When the first sliver of dawn crept over the soaring spires of Mason Royal City, the entire city seemed to startle awake from its quiet slumber in a single breath.
The grand notice board before the Palace gates had always served as the weathervane of power in Mason.
At this moment, several Royal Guard soldiers in black-and-red uniforms were solemnly affixing an enormous proclamation to its very center — a proclamation sealed with the Black Rose wax emblem.
The specially made sheepskin parchment gave off a faint, pleasant scent of ink in the morning light. The characters were bold and forceful — a work of art penned by the hand of the court historian, Victor.
The proclamation's contents were brief. But every single word carried the weight of a mountain.
[Royal Decree: The Light of the Black Rose Illuminates the Deep Sea]
Blessed by the grace of an undying will, Her Majesty Sophia has, in recent days, achieved the complete conquest of the coastal territory — Avalon.
From this day forward, the ocean is no longer a forbidden land that swallows lives. It is Mason's inexhaustible granary and salt field.
Her Majesty has opened sea-land trade, bringing back Avalon's distinctive sea salt, deep-sea delicacies, and rare treasures.
Effective immediately, the first licensed shop operated by citizens of Avalon City — "Tears of the Sea" — will open for business directly across from the Black Rose Flagship Store.
Citizens of Mason: go and bear witness. Witness the blue frontier Her Majesty has reclaimed for you.
The instant the proclamation was posted, the subjects who had only been out for their morning shopping surged toward the notice board like a rising tide.
Within moments, gasps and sharp intakes of breath erupted one after another, eventually converging into a torrent of frenzied excitement powerful enough to shake the city walls.
"Conquered the ocean? Am I reading this right? That place is a dead void where even legendary heroes lose their way!"
"Wait — what is the ocean?"
"Her Majesty must have walked into Avalon City riding atop a massive wave! Who but a god could make those savage sea-people peacefully hand over their salt?"
"Salt! My great-great-grandfather used to say it's whiter than gold and finer than snow — a sacred substance! And Her Majesty just... opened a shop selling it?"
"Look at the location! Directly across from the flagship store! Her Majesty is telling us that sea salt, just like soap, is a daily necessity she's bestowing upon our lives!"
"One year! Just one year! Her Majesty first pacified Orr, and now she's annexed the ocean... is she going to conquer the sky next?"
"So what IS the ocean?"
"I bet those Avalonians took one look at Her Majesty's golden eyes and immediately fell to their knees in terror and offered up their territory. That is absolute dominance!"
"I don't care about any of that — I'm going to queue up right now! If I'm late, forget seafood — I might not even catch a whiff of sea breeze!"
"Praise Her Majesty Sophia! She's already filled our bellies with wheat, and now she's going to let us taste the flavor of the ocean!"
"So this is what the Order of the Black Rose means? As long as we follow Her Majesty, even the ocean bows its head to us!"
"Did you hear? The carriages that entered the city last night were packed with glowing pearls — all of Her Majesty's spoils of war!"
"Mason's territory is expanding — the best days are still ahead of us! Quick, let's go take a look at that Tears of the Sea shop!"
"The King of Orr spent decades on the throne and never dared venture beyond the inland. Her Majesty's been back for how many days? This is the difference in vision!"
"Mama, what even IS the ocean?"
At that moment, Hailey was hiding in the shadow of the stone pillar behind the notice board, her small hand flying across the page at a furious pace — so forceful she jabbed several tiny holes right through the parchment.
Her Majesty has dropped a bomb called "shock."
The look in the citizens' eyes right now is even more unhinged than Old Grandpa Pierre's was last night.
They've stopped wondering how Her Majesty managed it. They've simply decided: if Her Majesty did it, then it must be a Divine Miracle.
Grandpa Victor's proclamation was so clever — he described Avalon City as Her Majesty's spoils of war. The moment everyone decides the ocean is Her Majesty's rear garden, their pride in this land explodes completely off the charts!
Watching this dense, dark mass of people surging toward that street, I know — if Grandpa Pierre didn't prepare at least ten counters today, he'll probably be trampled flat by enthusiastic Mason citizens.
Meanwhile, Old Pierre was leading a few of his workers, pushing the last cart of sorted goods toward the little stone house.
When he caught sight of the crowd in the distance — dense as a storm cloud, churning toward him with frantic, unstoppable momentum — all the color drained from his weathered face in an instant, and the salt sack in his hand nearly slipped from his fingers.
Lord Delilah said last night that Her Majesty had personally designated this as a prosperous location. I thought she was just... saying that.
Prosperous? This isn't prosperous — this is madness!
The way these Mason people are looking at that shop is like they're staring at a mountain of gold!
How long has it even been since the proclamation went up? A quarter of an hour?
This terrifying speed of information and mobilization...
I, Pierre, have lived all these years, and back in little Avalon City, I was nothing but a man looking at the sky from the bottom of a well.
Your Majesty — you didn't just give us a shop. You've placed us right at the center of a vortex capable of sucking all the wealth in the world dry!
He whipped around, bellowing at the workers behind him like a man possessed.
"Move faster! Straighten those salt sacks! Polish the pearls!"
"Stop standing there gaping!"
"The customers — the customers are about to come crashing in!"
Old Pierre gripped the door frame for dear life, his fingernails digging so deep into the wood grain that the tips went white.
He had mentally prepared himself for a baptism of utter destruction — after all, back in Avalon, the citizens' celebrations after catching a great whale were enough to flip half the harbor upside down.
But the sight before him made his heart skip a full, lurching beat.
The dark mass of citizens had indeed converged upon them — he could even hear the heavy, collective pressure of thousands of breaths pressing forward as one.
Yet at roughly five paces from the little stone house called "Tears of the Sea," that roaring, frenzied flood came to a sudden, complete halt.
No pushing. No one attempting to break down the door.
They simply stood there, eyes wide and brimming with longing, reverence, and curiosity, lined up in neat rows along both sides of the street — and in the center, they had voluntarily left open a perfectly straight passage wide enough for a horse and carriage to pass through.
This... THIS is the real madness!
I thought they weren't interested — but look at those eyeballs practically glued to the salt sacks. They clearly want to swallow this entire building whole.
But they're not moving?
Faced with treasures like these divine miracles, and not a single person steps over the line?
I understand now... this isn't because they don't want to. It's because beneath that Black Rose banner, Order has become these people's instinct.
The girl sitting on that throne isn't just filling their stomachs. She is reshaping these people's very bones.
This kind of civic discipline — neater than any army — sends a chill through me deeper than any tidal wave Avalon has ever known.
Old Pierre wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Without even noticing it, his once-upright spine had gradually curved itself into an arc approaching genuine humility.
Just as the tension in the air was strung so tight it seemed ready to strike sparks, the grand doors of the "Black Rose Flagship Store" directly across the street slowly swung open.
Several figures stepped out into the morning light, silhouetted like characters striding from myth, moving one step at a time down the street that Order itself had divided.
At the very front walked the Queen of Mason — Sophia.
She had changed into a sharply tailored black hunting coat with a fitted waist, draped over it a deep-purple cloak embroidered with Black Roses. Those pale golden pupils radiated an authority in the morning light that no one could bring themselves to look at directly.
To her left, Delilah kept one hand resting on her heavy sword. That impeccably straight high ponytail stood resolute in the wind, and her crimson eyes swept the crowd like radar — no trace of movement could escape her scrutiny.
To her right was Irene, bouncing along with barely contained excitement, fiddling with a strangely shaped metal disc in her hands.
And slightly behind them, calm and capable, Willow carried a thick ledger and was already directing her gaze toward Old Pierre's shop.
As for Daphne — she was most likely still at the West Tower buried among the alchemy furnaces, dark circles forming under her eyes as she ground through the identity cards for every last Avalonian.
Hailey, tucked in the shadow of her stone pillar, was so overcome with excitement that her pen dragged across the parchment with a soft, relentless hiss, her small face flushed a deep red.
Spring. The main boulevard of the Royal City.
Her Majesty has appeared!
The moment she stepped out, those several thousand big-voiced citizens went as silent as cats who hadn't quite woken up.
This is exactly the effect Her Majesty intended.
She doesn't need towering walls to defend herself — because she herself is that wall.
Watching Grandpa Pierre looking like he wants to sink into the earth, I know: the Avalonians have been completely and utterly conquered by the weight of this civilization.
What Her Majesty has brought out today is not an army. It is a way of life!
Sophia came to a stop at the foot of the steps leading up to "Tears of the Sea." The glacial chill that radiated from her nearly buckled Old Pierre's knees entirely.
"Pierre."
Sophia's voice was not loud — but it rang out with perfect clarity across the hushed street.
"Y-Your Majesty! This old servant is here!"
Old Pierre lurched half a step forward and dropped to both knees, his forehead striking the stone slabs with a heavy crack.
"Everything is ready! Every grain of Avalon's salt awaits Your Majesty's inspection!"
Sophia's pale golden pupils swept across the small stone house — narrow, yes, but scrubbed spotless and with its goods arranged in rows so precise they bordered on excessive.
"Delilah tells me you sorted the goods through the night."
The faintest curve touched the corner of Sophia's mouth — barely there, yet it hit Pierre like a man granted a second life.
"It seems you've already come to understand what 'Mason's standards' means."
"Yes! This old servant understands!"
Old Pierre answered with a trembling voice — while inwardly, a tempest raged.
She knows... she knows everything!
Even something as trivial as me sorting goods last night couldn't escape her all-seeing eyes?
Or — from the moment I set foot in the Royal City, has every hair on my body been within her grasp?
She isn't praising me for sorting the goods well. She's telling me: Pierre — your loyalty is the one and only reason I'm letting you watch over this shop.
The moment you harbor even a shred of selfish intent, this prosperous heart of the city will become my tomb in an instant.
Sophia's lips moved slightly. She turned her head and gave a quiet, low-voiced instruction to the two beside her.
The previously solemn Delilah immediately suppressed her killing intent and reached to her waist, producing two specially made firestarter tapers.
Irene let out a delighted whoop, rummaging through her satchel to produce several strangely shaped iron canisters, which she tipped into two dark-teal copper fire basins that had been set out in front of the shop entrance — basins that had been arranged with neat bundles of dry yet lushly green-jointed bamboo.
Crack-crack-crack-crack——!
As the flames licked up to embrace the bamboo, a rapid, crisp, dense volley of splitting pops erupted without warning across the previously silent street.
This ancient, primal sound — carrying within it a force that seemed to scatter shadows and dispel misfortune — bounced and reverberated between the stone-built walls of the boulevard.
In Avalon, the sound of thunder meant tsunami. But in Mason, this noise was the opening overture of prosperity.
The watching citizens seemed to receive some kind of signal. In the very instant of the first pop, there was a single second of perfect silence — and then the whole street erupted in a wave of thunderous applause and cheering.
"Auspicious opening! Praise Her Majesty's generosity!"
"The wealth of the ocean belongs to Mason at last!"
"Look at that fire! That's the roaring prosperity Her Majesty has gifted to the people of the sea!"
The citizens naturally had no understanding of this ceremony at all — it was simply that Irene had done it this way, and explained it to everyone in those terms, and so this tradition, bearing its beautiful meaning, began to take root in everyone's hearts.
Old Pierre had been startled so badly by the sudden thunderous noise that he shuddered from head to toe, instinctively reaching to cover his little granddaughter Nina's ears.
But when he raised his head and saw the Mason citizens — who had been utterly expressionless moments ago — now turning warm, open smiles on him, and saw the nobles who had seemed so "arrogant" now directing gazes of genuine curiosity and respect toward this little stone house, that heart of his, which had shriveled with fear, felt something stir within it: a spring of warmth it could not quite name.
Willow stepped gracefully forward. In the faint, spreading scent of scorched bamboo, she gave Old Pierre a small, composed bow.
"There is no need for alarm, Monsieur Pierre."
Willow's voice was gentle and clear, like a breeze smoothing the surface of the sea.
"This is a ceremony Her Majesty specifically requested. In Mason's tradition, the resonance of fire and bamboo drives away the misfortune of old days. Her Majesty says that you have journeyed so far from Avalon — and this crisp, clear sound is the welcoming salute for the people of the sea, celebrating your new beginning here."
Old Pierre's hands slid slowly down from Nina's ears.
He looked at the dancing flames in the fire basin, then looked back at Sophia — standing on the steps, her gaze cool and indifferent, yet fixed unwaveringly on this place.
This isn't merely sound. This is a baptism.
Her Majesty is using these flames to tell the entire Royal City: these fish-smelling people are now citizens under the Black Rose banner too.
She deliberately had Lord Delilah and Lord Irene light the fire themselves — proclaiming to every onlooker: this small shop is under the protection of royal authority.
She is using this to stand behind us — us rootless Avalonians — and give us her backing.
This all-encompassing benevolence, this grace that seeps into the heart without a sound...
I, Pierre, shouldn't merely earn money for her — I should be willing to grind my old bones into the mortar of this stone house's very walls!
The crackling of the bamboo gradually faded. The glow of the two fire basins lit Old Pierre's weathered face a deep, warm red.
Trembling, he rose to his feet, bowed deeply to Sophia — and then turned around, unleashing his voice in the broad, unpolished timbre unique to Avalon folk, roaring at the crowd of wide-eyed, eager citizens:
"Tears of the Sea... is open!"
"The first fifty customers today get sea salt at half price!"
"Her Majesty's gift — come and grab it, everyone!"
The moment that hoarse shout rang out, the previously motionless order instantly came alive.
With that roar from Pierre, the citizens who had been frozen like stone statues suddenly animated all at once.
Though the hunger in every single pair of eyes was plainly written, no one dared to run in the street — not with the Royal Guards' black musket barrels there to deter them with their cold, silent authority.
The first wave of citizens drew deep, steadying breaths. Maintaining the dignity and restraint of Mason people, they filed in one by one through the not-particularly-wide doors of the little stone house.
Inside the shop, the faintly briny breath of the ocean was instantly swallowed up by body heat and the sharp, excited exhales of its new occupants.
"Oh! Praise Her Majesty! This salt is whiter than snow!"
A large, powerfully built man at the front of the queue trembled as he lifted a small packet of transparent crystals in both hands.
In Avalon, this was a cheap local product. But here in the heartland of Mason — where high-quality refined salt had been scarce for a long time — this was a sacred treasure bestowed by Divine Miracles.
Not that Mason lacked seasonings entirely — but what they had was mostly coarse, rough-ground salt with a poor flavor.
"Give me one bag!"
"No — two bags! I want every loaf of bread in my house to carry a touch of Her Majesty's glory!"
"Me too! And those silver-colored dried fish — those are the ocean's blessing!"
The shelves were immediately surrounded until not an inch remained — yet even in this extreme fervor, the citizens still voluntarily arranged themselves into three lines, coins gripped tight in their fists. Not a single person cut the queue. Not a single person grabbed more than their share.
Look at these people's expressions. The way they buy salt — their movements are as reverent as someone receiving Holy Water at the altar.
In Avalon, salt was simply for survival. But in Mason, every single grain of it has been given the meaning of conquest and devotion.
The purchasing power of these citizens is terrifying — in just a few breaths, the mountain-like pile of salt sacks on the shelves began to collapse.
Her Majesty was right. This isn't an ordinary shop. This is a bottomless pit of wealth — and I am the one who guards the mouth of that pit.
Pierre had by now been completely swamped by the wave of shock and frantic busyness. His hands were shaking from sheer nerves, and for one instant his mind went completely blank — he couldn't even hear the customer in front of him speaking.
"Shopkeeper? Shopkeeper! How much is this bag of sea salt?"
An auntie had already repeated herself three times at the top of her lungs, but Pierre only stared blankly at the surging tide of people, unresponsive.
Just then, a small head quietly peeked out from behind him.
Nina was still a little frightened — but seeing her grandfather standing there at a complete loss, the little girl summoned her courage. She extended three small, pale fingers, her voice ringing out as clear and bright as a water droplet echoing inside a conch shell:
"Three copper coins."
Nina added, quietly but firmly:
"Today is... half-price, by Her Majesty's grace. Just three copper coins."
The auntie blinked — then her face broke into a warm, broad smile. She briskly counted out three freshly polished copper coins and set them on the counter:
"Oh, what a sweet little sea-kitten you are. Here you go — and mind you, this is tax money for Her Majesty!"
With Nina's lead, the previously chaotic checkout process miraculously smoothed itself out.
Pierre came back to himself with a jolt, tears rolling freely down his old face as he began weighing and wrapping, while Nina positioned herself behind the counter like a tiny, industrious little steward, clearly calling out prices in her bright, carrying voice.
Meanwhile, across the street beneath the portico of the Black Rose Flagship Store, Sophia stood and watched all of it in quiet stillness.
Irene was listlessly toying with her metal disc, already wondering idly whether, once there were enough shops, it might be worth building some kind of cash register.
Delilah kept her hand on her heavy sword, crimson eyes still cold — but watching the citizens queue up and make their purchases in perfect order, even that resolute high ponytail relaxed by the tiniest, barely perceptible fraction.
The heat inside the shop threatened to overwhelm Old Pierre entirely — but he had no time to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Those merchant's eyes of his, hardened by a lifetime of watching people scheme against each other, were locked with laser focus on each coin as it landed on the counter —
Real money. Genuine, metal-gleaming, sunlight-catching purchasing power, clinking into existence one coin at a time.
Old Pierre felt himself sinking into a profound, overwhelming sense of unreality.
By all his decades of experience, these commoners in their rough homespun — hands calloused and cracked — should have been the most impoverished, most desperate people in the world. They ought to have been groaning under the weight of forced labor and punishing taxes, every last copper coin sewn into their waistbands and left to grow mold, rather than standing here in orderly lines with serene expressions, casually pulling out coins to purchase "luxuries" like sea salt and dried silver fish.
This isn't right. This defies all logic.
Even in Avalon, aside from a handful of big merchants, who could afford to be this extravagant?
The people of Avalon fish for their own food — and every single basket they pull up still owes taxes to the crown.
But look at these people. They buy a bag of salt like it costs them nothing.
The amounts individually are small — but there are so many of them. These coins, gathered together, are heavier than all the sand in the ocean.
Does gold grow from the soil in Mason? Or has Her Majesty Sophia secretly given every single one of her citizens a private reward?
The suspicion gnawed at Old Pierre like a cat scratching at a wall, impossible to sit still with.
While Nina was cheerfully calling out prices behind the counter, Pierre edged closer to a young Mason girl standing obediently in the queue.
"Hey there, young lady," Old Pierre did his best to arrange his face into a kindly expression, gesturing toward the few copper coins she had clasped in her hand.
"This old man is a little curious — how is it that everyone seems to have quite a bit of spare coin to spend on these new and unusual things?"
The girl tilted her head up to look at him. She had her hair in neat braids, and her eyes sparkled with a bright, unmistakable pride:
"It's savings, old grandpa! Everyone sets a little aside over time!"
She jangled the coins in her hand with a cheerful chime.
"Whether it was helping with the epidemic prevention efforts, or working on Her Majesty's construction and manufacturing projects — anyone who goes and helps Her Majesty gets paid! It's not an enormous amount each time, but Her Majesty says it's the dignity of labor. Day to day we get our grain allocation, so there's not much else to spend on — everyone has a little tucked away by now."
Boom——!
Old Pierre felt as though a thunderclap had detonated inside his skull.
The hand gripping the counter gave a violent jolt, nearly sending the nearby salt sack toppling.
Helping Her Majesty... and you get paid for it?!
Good gods.
In Avalon, when the Queen conscripts her citizens, it is an honor bestowed upon them. They'd be lucky not to have to pay the Palace out of pocket.
In the Kingdom of Orr as I remember it, those bloodsucking officials would squeeze the marrow from a citizen's bones if they could. Forced labor was an obligation — a shackle — a suffering where you brought your own dried rations to build fortresses for the king.
But in Mason, under the rule of Her Majesty Sophia... labor has become income?
She isn't merely ruling. She is using this method to channel the Royal House's wealth back into every smallest cell of the nation — setting the blood of an entire country flowing.
Who calls this woman a queen who summons thunder with her bare hands?
This is clearly — throughout all of history, without peer or precedent — a Girl Sage-Ruler of the ages!
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