The Second Princess Never Expected That One Day She Would Rise To Power By Bluffing Her Way Up - Chapter 1

The summer in Feilanning was hot and humid, the air thick with the salty tang of seawater. Even as dawn approached, the sky remained an iron-gray, pressing down like a heavy curtain over everyone’s heads.

From afar came a powerful, resonant hum, the bells of the Hundred Flowers Cathedral. The air vibrated as people numbly pushed open their doors and formed orderly lines.

Each person held a burning candle, the flickering lights surging like waves, crowding around the papal envoy entering the city.

The students began singing hymns, “The Savior was born this morning, we come to welcome Him, all glory in heaven and earth belongs to Him alone, revealed in flesh…”

Amid the singing, the envoy, clad in a snow-white robe, rode into the city on horseback.

At the forefront of the procession hung a crimson velvet banner bearing the papal decree. Though most of the lower-class populace was illiterate, the envoy sent to deliver the message would recite the decree repeatedly until the listening flock memorized every word.

In an inconspicuous corner, someone muttered under their breath:

“I hope they’re not here to collect taxes again.”

“Didn’t we just pay this year’s taxes?”

“Ugh, if they demand more, we’ll have to borrow from the underground folks.”

“Hmph!”

A disdainful snort came from nearby, the face hidden in the shadow of a flaxen headscarf. What needed concealing wasn’t the striking, delicate yet fierce brows and eyes—but the long purple hair and deep violet irises that starkly contrasted with the locals.

In another time and space, she was Cornelia li Britannia, the Second Princess of the Britannian Empire, a formidable military leader with countless victories to her name. Yet, after an accident during a Freya nuclear experiment, she woke up in a small inn in this world.

Fortunately, the one who found her by the river was the innkeeper, Yata—a woman with a sharp tongue but a soft heart.

Unfortunately, she had crossed into an era of extreme backwardness, where the light of humanist thought had yet to pierce the darkness. The lower classes struggled to survive under the dual oppression of old nobility and clergy. Someone like her, an outsider, could easily be branded a heretic or witch and burned at the stake.

After assessing the situation, the typically arrogant princess chose to bide her time.

The crowd followed the papal envoy’s procession to Feilanning’s largest cathedral. Its exterior was built of pink, emerald, and cream-white marble, its massive dome towering into the sky. At sunrise, the first rays of dawn would skim the bell tower atop the dome, refracting in all directions.

As the bells fell silent, the envoy stood on the highest step and read the papal decree in elegant, classical Latin.

To the locals, accustomed to crude dialects, it was obscure and convoluted—but not to Cornelia. As a former royal heir, classical Latin had been a mandatory subject.

After finishing, the envoy repeated the message in simpler, more colloquial terms.

“This is the glory bestowed upon you by our Holy Father! Cleanse your sins and filth with silver coins, and together, bask in God’s grace!”

A moving speech, but its core message was clear: pay up.

This year’s taxes had already been paid, so now it was time for “indulgences”—buy them to absolve sins and ensure your soul ascends to heaven after death.

Never committed a sin in this life? No problem—there’s always the next life, or the one after. The living could also purchase indulgences for deceased relatives.

To demonstrate the Pope’s love for his flock, the price was set at thirty silver coins per person.

Back home, Yata’s expression was grim. She had no money left for these damned indulgences, but she had no choice.

“Indulgences, my foot… My greatest sin was taking in that wretched girl!”

The “wretched girl” was her daughter, Euphy, now eighteen.

Euphy had inherited her mother’s beauty, making her the most sought-after girl in the slums. She was in love and about to marry. She hadn’t joined the crowd to welcome the envoy that morning because she’d gone to meet her fiancé.

“And I shouldn’t have taken you in, you heretic!” Yata sighed, rummaging through the cabinets, “All my misfortune came with you. I should’ve handed you over to the Church from the start!”

The old chests, already emptied for taxes, were searched again for anything of value.

“Thirty silver coins… Where am I supposed to get thirty silver coins?”

“Old Bedmond next door couldn’t pay his taxes last month. The Church took everything valuable, even his grandmother’s necklace. His daughter was dragged off to the brothel—they said she could come back once she’d earned enough.”

“My Euphy can’t end up like that!”

Finding nothing, Yata slumped onto a stool, muttering, “Maybe I should turn you in to the Church? Exposing a heretic earns ten gold coins—enough for those damned indulgences and a little extra for that wretched girl’s dowry.”

Cornelia’s eyes turned icy, her fingers subtly tightening around a sharp stone shard hidden in her sleeve.

“Ah, forget it. You’re just a kid, same age as Euphy. Turning you in would be a real sin.”

Cornelia’s murderous gaze softened—not just because of the woman’s mercy, but because of the girl who shared a name with someone dear.

Euphemia. In another world, her younger sister, the kindest, most beautiful soul, who died bearing the stigma of the “Massacre Princess.”

When Cornelia first met the girl named Euphy, she’d almost believed her dead sister had been reborn in this world. But the girl didn’t recognize her, though her face was eerily similar.

A sudden thought struck Cornelia: Why wasn’t Euphy back yet?

Commotion erupted by the river, crowds surging like tides—some drawn to the spectacle, others fleeing something. She pushed through the crowd to the center.

“Is that the Lambert family’s young master?”

“No, it’s a Leviathan.”

The Lamberts ruled Feilanning, but the Leviathans were the unchallenged authority of the Papal States.

And what they were avoiding was the second son of the Leviathan family, Juan Leviathan, who had arrived with the papal envoy.

He was a handsome man, dressed in silk robes imported from the East, his white lace cuffs embroidered with gold and silver threads depicting waves and a breaching whale—the Leviathan family crest.

Juan held a rope that trailed behind him, tethered to his proudest trophy of the trip—a girl.

The rope bound her slender wrists, and she stumbled as he dragged her along triumphantly. Her flaxen dress was torn in several places, her disheveled hair clinging to her cheeks. Her pretty face showed no trace of joy, only panic.

Cornelia’s pupils contracted. It was Euphy!

Juan raised a hand, and golden-armored guards swarmed forward, surrounding the slums like wolves.

From atop his horse, he looked down with contempt. “The Papal States have received reports of heretics hiding here. Find them!”

The word “heretic” was a needle to Cornelia’s sharp nerves.

But she soon realized the guards weren’t after her. They kicked open every door in sight, barging into homes, roping young girls together like livestock, and dragging them out.

“These are witches, filthy heretics! Take them away!”

The slums erupted in wails. The girls had no idea what was happening. Their families lunged forward, only to be beaten down by the guards’ sheathed broadswords.

“Please, don’t take my daughter—”

“Filthy swine, dare to defy the Papal States? Scram!”

In Feilanning, no one dared oppose the Pope’s will—not even the ruling Lamberts.

Every household pleaded with the soldiers, but the only responses were curses or kicks.

Soon, the girls were bound in a line, weeping as they marched toward their unknown fate.

From his horse, Juan yanked the rope, pulling Euphy to him. He leaned down, gripping her chin and forcing her face up.

“With a face like this, who’d believe you’re not a witch?”

“I’m not!” Euphy begged through tears. “I’m getting married soon—please, let me go!”

Juan smirked. “I’ve heard that in Feilanning, every bride’s first night belongs to the lord.”

Euphy froze. That was an old tradition, long abandoned—but the papal noble knew of it.

In Juan’s leer, she saw her fate. She recoiled, but he seized her hair, yanking her back.

“Don’t worry. After I’m done, I’ll return you to your husband… assuming your family buys your indulgence.”

He straightened, addressing the sobbing girls. “That goes for all of you! If your families buy indulgences to cleanse your sins, you can go home. Otherwise, witches belong on the pyre!”

The girls wailed louder.

Cornelia took one second to think.

She couldn’t abandon Euphy—but saving her alone was impossible.

One second later, she hurled a stone at a guard’s head and bolted.

“Stop! Don’t let her get away!”

Juan whirled, his gaze venomous.

Good. They were following.

Cornelia wove through the labyrinthine alleys, guards hot on her heels. At the next intersection, more soldiers appeared.

She skidded to a halt, darting into a side alley.

“Over there! Don’t lose her!”

The slums weren’t large, and no matter how twisting the paths, they had an end. With pursuers closing in from all sides, capture was inevitable.

But Cornelia wasn’t panicked. As the footsteps grew louder, she stopped abruptly.

Ahead was a dingy little tavern, unremarkable but avoided by the slum’s residents—because its owner was trouble.

With a crash, Cornelia kicked open the tightly shut door.

The moment she entered, multiple hostile gazes locked onto her.

Unfazed, she spoke in fluent local dialect: “I’m here to warn you! The papal scum are coming to raid the ‘Underground City’! Run!”