonlight Bastion, where Second Prince Bronco Silvermoon now resided.

With his ailing father's days numbered, Bronco awaited his ascension to the throne. Supported by many nobles of the capital, the Western Duke, and Northern lords, his grip on power seemed unshakable.

His primary opponents, the exiled First Prince Gould Silvermoon in the east and the Southern Third Prince Reynold Silvermoon, hailed as the Star of Silvermoon, posed little immediate threat.

Bronco sat in his chamber, reading a letter from the north.

The report of the Ice Bear Coalition's crushing defeat and the death of the Ice Bear Marquis at Frost Wolf Ridge darkened his expression.

"Fools," he muttered coldly.

Though displeased, his tone betrayed little emotion.

The Ice Bear family had been a pawn in his game to weaken the Frost Wolf family. Their failure, while regrettable, was of minor consequence. As long as the Northern Fortress remained under royal control, the north was still his to command.

Another family could easily rise in the Ice Bear family's place, ensuring continued suppression of the Frost Wolf lineage.

What truly concerned him was whether the First Prince's hand lay behind Frost Wolf Ridge's resurgence. Bronco doubted that the now-weakened Frost Wolf family could have triumphed alone.

While the new Frost Wolf Duke showed talent rivaling that of the Third Prince, he was still no match for the immense might of the royal family.

Meanwhile, at the Sacred Light Cathedral in Moonlight City, Saintess Lucia knelt before the altar, deep in prayer.

Her golden hair cascaded like a waterfall, her azure eyes serene yet profound, her skin radiant as alabaster. Clad in a pure white robe adorned with golden embroidery of vines and lilies, she bore the symbol of sanctity and grace.

A cross-shaped pendant, symbolizing the Light, hung around her neck as she intoned ancient verses:

"Lord, let your light banish the darkness. May your mercy shield our home. Grant us the strength to love and to forgive."

Her voice resonated with divine authority, touching the hearts of all who listened, imbuing them with hope and solace.

The sacred atmosphere seemed almost tangible, a blend of faint incense and the gentle breeze carrying whispers of divinity.

"Lucia, are you prepared for your journey to the North?" the Archbishop asked.

"I am ever ready to follow the Lord's will," she replied with serene conviction, her gaze unwavering.

Rising gracefully, Lucia approached the Archbishop. Her posture exuded elegance and determination, the hallmarks of her holy station.

"Your Eminence, I understand the gravity of this mission. I shall bring the Lord's grace to those in need, regardless of the trials ahead."

The Archbishop nodded, his eyes filled with trust and hope.

"The northern people suffer greatly, Lucia. You are their beacon of hope and our pride. May the Light guide and protect you."

The Archbishop handed her a staff, its tip crowned with a luminous sapphire radiating divine energy.

Accepting it, Lucia felt a surge of strength coursing through her.

"In the name of the Light, I shall journey north and bring healing and hope to its people."

With those words, she strode toward the cathedral doors, bathed in sunlight that formed a halo around her.

The Archbishop and clergy watched in silent prayer, awaiting the Saintess's return, hoping she would bring peace and salvation to the North.

Far to the northeast, in the Crystal Song Kingdom, the Ice Crown Duke stood alone on the palace balcony, moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face.

Once a loyal guardian, his heart now harbored ambition and unrest. His fingers traced the intricate model of the Ice Throne, each detail mirroring the meticulousness of his schemes.

Years of secret meetings with discontented nobles and generals had woven a web of conspiracy.

He had trained a private army, clad in ice-forged armor, and strengthened his forces for the inevitable conflict.

There would be no turning back; his path was one of triumph or ruin.

A sudden cry pierced the still night air.

A snow eagle descended from the heavens, landing on the Duke's sturdy arm. Removing the scroll tied to its leg, the Duke read the missive, his expression sharpening.

"The Frost Wolf family in the North..." he murmured, eyes glinting with intrigue.

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