The Hidden Extra: The Lazy Prince Refuses to Ascend The Throne

Chapter 621: The Return of the Fourth Princess, Freya Lorian

"What? Seira’s already here!?"

Aldrian couldn’t contain his excitement and practically leapt to his feet.

The Grand Master let out a quiet sigh. He knew Aldrian liked Seira, but wasn’t this reaction a bit over the top?

"Don’t rush, Your Highness. Finish your work first. After that, I’ll have a horse-drawn carriage prepared so you can go pick her up."

But Aldrian wasn’t listening. Overwhelmed with joy at Seira’s arrival, he beamed and called out, "Master, prepare the carriage immediately!"

The Grand Master: "..."

...

"Welcome, Princess."

The maids, startled, hurriedly bowed to the woman clad in silver armor.

Her face was stunning, flawless, like it had been sculpted by a goddess.

Tall and imposing, she gave off an aura that could make anyone uneasy.

Her golden-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her sharp red eyes glinted coldly.

She just nodded at the maids’ greeting and walked past.

After she went by, the maids quietly exhaled and straightened up.

"Who... was that?" one of them asked nervously.

She didn’t recognize the woman. But seeing the other maids bow their heads, she quickly followed suit.

Another maid shot her a sharp glare and whispered, "Don’t you recognize her? She’s the Fourth Princess, Freya Lorian. Are you new here?"

The maid was taken aback by the words. She hadn’t expected the woman to be the famous female general known throughout the empire.

"Sorry, I didn’t recognize her. I am new here," she admitted shyly.

"It’s fine. Just remember who she is and be polite. Understood?"

"Understood."

***

Knock!

Freya knocked lightly on Ragan’s office door and waited quietly.

"Come in. The door isn’t locked," Ragan’s lazy voice called from inside. Freya pushed the door open and stepped in.

Ragan’s eyes widened for a brief moment at the sight of her.

Then, relief softened his expression, and he smiled.

"Welcome, Freya. You’re finally back. I thought you might not come."

The woman before him was his daughter—Freya Lorian. Of course, she wasn’t his biological daughter but the child of his older sister.

Like Sharon and Selena, he had taken Freya in, cared for her, and raised her as his own.

Over the past twelve years, the little girl had grown into an extraordinary young woman.

Freya stopped before him and bowed her head respectfully.

"I apologize for my delay, Father. I had intended to return as you instructed, but urgent matters at the border demanded my attention first."

Ragan wasn’t angry—if anything, he was curious. Placing both hands on the desk, he asked, "Is this about the barbarian forces? What’s happening?"

The western region of the empire bordered the Barbarian Kingdom. Unlike most kingdoms, the Barbarians were driven by conquest and war.

They had seized countless territories and enslaved the people who lived there.

That was why he had stationed so many troops along the border—to prevent any sudden attacks.

"That’s right, Father." Freya straightened and explained, "The Barbarian Kingdom’s activity has intensified over the past two years. They haven’t dared to cross the border yet, but there have been several provocations against our troops. The most recent was the murder of three members of our medical team. The culprit was Rudark, the leader of the barbarian forces who often provokes us."

Her expression grew serious. "After this incident, the troops were furious and nearly sparked a war. I managed to stop it because our position was weak—especially with the extreme weather a few days ago."

Ragan’s expression darkened as he listened.

"Those barbarians are incredibly bold. Do they expect us to retaliate?"

Killing medical personnel was considered a grave insult; there was an unspoken rule that they were off-limits.

But Ragan forgot that the barbarians lived by no rules—they did whatever they pleased.

"It seems so, Father. But I won’t take the bait. There’s no benefit in going to war with them," Freya said firmly, shaking her head.

There was an important rule of war passed down from generation to generation: the legitimate reasons for waging war.

There were only three justifications for war: to secure resources vital for the empire’s welfare, to expand its territory, or to retaliate against an enemy that had struck first. If none of these conditions were met, war was prohibited.

Fighting the Barbarian Kingdom was completely disadvantageous for the Great Velmora Empire. Their territory was barren, and there were no significant resources the empire could exploit.

The Great Velmora Empire’s territory was already vast, so conquering new lands would actually be detrimental, as administering new territories requires a great deal of money and resources.

Without a valid reason, Freya could not possibly start a war unless they were attacked first.

"A perfect decision. You really are amazing, my daughter." Ragan nodded in satisfaction.

Freya’s expression remained impassive, as if the praise had no effect on her.

Yet her red eyes trembled slightly—a response of happiness she tried to hide.

"By the way, sit down. Don’t stand there," Ragan sighed.

He thought of his insolent son, Nolan. That damn kid always sat down without asking permission first, so different from Freya, who was full of manners and respect toward him.

At times, he questioned whether Nolan was really his son.

But he quickly dismissed the thought. Isabella could not have been unfaithful, and Elina stood as clear proof that Nolan was indeed his child.

Freya nodded and took a seat in the chair before him.

Their conversation began lightly, with Ragan asking about her well-being and current affairs. After a few minutes, he turned to the main topic.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

Freya shook her head. "No, Father. But I’m sure there must be a reason."

Ragan smiled at her answer. "I received an intelligence report a few days ago. Read it and draw your own conclusions."

He reached into his desk drawer, retrieved a brown document, and handed it to her.

Freya’s eyes scanned the report, and in an instant, her face darkened with fury.

"Father, is this true? Is the Holy Empire of Valtanir really planning an attack on the northern territories?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The probability is sixty percent," Ragan replied calmly. "But given the current state of the Holy Empire of Valtanir, the likelihood has risen to eighty percent."

"Their current state? What do you mean?" Freya asked, frowning.

Ragan chuckled softly. "Bankruptcy."