Silence is the most terrifying sound for a ruler.
In the Vayne March, that silence arrived swifter than the first snow of winter.
A few days after Inquisitor Malachi left the castle gates with his holy curses, the pulse of the city seemed to stop.
The marketplace, usually bustling with the haggling of grain merchants from the South, had transformed into a row of locked, empty stalls.
A cold wind blew through the deserted streets, carrying the Church’s gold-inked pamphlets that now lay scattered like worthless trash on the marble pavement.
Azura stood on the balcony of the Marquis’s study, gazing toward the city skyline.
In her hand, a logistics report recently delivered by Arthur felt like a death warrant.
”The report, Arthur,” Azura spoke softly.
Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet there was a sharpness to it that made Arthur—a knight who had seen countless battlefields—feel the need to straighten his posture.
”It’s grim, Your Grace,” Arthur replied heavily.
“As you predicted, the embargo is total.
All merchants affiliated with the ‘Northern Light’ Trade Union—which accounts for eighty percent of our food supply—have unilaterally severed their contracts.
They claim their grain has been ‘spiritually tainted’ and cannot be delivered to a territory that defies the Altar.”
Azura was not surprised.
As a former Mafia Boss, she knew all too well that the most lethal weapon was not a bullet or magic, but an empty stomach.
A person could endure fear, but no one could endure hunger for long.
”The Church is not fighting with swords; they are fighting with time,” Azura murmured.
She turned toward the large desk in the center of the room, where Aurelia was busy with stacks of parchment and calculating tools.
“What are the exact figures, Aurelia?”
Aurelia, the fifteen-year-old girl who now held the castle’s legal and financial data, raised her head.
Faint dark circles were beginning to form under her clear blue eyes.
”The stock in the castle’s main granary is only enough to feed the residents and the garrison for three weeks.
However, if we must feed the forty thousand citizens in Vayne’s city center…” Aurelia paused, her lips thinning into a bitter line.
“We will run out of food in four days.
And that is only if we provide them with thin porridge once a day.”
”Four days,” Azura repeated.
She tapped her fingers against the balcony railing.
“Enough time to spark a riot, but not enough time to wait for outside help.
Malachi knows exactly how to tighten the noose around our necks.”
”Then what is our move, Stepmother?” Aurelia asked.
There was a hint of challenge in her voice, as if she wanted to see whether the woman she called ‘Stepmother’ truly had a solution or if she had merely relied on bravado when she tore the Church’s decree yesterday.
”The first step is to see who is betraying us under our very noses,” Azura replied.
She grabbed a thick black cloak draped over a chair.
“Arthur, prepare ten soldiers in civilian clothes.
We are going to conduct a field audit.
Aurelia, bring your contract ledgers.
We’re taking a little trip to the market.”
Infiltrating a restless, angry populace is a suicidal move for most nobles.
But for Azura, it was standard procedure.
With a cloak concealing her luxury gown and a hood hiding her bluish-silver hair, she stepped into the heart of Vayne City alongside Aurelia.
The atmosphere in the market was far more oppressive than Arthur had reported.
People gathered at street corners with pale faces.
Mothers clutched their crying children tightly as hunger set in.
In the center of the plaza, provocateurs dressed in white—Malachi’s secret agents—stood on makeshift stages, shouting about the sins of the Vayne family.
”This curse will not break as long as that Bloody Demon sits on the throne!” shouted one provocateur.
“Return to the Altar!
Surrender the Vayne children to the Church, and God will reopen the gates of prosperity for you!”
Azura walked through the crowd calmly.
Her sharp eyes scanned every closed stall.
[Geez Boss, look at them.
Your people are getting hangry.
If you don’t move fast, tomorrow they won’t just throw stones at the castle—they’ll throw you onto a grill.
By the way, your dead conscience says hi: ‘Happy walking among the plebs, sweetheart!’]
Shut up, Azura thought coldly.
Activate Liar’s Discernment.
I need biometric data on the hoarders.
[Skill Active: Liar’s Discernment]
Azura’s vision instantly shifted.
The world around her lost its color, replaced by pulsing auras emanating from every individual.
This skill detected not just spoken lies, but hidden intentions.
She stopped in front of a massive warehouse owned by Master Galt, one of the wealthiest merchants in Vayne.
The warehouse doors were locked with heavy iron chains, and a large sign was posted there: ‘Warehouse Empty Due to Divine Wrath.’
However, in Azura’s eyes, the warehouse radiated a deep, turbulent red aura.
The aura of greed and deception.
”Galt,” Azura whispered to Aurelia, who stood beside her.
“What do the contract records say?”
Aurelia opened her small ledger quickly.
“Master Galt signed a contract to provide ten thousand sacks of grain for this month.
He sent a statement this morning claiming his entire stock mysteriously rotted after Inquisitor Malachi imposed the ‘holy ban’.”
”Rotted, has it?” Azura stared at the thick wooden doors.
Thanks to her system, she could see the transparency of the energy behind those doors—piles upon piles of grain sacks, fresh and abundant, far from rotting.
“He’s waiting for the prices to skyrocket.
He wants to sell that grain to the Church at ten times the price once the people start eating rats in the streets.”
”We must seize it!” Aurelia whispered fiercely.
”Not now, Aurelia,” Azura cut her off.
“If we raid it now, the people will see us as usurpers of private property.
We need a moment that is…
more theatrical.”
They continued toward the old well in the lower district, where people usually gathered for water.
There, sitting on a weathered, rotting wooden beam, was a man who looked very familiar to Azura.
The man wore the worn-out clothes of a traveling knight, with boots covered in dried mud.
He was busy carving a small piece of wood into the shape of a bird, occasionally sipping water from a leather flask at his waist.
Despite dressing like a commoner, the aura he radiated could not deceive Azura’s eyes.
It was Duke Alaric Varentis.
The “Fang of the Kingdom” she had met at the banquet.
[ID Confirmed: Duke Alaric Varentis.]
[System: Boss, look at that.
The ‘Peanut Knight’ from Varentis is cosplaying as a hobo in the middle of a crisis.
Is he really here to visit, or just to watch your circus act?
His energy aura is still at ‘Disaster Class,’ so better not poke him unless you want this castle turned into rubble.]
Alaric raised his head as Azura and Aurelia approached.
He offered a thin smile—the kind of casual smile that suggested he knew exactly who the woman behind the black hood was.
”Ah, an interesting sight,” Alaric’s voice was light, yet heavy with philosophical weight.
“The world is ending because of empty stomachs, yet there are still people walking with their backs straight as if they hold every granary key in the world.”
Azura stopped right in front of Alaric.
She did not bow, nor did she offer a formal greeting.
In a market filled with Church provocateurs, secrecy was the priority.
”Duke Varentis,” Azura whispered, low enough that only Alaric could hear.
Alaric chuckled, his laughter sounding genuine.
“The South is indeed boring, Your Grace Marchioness.
Too many people kowtow to me there.
Here?
Here the atmosphere is more…
honest.
People scream in hunger, holy knights scream about heaven, and you…
you hide behind a cheap cloak.”
”What do you want, Alaric?” Azura asked sharply.
“If you’ve come to participate in this embargo, you’d best leave before I lose my patience.”
Alaric stood up, dusting off his dull trousers.
He gazed at the crowd being incited by Church provocateurs in the distance.
”I came to see how a ‘Demon’ feeds her followers,” Alaric replied.
He stepped closer to Azura, closing the distance until he could whisper in her ear.
“Be careful, Azura.
The people are like water.
If you try to dam them up with fear, they will destroy your levee.
But if you give them just one reason to believe you are better than their God…
you will have the most lethal army in the world.”
”I don’t need your advice,” Azura hissed.
”Oh, you do,” Alaric winked.
“Because I know Galt and his cronies have already allied with Malachi.
They will burn the warehouse themselves tonight if you try to seize it by force.
They’d rather see that grain turn to ash than fall into your hands.”
Azura fell silent.
That information was crucial.
If those granaries burned, the Vayne March was truly finished.
Upon returning to the castle, the atmosphere in the Great Hall was electric with tension.
Arthur and his officers were ready to launch a raid on the merchants’ warehouses.
”Cancel the raid order,” Azura said as she strode into the hall, tossing her black cloak to a servant.
”But Your Grace, the people are already shouting at the gate!” Arthur protested.
”If we raid, they will burn the grain.
That is exactly what Malachi wants—total destruction so the people have no choice but to run to the Church,” Azura replied.
She turned toward Aurelia.
“Aurelia, prepare the left-wing barracks.
I want the largest military cauldrons cleaned tonight.”
”For what?” Aurelia asked, confused.
”We are opening a Soup Kitchen tomorrow morning, right in the city square,” Azura answered.
Her lips curled into the cold smile only a Mafia Boss planning a coup would possess.
“But this is not charity.
Anyone who wants to eat must register for work.
We are going to fix the city’s drainage system and reinforce the defense walls.
One hour of work for one serving of hot food.”
”But the grain, Your Grace?
Our stocks are limited,” Arthur reminded her.
”Galt’s grain and the traitors’ supplies will be ours exactly at midnight,” Azura stated.
She drew a small knife from her waist and slammed it into the map of the Vayne territory, right on the location of Master Galt’s warehouse.
“If they want to play dirty with hunger, I’ll show them how I collect my debts.”
In the distance, atop the castle tower, Duke Alaric Varentis stood in the darkness, observing the activity within the castle while twirling his carving knife.
”The lioness is starting to show her claws,” Alaric murmured with a strange note of admiration.