Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 152: Denial by Design - Treachery at the Palace

In the quiet solitude of her room, Princess Lumielle sat on the windowsill in a daze that only seemed to sensationalize her beauty. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the smooth curve of her shoulders and the delicate hollow of her collarbones, exposed by the off-the-shoulder dress she wore.

Shifting slightly, the princess leaned forward to retrieve the wooden music box resting by her toes. With a delicate motion, she wound the small lever protruding from the side, then set the cherished trinket back into place, hugging her knees as her jade-green gaze fixed intently on it.

The device was crafted in the form of a miniature piano, its surface adorned with shimmering mana crystals and other precious gems. As the internal gears hummed to life and the piano's top board gradually opened, the sculpted figure of the Mithrilcrest Deer that stood atop the panel simultaneously levitated several inches into the air, its antlers bathed in a soft, radiant glow as it eased into a graceful gallop.

As the soft melody filled the room, Lumielle's expression gradually darkened. Her eyes, once bright and glossy, dulled as she turned toward the expansive courtyard outside. But just as she was about to lose herself in the familiar ache of her thoughts, a faint giggle caught her attention.

In the garden below, she spotted a mother and child, playing happily together. Their joyful laughter and tender exchanges weighed heavily on her heart, already burdened with a quiet loneliness. Without even realizing it, Lumielle found herself projecting her own memories onto the scene, seeing herself as the child and the mother as her own, the one she had never truly known. But there was one painful flaw in the illusion—no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she willed it, she couldn't bring her mother's face into focus—not even a glimpse.

As she stared at the distorted image of her fabricated memory, at the blurred features of the woman twisting in her mind, a familiar anger flared up within her. The helplessness that accompanied it was unbearable, and tears began to well in her eyes. She quickly turned away from the window, her breath shallow with frustration, and stood from the windowsill. With a determined shake of her head, she slipped into her shoes and set her gaze firmly on the door.

The one person who could bring clarity to these memories was her father. But now he was bedridden, his once steadfast resolve shattered by the crushing weight of his depression. His failure had opened the door to evil, and now their kingdom teetered on the brink of collapse—everything her ancestors had built, threatened by the forces that had infiltrated their ranks. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her shoulders.

Allowing her anger and frustration to fuel her strides, Lumielle marched out of her room and made her way toward the king's bedchambers in a separate tower within the castle's keep. Yet, in her emotional haze, she had forgotten the painful truth: seeing her father—her own flesh and blood—had become nearly impossible since the man's once commanding voice had been silenced and utterly replaced by another.

"Step aside," she commanded hotly, her gaze cold and unwavering as she glared at the two guards blocking the door.

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," one of the men replied regrettably, "but we've been given strict orders to prevent anyone from entering, even members of the royal family."

Lumielle clenched her fingers into tight fists, refusing to back down. "This is absurd!" she exclaimed. "I am the princess, and the king is my father—what do you mean I can't see him?"

"I'm sorry, Princess," added the other man. "But these are the orders we've received."

Lumielle took a confident step forward, her neatly trimmed eyebrows furrowing in defiance. "By whom?"