In what felt like a haze, five months slipped by. Tensions within the capital swelled with each passing week. The king's assassination was publicly announced, and the people were told the unthinkable—that it was none other than the princess who had dealt the fatal blow.
Her whereabouts remained unknown. Some believed she had perished in the chaos, others claimed she had fled the kingdom. Search parties scoured the land for any trace of her, but to no avail.
In the meantime, with the throne still empty, the pressure to restore order and stability grew unbearable. The kingdom needed a ruler—if not for justice, then at least to give the masses some peace of mind.
The council soon convened, and by popular vote, Prince Reneal was chosen as the next king. A coronation ceremony was held, during which he was officially bestowed the title of Crowned Prince.
However, until he was deemed ready to shoulder the full weight of the throne, Grand Chancellor Cassius would continue to govern the realm, serving as both regent and mentor to the young heir.
The citizens were largely satisfied with the arrangements—especially with the invasion of Wavecrest Port being postponed until order and stability returned to the realm. While the common folk were complacent, the same couldn't be said about the aristocracy.
After a harrowing encounter with the Absolution Guild, Viscount Palisson had warned the court that the threat was no bluff. Agents of the dark guild had effortlessly disabled his guards and driven a blade clean through his hand—a chilling message of what awaited those who weren't of sound heart and mind.
Not long after his grim declaration, Palisson vanished without a trace. His wife and children were still at the estate, and none of their assets had been touched—indicating he hadn't fled. He was presumed dead, joining the growing list of casualties alongside Ignatius. Several other aristocrats had also gone missing under similarly mysterious circumstances.
The revelation spread like wildfire through noble circles, and fear gripped the aristocracy like a malignant virus. Paranoia flourished, and in their desperation, many grew careless. This unrest, of course, proved invaluable to Daisuke and the others.
The city of Lunarel was encircled by water. Three concentric islands formed its heart, each linked by a network of arched bridges. At the very center stood the innermost island, home to the palace and mausoleum.
Surrounding it was the second island, a serene enclave reserved for the nobility, adorned with lavish manors and manicured gardens.
The outermost and largest island housed the bustling districts of the common folk—markets, inns, workshops, and homes sprawled across its lively streets. Beyond the outer ring, many nobles laid claim to acres of fertile farmland that stretched along the city's outskirts, feeding both their coffers and the people within.
Using Midnight's shadow skills and the intel extracted from each noble they captured, Daisuke, Lumielle, Lyndoria, and Leopold pushed forward in their search for the mastermind behind the corruption that had seeped into the city.
Leopold repurposed an old, abandoned building in the slums into a makeshift prison. There, he kept watch over the captured nobles—each one interrogated and held until the time came when proper order was restored and they could be formally tried for their crimes.
Alas, most of the aristocrats knew little beyond the names of other nobles who had also fallen from grace and pulled into the fold. They accepted the benefits of loyalty without asking too many questions.
As for the royal courtiers, Tiberian Evermere—the Warden of the Gates—was among the first officials they approached. Unlike many, he hadn't bent to corruption and was visibly relieved to learn that Lumielle was still alive.
"I never lost faith," the man said, dropping to one knee with his head bowed in reverence. "I prayed to Goddess Seraphina for your protection. It fills my heart with joy to see you safe and well."
Lord Tiberian's loyalty was just. He proved it without hesitation by aiding in the capture and imprisonment of Varrick Merrowind—the Lord General of the realm, who had turned traitor.
With Varrick removed from power, the military lost much of its coordination and edge. This shift made it significantly easier to track down aristocrats who attempted to flee as the pressure continued to mount.
The next target was Evander Wynthall—the beady-eyed Keeper of the Seals. Fortunately, his obsessive-compulsive tendencies had driven him to transcribe copies of the court's official records and store them at his private estate. While this was a serious offense under normal circumstances, it proved to be a fortunate stroke of luck.
In one of the duplicate ledgers detailing the kingdom's income and expenditure, there were records showing budgets for charity work, donations, and tax relief efforts.
Lumielle's eyes narrowed behind her wolf-shaped mask as her gloved fingers flipped through the thick pages of the ledger. The light of the mana lantern overhead cast a blue glow over the neatly recorded columns of coin allocations and supply deliveries—donations made to orphanages, churches, infirmaries, and charitable houses.
On the surface, everything looked meticulous. But as she read deeper, a cold knot began forming in her stomach.
"…Half of these places don't exist," she murmured.
Lyndoria, standing at her side, leaned over to glance. "What?"
Lumielle's voice was low and tightly controlled. "I've participated in almost every major charity initiative since I was a child. I don't recognize more than half of these establishments." Her gaze stopped on one line in particular. "Twinkle Orphanage… it's listed here as still receiving monthly donations. But, according to Sister Aeliana, that hasn't been the case for more than six months."
The princess turned slowly, her gaze settling like ice on the quivering figure slumped on the floor. Evander had already been roughed up, sweat matting his graying hair, lips bruised and trembling. He instinctively scooted back as Lumielle approached, though he had nowhere left to go.
"Why?" She asked, her voice low but thunderous in presence. "Why are you authorizing blatant acts of fraud and embezzlement?"
"I-I—" Evander looked around wildly for help that would never come.
Lyndoria's dagger gleamed beneath his chin. "Answer the question," she asserted, her voice dry and unforgiving.
"I-It's not what it looks like!" He squealed. "I-I swear, I never even read most of it! I didn't care what the records said or where the funds went—I just wanted them logged! Properly! Chronologically! Catalogued!"
There was a brief silence.
"…Seriously?" Daisuke muttered from behind his mask. "All that… just to satisfy his OCD?"
Leopold—a towering man in an adorable bunny mask—gave a slow shake of his head, arms crossed in disappointment.
Evander's eyes flicked to each of them in turn, full of pathetic desperation. "E-Even though I was forced to do it, I don't care about the Mhaledictus! Or any rebellion! I didn't want power! I just… I just wanted to organize!"
Lumielle's lip curled in disgust. "You allowed the kingdom's resources to be siphoned for years… all for the sake of a clean ledger."
Evander whimpered, trembling as the cold metal of Lyndoria's blade tickled his throat again. "I-I'm sorry!"
"Pitiful," Lyndoria muttered.
Alas, aside from logging information and affixing the Great Seal, Evander didn't know… or care, to know much about the treachery that was eroding the royal treasury.
Though he claimed neutrality and denied supporting any political agenda, the truth remained—he had known about the corruption and chose to look the other way. That, in and of itself, was an act of treason. And so, he too was arrested and imprisoned.
***
Master of Coin, Sylas Duskrow.
The monocle on his face cracked as his head was pinned between Daisuke's boot and the hard, unforgiving floor. If not for Midnight's mark, tracking him down would've been a nightmare.
He hadn't taken refuge at the palace, his estate, his cottage, or even his farmland. Instead, he was hiding out in an off-record cabin acquired through a shady backdoor deal.
It was bad enough the man had been so elusive—but to make matters worse, he'd tried to fight back. Aggressive, sharp-tongued, and cunning, it was clear he hadn't climbed the ranks on charm alone. Deals, manipulation, calculated pressure, and intimidation must've paved his rise to the title of Master of Coin.
Daisuke's eyes shimmered gold, a silent fury swelling within them. His presence surged like a Lipanthyer's roar. Unlike Sylas, it wasn't just an intimidating aura that he boasted. He had the sheer brawn to follow through.
As his boot ground into the bastard's skull, enhanced by the pressure of his Intimidation skill, Sylas's composure shattered and it wasn't long before he confessed what he knew.
And it was deeply unsettling.
What was described was a political money laundering machine—a perfectly oiled ecosystem that operated in a closed-loop cycle.
Over time, the reach of the Mhaledictus grew. Those who once oversaw certain orphanages, clinics, relief halls, and other establishments were quietly dismissed—discredited, threatened, or simply made to disappear.
In their place rose loyal conformists, individuals who pledged themselves to the Mhaledictus. On paper, it still looked like charity. Donations flowed as they always had—coin, grain, medicine, even mana crystals. But the hands receiving them no longer served the people.
They served corruption.
Each establishment became a node in a larger system. The new overseers kept a portion for their own upkeep—just enough to appear legitimate—but the lion's share was funneled upward. Disguised through falsified reports, duplicate ledgers, and phantom outreach programs, the resources moved cleanly through the network, eventually landing in the pockets of corrupted officials and the vaults of the Mhaledictus.
No flags raised. No questions asked. It was a flawless system.
By this point in the explanation, Leopold had heard enough, and Sylas's intermittent smirks of satisfaction pretty much sent him off the razor's edge. A solid punch to the aristocrat's face had the floor cratering around his head and several of his teeth flying away like dice.