Nights in the Vayne March were never truly quiet, but after the “stew feast” at the castle gates, the silence shrouding the Lower District felt particularly heavy.
The people’s stomachs might have been full, but their minds remained a battlefield for the Church’s incitement.
In the dark corners of the alleys, Malachi’s loyal followers whispered that the stew distributed by the Marchioness was “sacrificial food for demons,” and that in return, God would curse their water sources.
Paranoia is a disease that spreads faster than any plague, and Azura understood this perfectly.
In her old world, destroying an enemy by tainting their water supply was a fundamental tactic to bring a territory to its knees without firing a single bullet.
Azura stood in the shadows of a collapsed old tavern, about fifty meters from the Lower District’s main well.
She wore a plain black cloak with a hood that concealed her silver hair.
Her eyes remained sharp, scanning every movement around the well that now served as the people’s only hope for survival.
[System: Notification Alert!]
[“Boss, look at the two o’clock coordinate.
There’s a sewer rat dressed as a commoner, but his hands are way too smooth for someone who’s supposed to hold a hoe.
He’s hiding a small bottle in his sleeve.
Seems Malachi lacks creativity—it’s poison again.
Should I order a budget-friendly coffin for him now?”]
”Quiet,” Azura thought coldly.
“Let him approach.
I need an audience for this performance.”
Azura activated Liar’s Discernment (Enhanced).
On her retina, the silhouette of the man creeping forward turned into a pulsing, deep crimson—a sign of fatal sabotage intent.
The man, Zeke, a low-ranking servant at the North Cathedral, was trembling violently.
He stared at the old well with eyes filled with blind fanaticism.
To him, poisoning this water was a holy duty to prove that Azura was the bringer of curses.
In his hand was a small glass vial containing a viscous black liquid—Essence of Abyssal Rot—a magical poison capable of killing anyone who drank it by liquefying their lungs in seconds.
Just as Zeke was about to uncork the bottle over the lip of the well, a hand, cold and as hard as iron, clamped around his wrist.
Crack!
The sound of shifting bone shattered the silence of the night.
Zeke let out a shriek, but another palm instantly smothered his mouth, pinning his face down until he fell to his knees against the cold stone edge of the well.
”You’re in quite a hurry, little rat,” a voice whispered in Zeke’s ear.
It was flat and devoid of emotion, as if death itself had just offered him a greeting.
Azura threw back her hood, letting her sea-blue eyes bore into Zeke with an intensity that made the man feel as though his soul was being flayed.
The minor scuffle drew the attention of the surrounding residents living in the shacks near the well.
One by one, the people emerged with torches in hand, their faces pale at the sight of the Marchioness standing there, pinning one of their own.
”What is happening?!
Your Grace?” an old man asked with a trembling voice.
Azura didn’t answer.
She snatched the small bottle from Zeke’s broken hand, then held it high for everyone to see under the torchlight.
”You’ve heard the rumors that your water is cursed because of me?” Azura’s voice echoed through the narrow alleys.
“God did not curse your water.
The Church did.”
Azura threw Zeke into the middle of the crowd.
The man crawled, trying to seek sympathy.
“H-help!
This demon wants to kill me!
I only wanted to fetch water!”
”Fetching water with a bottle containing enough poison to kill a battalion?” Azura stepped forward, each footfall sounding like the toll of a death knell.
[System: Analysis Complete.]
[“Substance: Essence of Abyssal Rot.
Danger Level: S+.
Effect: Instant death within 5 seconds through massive organ failure.
Suggestion: Do not drink unless you’re looking for an early retirement from the world of the living.”]
Azura offered a thin smile—a smile more terrifying than any rage.
She grabbed Zeke by the hair, forcing his head back.
”You said this is holy water from the Altar, right?
Malachi told you it’s a ‘medicine’ to cleanse the sins of Vayne’s people?” Azura asked.
Zeke stammered, “Yes!
It’s…
it’s holy water!”
”Good.” Azura bit the cork off the bottle with her teeth, then placed the rim of the vial directly against Zeke’s lips.
“Then drink up.
As a faithful servant, you should be the first to receive this blessing in front of your people.”
”N-no!
Please!
Mercy!” Zeke thrashed about, but Azura’s physical strength, reinforced by the system, was impossible for a weak servant to overcome.
The watching crowd held their breath.
Several Church provocateurs hiding in the throng tried to shout to incite the mob, but they went silent the moment Azura turned her lethal gaze toward them.
”Drink,” Azura commanded, her tone shifting into one of absolute authority.
“Or I will pour the entire contents into this well and make you the last to die after watching your entire family rot.”
Zeke’s terror reached its peak.
With his trembling hands forced by Azura, he was compelled to swallow the black liquid.
A deathly silence enveloped the well area.
Zeke coughed, then suddenly his eyes bulged wide.
The veins in his neck turned black, spreading like rotten tree roots across his face.
He didn’t even have time to scream.
Within five seconds, thick black blood gushed from his eyes and ears.
His body convulsed once before finally collapsing to the ground, stiff and lifeless.
The people recoiled in horror.
A sharp, putrid stench wafted from Zeke’s corpse.
There was no longer any doubt—the man had carried poison, not a blessing.
”Look closely,” Azura said coldly, pointing at the corpse.
“This is the ‘salvation’ Malachi promised you.”
Amidst the growing fury of the people, who began to shout Malachi’s name with burning hatred, Azura remained alert.
Her mind didn’t stop at the corpse before her.
Suddenly, her instincts screamed.
[System: DANGER!
DANGER!]
[“Boss!
Second rat on the roof at ten o’clock!
He’s got a crossbow!”]
Azura flinched; she had been so focused on teaching Zeke a lesson that she had ignored the upper perimeter.
She tried to pivot, but she knew she would be a second too late.
A black-tipped bolt whistled through the darkness from the rooftop, aimed straight for her heart.
Before the arrow could touch Azura’s clothes, a shadow lunged from the opposite direction.
With a casual yet precise motion, a wooden plate flew through the air, striking the bolt and knocking it to the ground.
A split second later, a strong arm wrapped around Azura’s waist, pulling her back with a jerk hard enough that her back slammed against someone’s chest.
Azura reflexively pulled a dagger from her cloak and aimed it at the throat of the person holding her.
However, her movement stopped the moment she caught a familiar scent: the smell of green apples and a faint hint of woodsmoke.
”Easy now, Lady Marchioness,” Alaric Varentis whispered directly into Azura’s ear.
His voice sounded as lazy as ever, but his grip was incredibly firm, as if he were an impenetrable fortress.
“Don’t focus on just one rat, or the others might bite those pretty heels of yours.”
Azura froze.
Their proximity was so close she could feel Alaric’s breath on her neck.
This was the first time since she had awakened in this world that someone had dared to touch her without murderous intent—and for some reason, it felt more disturbing than the poison attack.
”Let go,” Azura hissed, though she didn’t truly try to break free.
Alaric chuckled softly, the vibration of his laughter resonating through Azura’s back.
“So fierce.
And here I am, having just saved your heart from that rusty bolt.”
Alaric released her slowly, then with a deft movement, he flicked a small pebble toward the roof.
A loud thud followed—the archer up there fell unconscious from the impact of the pebble thrown with Disaster Class accuracy.
”Second rat secured,” Alaric said, smoothing out his ragged traveling knight clothes.
He looked at Azura with an unreadable gaze—there was admiration, but also that same ridiculous playfulness.
Azura straightened her cloak, trying to regain her momentarily shaken composure.
“Why do you always show up at the most inconvenient times?”
”Oh, I’m always around when there’s good drama,” Alaric replied.
He stepped closer, ignoring Azura’s sharp glare.
“By the way, My Lady…
as a reward for saving ‘state assets’—aka your life…
could I get two portions of that beef stew to go tomorrow morning?
I missed out on a second helping earlier because the line was too long.”
Azura fell silent.
Her mafia logic tried to find a hidden motive behind the absurd request, but all she found was Alaric’s face, which seemed genuinely hungry for stew.
”That’s it?” Azura asked skeptically.
”And maybe a little smile?
No, never mind, the stew is enough,” Alaric grinned widely, then offered a very messy knight’s salute before vanishing back into the darkness of the alley as quickly as he had appeared.
Azura stared in the direction Alaric had disappeared, then turned to the people who were now crowding around Zeke’s corpse with overflowing rage.
[System: Sassy Mode ON.]
[“Ooh…
Boss got herself a free bodyguard.
But seriously, your heart rate just spiked by 15%.
Want me to draft a medical report on ‘Crush Symptoms’ or should we stay focused on Malachi?”]
”Delete the data or I’ll delete your program,” Azura snapped in her mind.
She stepped forward, back into the midst of her people, who now looked at her with a mix of fear and newfound adoration.
Tonight, their well was not poisoned, but the relationship between the people and the Church had truly rotted away.
”Arthur!
Secure the archer on the roof!” Azura commanded.
“And announce to the entire city: Anyone who dares to touch Vayne’s water source with foul intent will end up like this rat.”
Azura looked toward the Cathedral tower in the distance.
“Your turn is coming soon, Malachi.
And this time, no prayer will be able to save you.”