Ravenna sat comfortably in the cabin of her ship, her gaze fixed on the rolling waves outside the small circular window.

  With a quiet scoff, she muttered to herself, "Ha... It’s absurd how vast the economic gap between peasants and nobles truly is."

  The Ronin family had agreed to pay the astonishing 1,300 mana coins in reparations. It was an amount so immense that a peasant family could toil away for generations and never see even a fraction of it. A single mana coin was already beyond reach for most commoners, yet nobles traded in thousands as if it were mere pocket change.

  She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the document she had signed just hours ago.

  "One thousand three hundred mana coins…" she repeated under her breath, running her fingers along the elegant ink strokes of the agreement.

  The terms had been structured strategically. Instead of demanding full payment upfront, Ravenna had secured her compensation through tax exemptions. Over the next five years, the Ronin family would be exempt from taxing the gambling houses she planned to build in Ronin Town. The amount waived would be deducted from the total sum they owed her.

  On top of that, she had also negotiated a prime piece of land, a location of her choosing—to establish her gambling empire in their territory. It was a win-win for her; not only would she recover the debt, but she would also gain a permanent foothold in the Ronin region’s economy.

  Her lips curled into a satisfied smile.

  “Well… I have 200 mana coins now," she murmured, glancing at the first payment she had received. The Ronin family had paid an initial 200 mana coins upfront, with an additional 50 mana coins set to arrive in the coming weeks—this amount serving as war reparations from the larger debt.

  Of course, she had spent some funds during this trip as well. Three mana coins had gone toward various purchases, leaving her with a net gain of 196 mana coins from this transaction alone.

  Her fingers traced the edges of the parchment as she leaned back, settle in.

  Morgen Dukedom, Kingdom of Estra, Vassal Kingdom to Ancrona Empire, Far South from mainland Ancorna bordering Conley Empire.

  The howling blizzard raged on, thick sheets of snow swallowing the land in a suffocating white haze. Against the merciless storm, a group of soldiers stumbled forward, their breath ragged, their bodies trembling—not just from the cold, but from the terror chasing at their heels.

  Two monstrous orcs—hulking creatures nearly twice the size of a man—let out guttural roars, their powerful legs tearing through the snow as they bore down on their prey. Their crude weapons, massive spiked clubs, were already swinging downward, ready to crush the terrified men beneath them.

  And then—a flash.

  Before the clubs could reach their targets, a silver streak cut through the air with lightning speed. A sickening slice followed, and before the orcs even realized what had happened—their heads were already gone.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The massive creatures tumbled forward, their lifeless bodies crashing into the frozen ground, sending a spray of snow and blood into the air. The soldiers, frozen in shock, barely had time to process what had happened before their savior stepped forward.

  Eugene stood among the fallen monsters, wiping his gleaming sword clean of their tainted blood. His expression remained cold, unaffected by the carnage he had just wrought.

  Seated atop a sturdy warhorse nearby, Prince William observed the scene, shaking his head in a mix of admiration and disbelief. Next to him, another horse—Eugene’s—stood waiting, evidence that the swordsman had dismounted mid-charge just to cut down the beasts in time.

  William let out a chuckle, his breath visible in the frigid air.

  “No matter how many times I witness it, I’m still fascinated by the speed of your swordplay,” he remarked.

  Eugene, already climbing back onto his horse, replied calmly without a hint of pride. “It’s all thanks to the Pendina Flower embedded in my sword, Your Highness. I’ve told you this before.”

  William laughed again, his gaze lingering on the ornate weapon in Eugene’s grasp. “Perhaps, but no one else can handle its magic as effortlessly as you.”

  Eugene offered no response. Instead, his focus shifted to the shadowed silhouette of a dungeon entrance coming into view ahead.

  William sighed. “How long do we have to keep doing this, Eugene? You told me something important would happen, but for the past month and a half, all we’ve done is kill magical beasts. I understand that securing this dungeon helps stabilize the dukedom, and I know it bolsters my reputation… but—”

  Eugene cut him off, his voice unwavering.

  “Just a little longer, Your Highness. Once we reach the second floor today, the truth will be revealed.”

  William exhaled through his nose, frustration evident. He wasn’t blind—he knew the political game that was being played.

  Prince Landon had somehow managed to convince the Council of Vassal States to mobilize the Imperial Army. However, the task of leading the operation had fallen onto William.

  Landon was gaining the political merit for rallying the imperial army into vassal states region. Meanwhile, William was here in the freezing wasteland, knee-deep in blood and snow, doing the dirty work.

  Of course, Emperor Andrew had arranged for this outcome. The people’s champion, they had called William, ever since he dismantled several underground black markets in the capital. The Emperor had seized the opportunity and declared that, since William was already in the region, he should personally lead the dungeon operation. This was clearly his way of evening out the playing field since William was gaining too much of a stronghold in the capital.

  And yet… Eugene had predicted all of this.

  It was Eugene who had insisted they attend the council meeting in the first place. It was Eugene who had foreseen how the game would play out. And so, despite his mounting exhaustion, William chose to believe in him.

  “Fine,” William muttered, gripping the reins of his horse.

  Together, they descended into the dungeon once more—for what felt like the thousandth time in the past month.

  Meanwhile in the north estate, Jola island

  The North Estate’s courtyard was filled with people, the air heavy with an uneasy silence. Hundreds of slaves stood gathered under the open sky, their expressions a mix of confusion, uncertainty, and wary hope.

  Among them stood Bradon and his family, their eyes fixed on the makeshift stage at the center of the courtyard. The wooden platform, hastily constructed yet sturdy, was where a single figure now stood, facing the crowd.

  Marie. She could feel their eyes on her—hundreds of them—each gaze heavy with expectation. She clenched her fists, her palms damp with sweat, and forced herself to stand tall.

  This was her moment. Ravenna had given her guidelines, a few key points that needed to be addressed, but the speech itself—the words, the tone, the delivery—was entirely up to Marie. And that realization only made the weight on her shoulders heavier.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs as she swallowed the lump in her throat. This was nothing like her past as a slave. She had never spoken before a crowd like this, never been the voice of change for so many people.

  But Ravenna trusted her. That alone gave her the courage to push forward.

  Marie took a deep breath, steeling herself, before raising her voice over the murmuring crowd.

  “Hello, everyone.”