She changed Europe

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"This isn't your full strength? You're holding back?" Garibaldi immediately noticed the unusual behavior of her opponent and frowned. As for the non-magic-wielding "spectators," they posed no threat to the fully armed Garibaldi at this moment, so she only needed to focus her attention on Gisela.

"So what?" Su Beiming tilted his body slightly to the right and plunged the tip of his sword into the soft ground. Garibaldi's double blades slid down the smooth blade of Saint Stephen's sword to the ground, and then, using the tip of the sword as the center, he kicked Garibaldi in the abdomen with the leg armor of his magic armor.

As Su Beiming's kick struck her shield with a clanging sound, the two separated again. The woman before him was no pushover, and he himself was not at his best. Perhaps even at his best, Gisela's physical attributes alone wouldn't allow her to unleash her full power. Therefore, facing such a formidable opponent, Su Beiming rarely felt any danger.

"You all step back!" Su Beiming turned around and shouted at Rita and the others behind her. Before she could finish speaking, she coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“Your Highness…” Rita noticed Gisela’s strange behavior and hissed at Su Beiming.

"Go!" Su Beiming blocked Garibaldi's attack once again.

After gazing at Gisela for a moment, Tifa closed her eyes, then took a deep breath and pulled Rita along with the soldiers, retreating towards the Ticino River crossing. As ordinary people, they couldn't interfere in the battle between the magic users, so it was better to leave early and let them fight freely than to get in the way. Of course, Tifa and the others didn't forget to take Gisela with them as they retreated.

"Get out of my way! I have no interest in your life." Garibaldi clearly only wanted to save Misella at this moment. For the sake of this princess who was very important to her, she had adopted such a reckless tactic for the first time, attacking an Austrian army of tens of thousands with an army of thousands of soldiers.

"Hmph! It seems I've been underestimated." Su Beiming scoffed as he planted Saint Stephen's Sword in the ground and closed his eyes.

“Do you know? Little Italian girl, in the far East there was once an incredibly powerful nation. Long before you Europeans even decided to venture into the seas, their fleets carried the glorious stories of the Central Plains dynasties to every corner of the world. That person who created that golden age, though she couldn't escape the injustice of time and fate and has long since passed away, her will and aspirations remain here.” Su Beiming clenched his right fist and pounded his chest.

“Now her spiritual successor is right in front of me? Do you think I will let go this time?” Su Beiming’s words, which sounded like he was talking to himself, made Garibaldi frown.

She had never fought against Su Beiming, nor had she ever set foot in the East, so she was unaware of his glorious past. However, she was well aware that the person before her would not allow her to easily rescue Princess Misella.

"I once promised to guard an empire for her alone for hundreds of years, and this time is no different, although this time there is a bit of selfishness involved." Su Beiming's scarlet purple eyes flashed with an unusual light, and his snow-white silver hair danced in the wind with blue flames.

"Whether it's you or all of you." Su Beiming raised his head and looked up at the sky. Before he knew it, several French magic users piloting magic armor had appeared in the sky. At this moment, they were like angels about to bring down judgment on mortals, majestic and awe-inspiring.

This was a long-planned trap, not intended to completely defeat the Austrian army, but to bury this Habsburg princess, a woman so special that she might disrupt the future balance of Europe, on this very land.

No one wants to see a young but powerful princess alive in this world. A 15-year-old girl can defeat an adult magic user, so what is her future potential...?

Garibaldi, noticing Su Beiming's words, also looked up and gazed in the direction Gisela was facing.

"French?" Garibaldi seemed a little surprised, after all, she hadn't expected that Gisela wouldn't only be troubled by herself, but also by French people.

"How could a good show be complete without you all?" Su Beiming sneered as she looked at her laughable opponents. Once, in the skies of Guangzhou, she had single-handedly fought against seven magic users of the Anglo-French allied forces, and behind her were the land and people she was determined to protect.

"Damn this ill-fated relationship and destiny! Since you want to fight, I will fight you! This time, it's a fight to the death!"

Su Beiming is not without a chance of winning. To win this battle and preserve her other self, she still has a final trump card. Unfortunately, the price of this trump card might be too high...

With a leap from the ground, the snow fox roared and charged towards the sky, charging towards her opponent with unwavering determination.

Over a thousand years have passed, things have changed, and wave after wave of loyal soldiers have been buried in foreign lands. Though they came from all over and spoke different languages, whenever banners fluttered and the emperor's sword pointed, they would rush forward one after another, sacrificing themselves for their country. But these loyal warriors, before their deaths, would all utter the same title—"Your Highness, Princess."

In the far East, there is an ancient tradition: every dynasty that achieves unification will select the most powerful magic user as the princess who protects the country. They are beautiful and strong, and while they are granted long lifespans, they will protect the country as the symbol and guardian of the dynasty until the end of their lives. Their fate is already predetermined, just like the stars in the sky.

"I am the only princess under the sun, moon, mountains and rivers..." Su Beiming softly recited the words in his native language.

Even in the face of the most desperate circumstances, she never flinched. This time, whether for herself, for her past dreams, or for the people who died under the bayonets of the invaders in the Battle of Guangzhou, she had every reason to fight…

PS1: I don't get a holiday until the 26th, I really want to fast forward!

Chapter 207 Irises Withering in the Alps: Capter 68 The Governor of Yanmen (Seeking Votes)

What a fitting description of "dark clouds looming over the city, threatening to crush it"—

Su Beiming looked up at the several French magic users above him, and memories flooded his mind.

"Hello, my name is Zhu Di, courtesy name Lingyun. What's your name?"

"Su Beiming? What a strange name. May I touch your fox ears?"

Su Beiming swung his broadsword with all his might, the sound of it cutting through the air accompanied by a shockwave, sending a French mage flying through the air. Then, blue flames, like fireworks, illuminated the night sky that was only dotted with stars. It was Su Beiming's favorite foxfire.

Armor gleams in the sun, like golden scales unfolding.

The explosion illuminated the pitch-black sky as if it were daytime.

"Asu; Yi Sanwu Ni, if I become the emperor of the Ming Dynasty, you will be the princess of my Ming Dynasty."

"What's with that expression? I was just kidding. I would never steal the throne from that brat Yun Mingqi (8) Sisi Wu Liu Wen. Smile."

The French magic users showed no weakness whatsoever. They used their swords and spears to fight back against their exceptionally troublesome opponent. Unfortunately, Su Beiming neutralized all their clumsy attacks with his dance-like parries and evasions.

The sound of horns filled the autumn sky—

"Zhu Yunwen wants to kill me! That coward wants to kill me! Asu, what should I do?"

"Should we really turn against each other? Will my father forgive me...?"

The French magic users raised their magic light guns and hurled them at Su Beiming. The immense energy instantly pulled her back to the ground, and with the tremendous impact of the fall, Su Beiming could clearly feel a severe tearing sensation in her body. But she gritted her teeth and tried to stand up again.

At this moment, the French and Italian magic users, including Garibaldi, simultaneously activated their magic cannons in perfect unison. Several beams of light, radiating intense heat, flew towards Su Beiming. Su Beiming coldly smiled and raised her right hand, blue flames dancing around her. She gently waved her hand down. Countless flames then coalesced into a wall, blocking all the white light. Another violent cough followed, this time with even more blood; clearly, Su Beiming's soul had reached its limit.

The crimson of the frontier, condensed into a deep purple at night—

"This is... cough cough... my favorite poem. Wait... wait... I want to recite it to you one last time..."

Hands gradually losing body temperature, long black hair disheveled, pale cheeks—everything from that day felt like a dream.

“I’ll take care of the rest of Lingyun…” Su Beiming wiped away his tears and bit his lip hard.

"A half-furled red flag approaches the Yi River—" The shield formed by foxfire swayed slightly, and some residual energy passed through the shield, creating a huge explosion around Su Beiming. However, Su Beiming remained completely unaffected, just like a statue.

"The frost is heavy, the drum is cold, and no sound can be heard—" Su Beiming used his magical energy to condense a blue blade. The shape of the blade might be unfamiliar to Westerners, but it was all too familiar to the people of the Celestial Empire, because it was a embroidered spring knife.

"To repay your kindness on the golden platform—" Su Beiming soared into the sky once more, pouring all her remaining strength into her weapon.

"I will die for you, Jade Dragon." At the very last moment, Su Beiming concentrated everything she had into the blue blade in her hand, which seemed to carry hundreds of years of her memories.

Please, my other self, when you wake up, everything may still be the same. You will still be you, and your family and friends will be by your side. I hope you will treat them well and cherish them, because unlike my lonely self, you are someone who is loved.

Please forgive me, I am not a good companion, I cannot walk with you, but seeing you can live again is a kind of luck for me.

Su Beiming closed her eyes, using all her soul as power to unleash her final attack.

She threw the knife, and with it a blinding flash of light that illuminated the entire sky, as bright as day. Then came a massive explosion, the shockwave sweeping across several kilometers and lifting up trees and people.

"Your Highness!!!!" Rita cried out for Gisela with all her might, but her voice sounded so pale and insignificant amidst the explosion.

Tifa stared blankly at the explosion in the sky, and at that moment she collapsed to her knees, motionless.

Gisela, who was in the sea of ​​consciousness, could feel another version of herself. At this moment, she seemed to be completely silent. Almost all of her memories were poured into her mind. For some reason, tears just slid down her cheeks, but she did not understand why she was sad.

She regained control of her body, but a terrible feeling of exhaustion made it impossible for her to continue controlling it. Then, like a kite with a broken string, she plunged into the Ticino River and disappeared into the turbulent waters.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Three days after the Battle of Ticino, the remaining Austrian troops, under the command of generals led by Gisela's adjutant Tifa, had all retreated to the east bank in an orderly manner. They then joined up with Marshal Güle, who had arrived from the rear, and Grand Duchess Freya at Magenta, quickly filling the gap left by the loss of magic users in the Austrian army.

Seeing that the Austrian army had completed its assembly, the French army did not launch an attack rashly, but instead stationed all its troops on the west bank of the river.

At this moment, in the French army camp—

"What a joke! Are you all incompetent fools?!" Napoleon III slammed his right hand on his table, his angry gaze sweeping over the group of so-called stars of the Imperial military in front of him.

"Of the four mage ladies we sent out, you tell me two were killed in battle and two were seriously wounded? Add to that the Duke of Richelieu and the Duke of Orléans who were injured earlier, that guy defeated at least six mage ladies in one fell swoop! Six!!!" As if to emphasize this number, Napoleon III slammed his favorite, exquisitely decorated military cap heavily on the ground and stomped on it twice!

"Half of my great empire is in this damned, broken Italy!"

"Do you know what? That woman across the Channel is eating her disgusting 'Stargazing' while watching France make a fool of itself!" Although Britain and France are now nominal allies, in reality, no European country familiar with British diplomacy truly considers the British as their friend, after all, betraying their allies is their tradition.

“Your Majesty, we did not expect the young Austrian princess to be so difficult, but at least we still defeated her, didn’t we?” Finally, it was Marshal Cornelius who spoke up, the most trusted confidant of Napoleon III.

PS1: The love story between Su Beiming and Emperor Yongle 0v0

Chapter 208 Irises Wither in the Alps: Capter 69 Lilies Also Bloom in France (Seeking Votes)

"Damn it! Don't mention that princess to me!" Napoleon III once considered following his aunt's example and snatching a princess from the Habsburg family to marry in order to demonstrate the legitimacy of the Bonaparte family in Europe.

"Nothing is more repulsive than the women of the Habsburg family now." How much did six magic users hurt Napoleon III? France had a total of sixteen magic users, four fewer than Britain, the world's leading power, but this was only on the surface. Because of the existence of the Order Party, which disagreed with his political views, not all magic users were loyal to him; Thiers, for example, was someone he was irreconcilably opposed to.

He could actually only command about twelve or thirteen people. After removing a few magic users who needed to be stationed in overseas colonies, about eight was already his limit. Now, most of them had been injured or even killed to varying degrees in the battle with that Austrian princess. It was impossible for him not to be furious.

“Your Majesty, we still have five mage users at our disposal. Even if we remove the seriously injured Lord Richelieu, we still have five. On the other hand, Austria currently only has two mage users deployed in Italy. They have already lost Princess Gisela, and even if they send reinforcements from their homeland, it will take time. So the advantage is still with us. However…” Conrobel paused, clearly indicating that what followed was the key point.

“But in the upcoming battles, all we can rely on are our regular troops and our magical armor.” Cornelius’s assessment was spot on. If the magical ladies were allowed to fight freely, the French magical wielders would actually expend their energy. Rather than that, it would be better to take advantage of the Austrians’ lack of knowledge about their true strength, using the magical wielders as a Damocles’ sword hanging over their heads, threatening them while restricting their tactics. In this way, they could achieve unexpected results with their regular troops, thereby seizing the initiative in the war.

“That makes sense.” Napoleon III stroked his chin, pondered for a moment, and then looked at McMahon. As a magic user, McMahon was unable to participate in the Battle of Ticino because she was the commander of the vanguard. This made her one of the few magic users who could still shoulder great responsibilities in front of Napoleon III, even though the two had some differences of opinion before.

"Sir McMahon, how are the Italians doing?" Since McMahon was concerned about the Kingdom of Sardinia, Nathan was simply trying to gauge the situation by asking a question that would please him.

“Their princess has been captured, and their General Garibaldi is missing. The Kingdom of Sardinia no longer has any leverage to fight the Austrians. Therefore, I suggest that Your Majesty should openly and honestly demand command of the Sardinian army from their King Victor. I believe that His Majesty, being a man of principle, will agree.” McMahon adjusted her glasses. Her previous criticism of Napoleon III was not out of sympathy for the Italian people; she was simply dissatisfied with Napoleon III's somewhat ambiguous attitude towards war. After all, what did the lives of the Italian people have to do with her? She was French, after all.

“Of course, it’s time for Sardinia, this loyal dog, to bark a couple of times for its master.” Napoleon III turned around with a cold smile, looking at the map of the Apennine Peninsula behind him.

My aunt was crowned King of Italy, and I will do the same…

The presence of a French military camp prompted me to shift my focus to the hospital.

"What are you writing?" Jeanne asked Richelieu, turning her head to the side. At this moment, the usually imposing Duke of Orléans (crossed out) was lying on her sickbed, looking utterly hopeless. Her right leg was wrapped in a thick cast, and her leg and head were completely bandaged. Apart from her golden eyes, she looked like a big white rice dumpling.

“Hmm? Hmm, I’m writing a letter.” Richelieu was in no better shape at the time, as she was struggling to write on a piece of letter paper with a pen in her mouth due to muscle strain and minor fractures in both hands.

"Who else is it written to? Is it a man or a woman?" Jeanne wriggled around, looking somewhat curious.

“A gentleman!” Richelieu released the pen he was holding in his mouth, then tilted his head, picked up his handkerchief from the small table, placed it on the table, and then lowered his head to rub his head against the handkerchief like a small animal.

"A man? Which one?" When Jeanne heard that Richelieu was writing to a man, she almost instinctively uttered some terrible words, but both parties seemed to ignore her and continued their conversation.

“My teacher.” Richelieu smiled as he looked at Jeanne before him, then raised his head and gazed wistfully at the dome.

“Jeanne, you should take a shower. I can smell a ‘sour’ odor on you (Richard unintentionally achieved a double entendre lol).” Richelieu saw Jeanne wriggling on the hospital bed like a caterpillar and suddenly had the idea to tease her.

"Hmph! Even if I fell into the sewer, I'd still be more likable than you, this young lady who exudes the rich, noble scent of violets." Jeanne narrowed her eyes, then put on a standard French expression of disdain, retorting Richelieu's words.

“Oh? Is that so, Miss Jeanne?” Richelieu, with a smug smile, placed his feet on the hospital bed, took a deep breath, and jumped onto Jeanne’s bed next to his.

"What did you just say?" Our esteemed Duchess of Orléans, Richelieu, straddled Jeanne, then gently lifted Jeanne's silver hair, which was spread out on the bed, with her left hand, and brought her beautiful, lustrous hair to her nose to smell it.

"Weren't both your hands injured?" Jeanne turned her head to the side and said reluctantly, but the blush on her fair face was so obvious that Shirley couldn't help but notice it.

“Yes! She was injured, but she’s almost fully recovered. It’s just that her left hand is inconvenient for writing, so she’s too lazy to move it.” Shirley twirled Jeanne’s silver hair with her fingertips, her tone full of amusement.

"Oh dear! That's right, I can definitely smell the sewers." Even the usually serious Shirley experienced for the first time how fun it could be to tease someone.

"You woman!" As if in response to her own words, Jeanne unleashed a tremendous "attack," flipping over and pinning Shirley to her bed, completing a beautiful reversal. But soon, a new problem arose.

That's pain!

PS1: Today at the company's annual party, they even made me wear a mascot costume. It was my first time wearing one, and I thought it was quite fun.

Chapter 209 Irises Withering in the Alps: Capter 70 Intimate Interaction (Seeking Votes)

With intense pain, Jeanne collapsed onto Richelieu, and the two most outstanding magic users in France were thus comically piled on top of each other.

A new mournful cry came from the bones; it seemed someone's leg had broken again...

At this moment, Richelieu was unaware that Jeanne, who was burying her head in her chest, was in so much pain that her eyes were rolling back in her head.

A few minutes later, Shirley seemed to realize that Miss Dark, who was lying on her chest, was no longer moving. Thinking of this, she quickly lowered her head and looked at her chest.

At this moment, Jeanne's eyes rolled upwards, her mouth slightly open, and saliva slid down the corners of her pink lips. Yes, this is the ahegao we know, but this time it didn't appear because of doing anything too lewd, but because of pain.

“Asecors…” Richelieu noticed that Jeanne’s mouth seemed to be moving, as if she was saying something. Thinking of this, she brought the delirious Jeanne’s face close to her ear.

Just then, the nurse who was looking after them entered the room. From her angle, she saw Lord Darc about to turn his head and kiss Lord Richelieu in a rather whimsical scene. Although she had long known that the young ladies of high society had all sorts of strange hobbies, she never imagined that these two beautiful ladies had such a relationship.

"Oh dear! I'm a professional nurse, how could I be so tactless?" With that proud expression, the nurse turned around and walked out of the room with practiced ease.

The perfect match between the flower and the sword in France is so good that even Venus and Cupid would feel ashamed if they didn't tell the world.

Thinking about this made the nurse even happier.

1870 January 8

The torrential rains in Vienna have lasted for several days. The flooding in both the old and new towns is enough to hinder the movement of pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages. No matter how hard the municipal authorities try and how many extra people they send to clear the sewers, they still cannot fundamentally solve the problem of urban flooding, which continues to plague major cities around the world even in the 21st century.

Today should be an important day for the citizens of Vienna, as it is the 40th birthday of their great Emperor Franz Joseph. Every year on August 18th, from the high-ranking imperial bureaucrats to the frontline industrial workers, everyone receives a day off, enjoying the holiday bestowed by His Majesty the Emperor, and then spontaneously taking to the streets to watch the celebrations and commemorate His Majesty's birthday.

This event has been held every year since Emperor Joseph ascended the throne in 1848. Although the scale varies slightly, the parade and performances always take place as scheduled, regardless of the circumstances.

However, this year's celebration was absent, despite being a once-in-a-decade event, the last of which was in 1860. Although the Italian war was currently at a stalemate, most of the fighting was still taking place on the front lines, and Marshal Güle's army had only just arrived in Milan; the real battle had not yet begun. Logically, the empire should not have faced any predicament requiring the cancellation of the celebration.

At this point, not only the citizens of Vienna, but also the subjects of the entire empire, were asking the same question: What on earth is wrong with His Majesty the Emperor this year?

At this moment, inside the Hofburg Palace—

Emperor Joseph sat alone at his desk, carefully holding the framed photograph and looking at it again and again… The picture showed a beautiful blonde woman, flanked by a slightly taller girl and a younger girl. The taller girl held her mother's hand and leaned on her shoulder affectionately, while the younger girl, due to her height, could only hold onto the hem of her mother's skirt. Nevertheless, her mother gently stroked the little girl's head with her left hand.

The man standing behind their mother, his arms around the woman's waist, was himself. Not only himself, but all his family members in the photograph radiated happiness. To capture this heartwarming family portrait, Emperor Joseph, disguised, secretly left Schönbrunn Palace with his empress and daughters, evading patrolling soldiers, and walking several kilometers along the old city walls before entering the city. He carried young Gisela on his back, while Sissi supported the ailing Sophie; the imperial family thus became the only group of people to ever illegally enter the country.

Of course, the family eventually got lost in the city. If it weren't for a kind citizen who found the man with his family pitiful and lent Joseph a few crowns for a carriage ride, Joseph might have spent a whole day searching for the newly opened photography studio in Vienna.

Photography at that time was different from what we have today. As early as 1839, the Frenchman Daguerre invented the first practical daguerreotype camera. The camera consisted of two wooden boxes; one box was inserted into the other for focusing, and the lens cap served as the shutter, controlling an exposure time of up to thirty minutes to produce a clear image. Although scientists in various countries subsequently improved the camera, the black and white photographs produced by these cameras remained unpopular with European high society until the late 19th century.

European high society, including traditional nobles and royalty, still preferred to commission portrait painters to create their portraits. While this was an unwritten tradition without strict rules, the underlying reasons are not hard to understand. After all, people with the striking good looks of Franz Joseph and his wife Sisi were a minority among European nobles. Rather than having their portraits taken in black and white and being overly realistic, they preferred to have them painted, at least allowing them to beautify themselves at any time.