The orange streak across the horizon of the Vayne March that afternoon felt like the dying embers of a fire, slipping through the gaps of the velvet curtains in the master bedroom.
Azura stood on the balcony, her fingers tapping against the ice-cold marble railing—a rhythm of calculation that never ceased in her mind.
Her gaze was fixed on the distant bell tower of the Cathedral.
That viper’s nest was now silent; the arrogant Golden Sun banner had been consumed by flames, replaced by a deep blue cloth with the silver lion embroidery fluttering gently.
A new dominance had been established.
Below, the city looked like chess pieces that had just been struck by a hurricane.
An unnatural silence.
Azura had not closed her eyes since dawn yesterday.
Her seventeen-year-old body felt light, yet her soul—the soul of a ruler accustomed to dissecting strategies behind a mahogany desk—felt heavy.
She had seen too many faces vomiting black liquid in the square.
Too many variables threatened to ruin her investment.
Clack.
The sound of boots hitting the stone floor was hesitant.
Arthur stepped in, his shoulders sagging slightly—not from physical exhaustion, but from the weight of the papers in his hands.
”Your Grace.” Arthur stopped three steps behind her.
“A report from the medical team.”
Azura did not turn.
She kept her eyes on her lion banner.
“Read it.
Omit nothing.”
”Hmm…
Total citizens successfully neutralized: two thousand, three hundred and forty.
Most are starting to show stable vital signs,” Arthur paused, drawing a heavy breath.
“But…
forty-seven people have not yet fully regained consciousness.
Eight of them are children.”
Azura closed her eyes for a moment.
The evening wind carried the scent of cold metal and the lingering, nauseating smell of incense from the cathedral.
”Where are those forty-seven failed assets located?”
”The multipurpose hall near the square, Your Grace.
Aurelia’s medical team has set up an emergency perimeter there.”
”Tsk.
Fetch my cloak, Arthur.
I do not like leaving my property damaged and unattended.”
Vayne’s lower district at dusk now held a different atmosphere.
There were no longer the screams of bloodthirsty mobs or stones hurled at the castle gates.
Only the faint scent of copper remained in the air—remnants of a mass ‘cleansing’ that hadn’t quite been swept away by the wind.
Several citizens sitting before their doors immediately bowed as Azura passed.
Their shoulders hunched, not out of pure fear, but as a form of recognition toward a new, more powerful predator.
[System: Scanning…
Public Reputation is stable at 65%, Boss.
But look at their gazes—10/10 visual confusion.
They don’t know whether to prostrate in gratitude or prepare a coffin.
This mass bad trip really ruined the city’s mood, didn’t it?]
Quiet, System.
Focus on the data.
Azura stepped into the multipurpose hall.
The stone building was now filled with rows of mats and the sharp sting of antiseptic.
In the corner of the room, an old mother huddled.
Her rough, trembling hands tightly gripped the hand of a young boy lying stiffly.
The boy’s eyes were open, but there was only void within them.
His breath was shallow, like a machine running low on oil.
Azura approached.
Her firm, rhythmic footsteps made the old woman look up with eyes red from burst capillaries—the result of ceaseless weeping.
”My Lady…” her voice was hoarse, nearly gone.
“My son…
he hasn’t returned.
I’ve called him.
I’ve begged God, but…”
Azura looked at the boy.
He was about ten years old.
The same age as Leo.
Her sharp eyes dissected the child’s physical condition before her hand rose—a stiff yet dominant motion—and landed on the old woman’s shoulder.
”The medical team will not leave this place until these assets recover,” Azura said, her voice cold yet carrying a calming authority.
“And when he wakes, take him to the soup kitchen.
Beef stew remains available.
For free.
Vayne has no need for citizens who starve to death.”
The woman stared at Azura with trembling lips.
“But…
the Inquisitor said…
you were a bloodthirsty demon…”
”Hmm.
I am indeed a demon,” Azura cut in, her lips forming a pragmatic, thin line.
“But a demon who feeds you is far more useful than an angel who puts poison in your bread, isn’t it?
Think on that.”
The old woman was stunned, then slowly bowed deeply, this time with a respect born of survival logic.
Azura turned, her cloak snapping as she strode out.
Arthur followed behind with an unreadable expression.
”Your Grace…
you actually care about them.”
”Do not misunderstand, Arthur.
I simply dislike seeing my working capital go to waste.
Dead subjects cannot pay taxes or swing swords.”
Night had fully claimed Vayne by the time Azura returned to the castle.
She passed through empty halls lit only by fading torchlight.
However, a strange blue light appeared from beneath the laboratory door in the west tower.
Without knocking, Azura pushed the door open.
Aurelia was sitting there, glasses slipping to the tip of her nose, surrounded by piles of parchment and chemical bottles with pungent aromas.
Her usually neat silver hair was a mess.
Before her, a magic microscope was still glowing.
”Still wasting your time here?” Azura asked flatly.
Aurelia looked up, the dark circles under her eyes visible in the blue light.
“I could ask the same of you.”
She saw a reflection of herself in Aurelia—a professional who didn’t let emotion interfere with efficiency.
”What is the status of that chemical ‘trash’ in their bodies?”
Aurelia sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of a hand stained with ink.
“The Lethal Joy substance leaves an addictive residue.
Those in critical condition need time for total detoxification.
Or…
an illogical miracle.”
”Miracles are variables for those too lazy to plan,” Azura replied coldly.
”Agreed.” Aurelia adjusted her glasses.
“That’s why I haven’t planned on sleeping yet.”
Azura stared intently at her stepdaughter.
“Those forty-seven people.
Ensure their names are recorded permanently.”
Aurelia raised an eyebrow.
“Arthur has already logged the data.”
”Not just logistical data.
I want them recorded as a reminder,” Azura leaned forward, putting pressure on her voice.
“That the Church almost destroyed this territory.
That the slightest negligence can kill us all.”
Aurelia fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“I will prepare a memorial plaque in the square.”
Azura stood up to leave, but her steps halted in front of Aurelia’s desk.
She reached for a wool blanket from a side drawer—an item she had ordered to be kept there—and draped it over Aurelia’s shoulders in a quick motion.
Aurelia froze, her body tensing.
”Do not fall ill.
You have no utility if you are lying in bed,” Azura said without so much as a backward glance, before stepping out and closing the door with a dull thud.
Inside the room, Aurelia could only touch the edge of the blanket.
The corner of her lips lifted, very slightly, almost invisible.
The night grew deeper, but the candle on Azura’s desk remained lit.
Before her lay the list of forty-seven names.
The black ink looked like scars upon the paper.
She read every name.
Martha, age 9.
The child of the woman in the hall earlier.
Azura stared at that name for a long time.
The candlelight reflected in her cold eyes, reflecting on how fragile the line was between power and ruin.
[System: Boss, you saved thousands of lives today.
Reputation is up, assets are secure.
But you’re staying up just to stare at these 47 names?
Your way of celebrating victory is a bit masochistic.]
”This isn’t a celebration, System.
This is a risk inventory.”
[System: What risk?
They’re just commoners.]
”Remembering every failure is the best way to ensure I will never lose to anyone ever again.”
The candle on the desk finally flickered out.
Azura remained sitting in the thick darkness, with the list of names in her hand, until the sharp light of dawn began to pierce through the gaps in the curtains.