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The Story of the Exiled Queen Misphia

Fifty years ago, in the Veronian royal palace, a young Mistorm—Princess Misphia—was wearing a beautiful dress, dancing in the hall’s center. Her escort was a blond young man draped in resplendent aristocratic attire. His elegant manner garnered the attention of everyone around.

As the dance drew to a close, the young man disappeared, called away by a butler.

“Oh, sister.”

Now that Misphia’s dance had concluded, another girl was approaching her. There was a resemblance between the two, but the other young woman’s eyes were gentler. Misphia’s beauty was the sort to be renowned far and wide, but the other girl’s was more the beauty of a flower beloved by all.

“Leonor,” Misphia greeted.

“Lord Pietro is a marvelous dancer, don’t you think? It’s always such a pleasure to dance with him,” Leonor said.

“He surely is, although a bit lacking in resolution. As a member of a side branch of the royal family, it would be better for him to maintain a tad more gravity when dealing with other nobles.”

“Even on days like this, you never forget yourself. A woman’s role is to raise her man up, is it not?”

“If a successor is not born to Father, then Lord Pietro will ascend to the throne. What Veronia needs now is a strong king. Is it not the job of a good wife to support and guide her husband?”

“Oh my! To envision your husband becoming king! Such ambition, sister.” Leonor raised her voice slightly as she spoke, causing nearby aristocrats to glance over. “Ah, my apologies,” Leonor said softly, but her expression was twisted with malicious satisfaction. “I suppose that aspiration befits a mighty Archmage. A mere Fighter like myself could never hope to compare. I’m quite content with my blessing, however. After all, flowers exist to be admired. The inherent skills of Fighter are simple physical enhancement, and its impulses are minor. Few blessings would allow one to devote herself to beauty so wholeheartedly.”

“I would much prefer being a simple herb that cures disease than a hothouse flower to be ogled,” Misphia responded resolutely.

Leonor smirked behind the fan she held in her hand.

“How splendid. It truly is a joy to chat with you, Big Sister. The thought of you leaving the palace is so heart-wrenching.”

“I would have liked to be able to share so many more things with you as well,” Misphia responded.

The king of Veronia rose on stage. Apparently, there was an announcement to make. Pietro was standing next to him. The nobles around the platform applauded.

“As king of Veronia and as your sovereign leader, I am pleased to celebrate this joyous day with you,” the king began, and there was another round of clapping.

Misphia watched with a mix of joy and melancholy. However, things quickly took an unexpected turn.

“You who support our beloved Veronia, I asked you here on this day to bear witness to the vows binding our beloved and faithful retainer, Pietro de Zaqui, and my beloved daughter Leonor of Veronia.”

Silence filled the room but was quickly broken by many troubled whispers.

“M-my lord… Lady Leonor? Not Lady Misphia?”

“Yes. I did not misspeak. Pietro and Leonor.”

Misphia looked on, unable to believe what was happening, but when she saw Pietro’s innocent smile as he stepped up onto the stage, she realized what had happened. Her face paled, and she clenched her fists.


A man named Duke Oslo stepped onto the platform, and the Veronian nobles looked away.

“My m-my most trusted Duke Oslo has great regard for my daughter Misphia’s talent.”

The king’s voice trembled in mortification that he could not entirely hide. Sweat formed on his brow, and his eyes were bloodshot. As the ruler of the Kingdom of Veronia, that was all he was permitted in protest while praises for Duke Oslo poured from his mouth. “I ask that all might share in my joy at Duke Oslo taking my daughter Misphia as his bride. Today is truly blessed.”

“B-but, Your Highness, Duke Oslo already has a wife,” an older noble nervously interjected.

Those around him all nodded.

Duke Oslo answered in the king’s stead, his blackened teeth showing beneath his smirk.

“I am delighted to welcome Lady Misphia as a concubine.”

Unwilling to stand by, the older noble loudly objected. “That’s absurd! Lady Misphia is the first princess of the Veronian royal family! E-even for a duke, that is an outrage…”

“What’s the problem?”

Duke Oslo nodded in satisfaction, not even bothering with an excuse, leaving the old noble dumbfounded.

Other aristocrats were struck by a sinking feeling that this spelled the end of their kingdom. At present, Veronia was a reasonably powerful country, but that hadn’t been the case only fifty years prior.

Later, Misphia sat defeated and alone in her room when Leonor came by. Her eyes shone with the thrill of victory.

“Congratulations on your betrothal. May your marriage be long and happy, young herb.”

Seagulls cried as they glided past the ship.

The vessel used for Misphia’s bridal procession was a single-masted old-style sailing boat. Duke Oslo’s emissary had come on the rough, humble ship to greet Princess Misphia. The boat creaked as it rolled with the waves, gently rocking the room.

Misphia was wearing an expensive white dress and gazing down at the floor of her guest cabin in misery.

Nothing assuaged the humiliation of becoming Duke Oslo’s concubine. If it had been for the sake of her country, then Misphia would have endured it. But this decision had only marred Veronia’s reputation. It had done nothing but reveal to the world how weak the nation had become.

The great Veronia, once a rival to Avalonia, was not long for this world. Surely, that thought was on everyone’s minds. Misphia did her best not to cry, biting her lip to keep her heart from breaking.

“Please… Someone save us.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a sudden clamor erupted outside. Shouts came from all over, accompanied by the clanging of metal. Sensing something was amiss, Misphia grabbed her staff, which stood in the corner of the room. Not long after, the door flew open.


A man entered. His face was covered in scars, his gaze sharp and piercing. A confident expression bloomed on his face. He was a man of an entirely different sort from the Veronian nobles Misphia was familiar with.

“Seems I’ve found the greatest treasure on the ship.”

“What business do you have here, pirate? You dare perpetrate this villainy knowing that a member of the royal family was on this vessel?!”

“Royal family, huh? Hah, what power is there in a royal family who would sell their princess off as a concubine to a mere duke?” the pirate spat, sneering.

“Silence!” Misphia’s face turned red in humiliation. “I will return Veronia to its glory days. If I must stain myself in shame to do so, fine! Duke Oslo’s estate is powerful. If he takes an interest in me and some of my children are able to inherit some of that land…”

“There’s no chance of that for a concubine. He’s just a lecherous old man. Duke Oslo doesn’t give a shit about that sort of gallantry. All he cares about is…” The pirate approached Misphia and poked her breast.

“Eeek!” Misphia covered her chest with both hands.


Misphia glared at the man. He whistled in response.

“Is it really so bad to be a concubine? You can live in luxury.”

“I’m a princess. I live and die for the sake of my country. That is why I was born!”

“That’s a pretty bold way to put it.”

“As if a thief could ever comprehend.”

The pirate grinned. “Well, as it happens, I’ve got an interest in how royals live. So, how about it? Why not teach me about your way of life?”


“You are the greatest treasure of any I’ve seen. Giving you back to some duke would be a waste.”


“I’ll be taking you. I am a pirate, after all.”

“U-unhand me!”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to give up on your dream… Because I’ll become king.”

“King…? What are you talking about…?”

“I’ve got the Divine Blessing of the Emperor. That rarest of blessings the first Avalonian king was said to have had.”

Geizeric took Misphia’s hand and opened the door out of the room.

The sea breeze filled her lungs.

“My name is Geizeric! I have no last name, and I have never met my parents. I am Geizeric and nothing more! But I will become the king of Veronia!”


“Princess! I want you to be my right hand! Teach this pirate what it means to be a king! In exchange, I will raise Veronia such that no worthless noble can steal its princesses ever again!”

The Pirate Emperor Geizeric, the future king of Veronia, took Misphia’s arm in his strong grasp and began to walk. At first, Misphia staggered a bit, but soon she was able to follow behind him with sure steps on her own two feet. The pair left the cramped room on the ship and walked out into the wide open.

The Divine Blessing of the Emperor. The blessing that the first ruler of Avalonia supposedly possessed. It was even rarer than the Hero.

Avalonians were said to be descended from the vassals of aristocrats who had been cast out by the ruler of Gaiapolis, the son of a previous Hero.

At the time, the land that would become Avalonia was undeveloped and wild. The first king was a champion who gathered people, developed the untamed region, battled monsters, and established a new kingdom.

In a world where one’s blessing determined one’s life, Geizeric had been born for the throne.

“I’ll split it evenly, so don’t go filching any!”

“Aye aye, miss!”

Misphia had changed from a dress to a buccaneer’s outfit that was easier to move in. Magic staff in hand, she was giving orders to the pirates. Her staff was different from the old one she’d wielded. This new rod had a narrow and sharp metal point, allowing it to be handled like a spear. She even wore a scabbard at her hip for sheathing the staff.

At Misphia’s orders, the pirates started carrying back their plunder from the enemy vessel.

“She’s gotten mighty comfortable with things,” remarked a one-eyed high elf standing beside Geizeric.

“This is Ms. Lilinrala,” Geizeric introduced to Misphia.

“Cut the ‘Ms.’ crap. I’m just Lilinrala.”

Misphia beheld the grinning pair, and the tan young woman quickly found herself smiling as well.

Geizeric’s crew had attacked a western port on the dark continent that was filled with dwarves and orcs. The area was rife with armor, weapons, and monsters that were unheard of on the continent of Avalon.

Odd weapons like a thin-bladed, whip-like sword, a mechanical hammer that worked by setting off an alchemic explosive powder to fire an anchor bolt, a giant’s skull attached to a chain, or a dwarven mechanical bow that fired arrows one after the other simply by pulling a trigger.

The pirates sated themselves with combat, running around and cheering as they carried off treasures.

And as Geizeric escaped to the seas in his boat, several shadows leaped into the air to follow.

“Hard starboard and full speed ahead!” Geizeric shouted.

Gandor of the Wind’s elite wyvern knights were flying through the skies.

“Cap’n! Maybe we shouldn’t have tried to steal loot from the demon lord’s army!”

“What’s a pirate doin’ getting scared of some demon lord!”

There was a brilliant flash and thunderous boom at their backs.


One pirate shouted as another ship was sent to the bottom of the ocean by a streak of lightning.

“A Storm Javelin spell?! Who did that?!”


A white-haired wind demon astride a wyvern looked down at the pirates with a bolt of electricity in its hands.

“One of Gandor’s kin! We created enough trouble for an upper-tier demon general to show up!” Lilinrala shouted.

She had lost her own boat during the fighting, so she had come aboard Geizeric’s.

The demon summoned another crackling spear.

“Your ship is quite the relic. Did you steal it from a museum? Are you an outcast of the plains people? Whatever could have possessed you to attack our warehouse?”

“Who asked you?! No pirate worth their salt would turn their back on plunder just sitting there in front of them!” Geizeric shot back.

“You call yourself a pirate with a boat like that? Incomprehensible. It matters not. You’ll be dying here.”

“D-dammit! Quit floating around up there! Get down here and face me like a man!” Geizeric shouted, waving his saber.

The wind demon showed no signs of acquiescing. Instead, it hurled more Storm Javelins down.

“Wind Control!”

Misphia formed a seal and activated her magic. The air shrouding the Storm Javelin dissipated unnaturally, flowing into a powerful tailwind in the ship’s sails.

“What?!” For the first time, the demon’s confident expression cracked.

A Storm Javelin tracked its target, and Misphia’s intermediate arcane magic spell Wind Control wasn’t enough to stop it. Knowing this, she had instead used her power to push the boat.

As the spear of lightning drew closer, the ship would accelerate in response. The boat and javelins moved in tandem, quickly leaving the demons behind.

“Yahooo!” Geizeric cheered. Unfortunately, the gale carrying the boat was rapidly growing too intense. The masts were starting to bend and creak.

“Cap’n! The ship can’t take it! She’s gonna break!” one of the pirates called out, on the verge of tears.

However, Geizeric just grinned and kicked the mast, laughing off his crew’s worries.

“She ain’t gonna break! If she wants to call herself my ship, she’ll show her guts!”

“Don’t be absurd,” Misphia responded, astonished.

“Bein’ a pirate means doin’ the absurd day in and day out! Ga-ha-ha-ha!”

“I…can’t argue with that.”

Despite the perilous situation, or perhaps because of it, Misphia and Geizeric laughed together.

“I was plannin’ to get you to teach me how to act like a proper king, but looks like you learned how to be a proper buccaneer first!”

“And whose fault do you think that is? You better take responsibility.”

Geizeric’s grin widened at that remark.

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