The temperature inside the Council Hall seemed to plunge to freezing in an instant.
When those words — to make her the Queen of Mason — trembled out from between the maidservant's lips, the auras of every core minister present underwent a shift that was subtle and violent all at once.
Delilah's knuckles went white around her sword grip, and the crossguard of her broadsword let out a faint metallic groan.
Her gaze cut toward the maidservant like a blade. The vigilance she'd held toward the Leighton situation vanished in an instant, replaced by a nameless, urgent sense of crisis.
Willow's hand — extended with a teacup — stalled in midair for a rare tenth of a second. In those always-unruffled eyes of hers, a flash of something dangerously cold passed through.
As Chief Steward, she would not permit any purposeful "impurity" to reach for a position at Her Majesty's side.
Irene straight-up spat out the candied fruit she hadn't finished chewing. Her pink ponytail practically stood on end with fury, and her sapphire eyes blazed with pure, undisguised are you kidding me.
Daphne paused her own movements as well, brow furrowing slightly — clearly stunned by the sheer audacity of Leighton's new queen.
All of them were inwardly cursing Liliana at exactly the same moment.
Queen?
That Leighton princess — who'd spent barely a few days in Mason and only ever managed to skim the surface of Her Majesty's methods — actually dared to use the pretext of a vassal alliance to grasp for a position standing shoulder to shoulder with Her Majesty?
On what grounds?
On the strength of that half-emptied private treasury? Or on the merits of her pathetic little coup?
Her Majesty is the sole Order of the Black Rose — the undimming moonlight of Mason.
Any attempt to introduce a political marriage into this unspoiled realm is a desecration of that silver light!
Just as everyone's thoughts were churning, each person straining to speak up yet fearing to overstep, Sophia leaned slightly back and sank deeper into the wide throne.
She bore no expression of irritation or deep contemplation. If anything, she looked like someone who had just heard an exceedingly dull joke.
"Queen?"
Sophia's lips parted, and she let out a short, cool laugh — the pale-gold of her pupils drifting in the lamplight with an unnerving chill.
"Liliana's appetite is considerably larger than that hoarder of a father of hers.
We had assumed she was a clever imitator. It turns out she intends to ask Us for the keys to all of Mason."
She pressed the Black Rose seal ring down against the table with one casual hand. It landed with a dull, crisp crack.
"Has she forgotten — even if she never pledges allegiance, the moment We so choose, that black-stone road leading north can become the trench in which the Leighton Royal House is buried."
"You said just now that she is willing to offer her private treasury and acknowledge Us as the hegemon of the north?"
Sophia looked down at the maidservant collapsed on the floor, her tone as flat as if she were discussing what to have for breakfast tomorrow.
"In Mason's logic, what We want has never required anyone to offer it up.
Leighton's resources — We can seize them. We can conquer them. We can take direct control. Whatever chips Liliana holds in her hands are goods We would eventually pocket regardless."
"And she actually tried to use things We could claim on Our own to buy herself a seat capable of disrupting Mason's Order?"
The corners of Sophia's lips curved into an arc of pure, glacial disdain.
"How thoroughly... presumptuous."
The maidservant raised her head in disbelief, as if she'd been struck by lightning.
In those pale-gold eyes, she found not a single flicker of desire for the title "Hegemon of the North." Not a shred of greed for that half-treasury of jewels.
All she found was — indifference.
She's insane... every single person in this country is insane.
Queen Liliana had been willing to bear the infamy of a usurper to engineer this political marriage. She thought she had been ruthless enough, bold enough.
And yet, in the presence of that silver-haired girl, that boldness had just been appraised as nothing more than surface imitation?
When she said she'd simply conquer Leighton outright, her tone was like someone discussing a crumbling old wall that needed patching.
This composure — treating the rise and fall of kingdoms as trivial things, this confidence that the power of the world was already hers for the taking — this was what true divine revelation looked like.
So it turns out: everything Queen Liliana had been desperately emulating was nothing but the scraps Her Majesty Sophia had casually discarded.
I have clearly walked into the temple of a cold-faced deity.
At that moment, little Hailey was pressed behind the heavy velvet curtains, her pen flying across parchment fast enough to leave afterimages.
While Willow busied herself maintaining order and attending to Her Majesty up front, Hailey's task was to engrave each of these breathtaking moves into Mason's historical record:
Spring. Deep in the night. Council Hall.
Her Majesty has initiated the epic-tier story arc hereby titled: Kings Bow Their Heads!
That queen from Leighton must have been dreaming. She actually thought she could share Her Majesty's throne.
Sister Delilah's sword practically caught fire, and Sister Willow was pouring tea with an expression like she wanted to freeze that maidservant solid.
I understand now! The reason Her Majesty has been staring at the map all this time is because she was waiting for these jumping clowns to leap out on their own.
Liliana hasn't even mastered Her Majesty's basics, and she wants to be Queen?
When Her Majesty said she'd just conquer their whole country directly — that was so incredibly cool!
Olan, the Imperial Capital — in the end, they'll all become stepping stones beneath Her Majesty's throne.
Sophia rose from her seat. Moonlight spilled across her silver hair, rendering her like a divine statue holding dominion over fate.
"Take her away. Hand her to Bardess."
Sophia's voice resonated through the Council Hall with an unquestionable gravity.
"Tell Liliana — We have no need for a queen at Our side.
What We wish to bring in, We will go and claim Ourselves.
As for the steps leading to the Imperial Capital — We will climb them Ourselves."
As those offhand words fell, the war-resolve of the entire Royal City quietly hardened in that instant — more unyielding than cement.
As the maidservant was led away by Bardess, the killing pressure within the Council Hall did not disperse. If anything, the silence of the one seated at the head deepened it further.
Sophia walked unhurriedly to the long table. Willow, with perfect intuition, swept away the remaining teacups.
Sophia extended her slender fingers, pressed down on a scroll of yellowed parchment lying on the table's surface, and shoved it aside with force.
With a dry, sweeping rustle, a vast map — dense with markings, lines, and shaded regions — unfurled beneath the lamplight.
This was the complete topographic survey of Leighton's borders that Delilah had painstakingly scraped together over the past several months, deploying her finest scouts and risking discovery by border sentinels, piece by piece.
On the map, the Kingdom of Leighton resembled a basin cradled on all sides by mountains.
To the north: a continuous fault-line range, with the only entry point being a narrow valley called the Iron Throat. To the south: marshlands permanently shrouded in mist.
"Although it's only a rough outline, Leighton truly is a hard bone covered in barbs," Sophia said.
Her fingertip traced the length of the Iron Throat, her gaze cool and clear.
"Your Majesty, the elites I dispatched reported that Leighton's border fortresses are built into the mountainside, with extremely short supply lines.
Although Mason's soldiers now surpass Leighton's old-world noble private armies in Order and armament, a direct assault would inevitably devolve into a prolonged war of attrition.
Leighton's men could crouch behind rocks shooting arrows, while our cement wagons and supply convoys would waste half a year of the kingdom's fortune on those muddy mountain passes."
Sophia's gaze settled on the shadow marked "Olan" on the map — where the lines were more chaotic and violent.
"A direct assault on Leighton is not impossible to win. It simply isn't worth it."
Sophia turned. Her moon-white silk robe traced a cold arc in the lamplight.
"Since Olan is already making moves against the Imperial Capital, at this moment every eye on the continent is fixed on this northern border region."
Her voice became exceptionally rational and frigid:
"If We were to swallow Leighton in a great, conspicuous show of force right now — what would those self-proclaimed righteous Imperial observers think?
They would believe Mason is exploiting chaos for its own gain. They might even suspect that We have struck some secret pact with Olan — that We are dismantling the Empire's shields from south and north simultaneously."
"What We want is Order — not the title of a tyrant isolated by the entire continent."
Sophia pointed in the direction that represented the Imperial Capital.
"The moment the Imperial Capital concludes that Mason is Olan's ally, what awaits Us will no longer be Avalon's ingredients and Leighton's trade — it will be the Empire's extermination order.
The black-stone road We labored so hard to build is absolutely not meant to serve as a guide for the Empire's heavy cavalry."
Willow's gaze fell on the lowered lashes of Sophia's eyes.
Holy spirits above... is this Her Majesty's foresight?
All we see is the taking of cities and territory. What Her Majesty sees is the balance of power across the entire continent.
Her Majesty deliberately refused Liliana's queen request not only to preserve the purity of Order, but also to distance herself in name from that usurper.
If she were to accept Leighton now, Mason would be branded as a supporter of traitors and rebels — and might even become the scapegoat the Imperial Capital uses to deflect its own tensions.
Her Majesty is protecting Mason's just-budding prosperity from being scorched by the fires of those ambitious men.
Delilah stared at the map. The hand that had been gripping her sword hilt slowly released.
I was still too impulsive...
In my previous life, Olan rose precisely by exploiting the small nations around it tearing each other apart.
If Mason were to sink into the quagmire of Leighton right now, Olan would absolutely use that as a pretext — marching under the banner of restoring order to harvest the surrounding territories.
Her Majesty isn't merely refusing a queen. She is refusing a massive diplomatic trap.
She intends to let Leighton descend into its own chaos — to let Liliana come crawling to her.
Only when the people of Leighton themselves understand that they have no path forward other than the Black Rose's protection will that land willingly transform into a province of Mason.
This is called... defeating the enemy without fighting.
— — —
Before the first ray of morning light had fully dissolved the thin mist outside the Council Hall, two top-secret letters — each sealed with dark-gold Black Rose wax — were already being escorted by the most elite light cavalry, galloping off separately toward the City of Hill and that city of Avalon deep within the blue haze.
Sophia stood on the terrace. Her silver hair drifted gently in the breeze, and her pale-gold eyes looked down over the Royal City gradually waking below.
She knew: when these two letters reached their destinations, Mason's enormous machine would formally shift from construction mode into strategic defense mode.
The City of Hill was not merely the crossroads leading to Olan and Leighton. It was a line of defense standing before Mason's heart.
With the departure of the messengers, a transport convoy composed of hundreds of heavy wagons also rolled out of the city gates in a grand procession.
The wagons carried not grain, but sack after sealed sack of Black Rose Cement.
When Vasha, the lord of the City of Hill, broke open that letter, a wave of cold resolve washed over her.
"Her Majesty intends to transform the City of Hill into an eternal fortress?
War... Her Majesty is protecting us to the maximum in preparation for the war to come."
Vasha read the detailed fortification plans within the letter, and her reverence for Sophia climbed to a new high.
In Her Majesty's eyes, the City of Hill was no longer merely a tax checkpoint. It was being remade into an iron nail capable of lodging in the throat of any would-be conqueror.
That gray mortar, under Her Majesty's will, would weld every city brick into an indestructible whole.
This vast convoy required no additional heavy military escort.
Because on this road leading to the City of Hill, the bandits and vagrant armed groups that had once sent merchant convoys fleeing in terror had already — after Delilah's sweep months ago, swift as an autumn wind scattering dead leaves — become nameless piles of dry bones.
In Mason now, the shadow of Order extended over every last thicket.
The people even dared to walk the gravel roads alone in the dead of night, for they knew: beneath the Black Rose banner, no act of violence dared challenge Her Majesty's law.
Far away at the continent's edge, the city of Avalon could not be touched by any sudden flames of war — but in Sophia's plans, it was the final fallback of the entire game, and its most unshakeable bottom card.
The letter sent to Marlena used the sparest of language, yet it radiated a pressing urgency that left no room to breathe.
Stockpile... stockpile as much as possible.
Marlena stared at those directives concerning the drying of seafood and the deep-burial of grain reserves, and felt her eyelid twitch.
Is Her Majesty foreseeing a famine that will sweep the entire continent?
Avalon's inexhaustible deep-sea crabs, fish, and premium shellfish were being processed — under Her Majesty's orders — into dried goods that could be preserved for years without spoiling.
Every grain of wheat sown in those newly cultivated terraced fields seemed to carry with it the flavor of a holy crusade.
Her Majesty is stitching up the stomach of the earth.
When the world trembles in the fires of war and wails in hunger, Avalon will become the sharpest bread-sword in Her Majesty's hand.
She has long since seen through to the essence of war — the last ones standing are always those whose bellies are the fullest.
At that moment, Bardess was seated in the archive room of the Administrative Hall, her fingers flying as she calculated the losses of cross-city transport.
Staggering...
Her Majesty isn't only reinforcing the City of Hill — she's filling the granary bags.
She deliberately let Leighton cause havoc over there. In truth, she's using this window of time to complete the full internal circulation loop across all of Mason.
While those other nations are still squabbling over the terms of the Aurora Covenant's agreement, Her Majesty has already completed every material reserve an empire requires for a wartime footing.
This resource mobilization spanning hundreds of miles, this near-merciless compression of time — this is truly the handiwork of a god.
I must register every grain of salt being transported to Avalon in the ledger. I cannot fail Her Majesty's grand design that treats the whole world as a chessboard.
The Royal City's arrangements rippled outward like waves, spreading to the villages and towns all around.
Even as those wagon-loads of cement and dried provisions were dispatched toward the borders, squads of dark-armored soldiers with sharp, keen eyes — bearing Sophia's personal imperial decrees — quietly moved into every natural village under Mason's governance.
This was not a garrison deployment. It was a special exercise personally set in motion by Sophia, one she called Strengthening the People.
In springs past, the people had spent the agricultural off-season huddled in dark earthen houses repairing tools.
But this year, the empty ground at every village entrance rang with synchronized battle cries.
The soldiers did not teach the people complex military formations. Instead, Delilah had personally distilled the teachings down to a few lethal moves — the Three Killing Strikes: how to use the hoe in hand to precisely hook and break an enemy's ankle, how to drive a defensive short blade into the gap in heavy armor in the shortest possible time.
The veteran instructors bellowed:
"Stand your ground, every last one of you!
Her Majesty said it herself — Mason doesn't feed spineless softies!
If the enemy comes, what you're holding isn't a stick — it's Mason's dignity!
And if you can't even protect your own family and children, you don't deserve to drink a drop of that fresh fish soup from Avalon!"
The people had no knowledge of Olan's shadow looming in the distance, no knowledge of the Aurora Covenant's ambitions — but that didn't stop them from understanding Her Majesty's painstaking efforts in the most pure and fervent way they knew.
"Her Majesty must be worried that our good lives will soften our bones.
This kind of fighting know-how is secret palace knowledge — we're the ones getting the bargain here!"
"What 'strengthening the body' — I reckon Her Majesty is washing our very marrow clean! Once we've trained up, one of us will be worth two soldiers from the neighboring kingdoms.
Her Majesty wants every person in Mason to be a general. That's called... a foundation for ten thousand generations!"
"Other lords are scared of us having the strength to rebel. Our Majesty is scared we won't have the skill to survive.
A ruler who actually treats us like human beings — even if there's a real war, I'd charge out ahead of the soldiers to take a blade for her!"
"Her Majesty built solid roads, gave us solid grain, and now she's giving us solid bones.
Mason — it's turning into a wall of copper and iron growing straight out of the ground."
The warm spring sun spilled across the official road leading to the Royal City, and a grand convoy was pressing steadily forward against the gentle breeze.
Dozens of heavy wagons linked together into a long dragon, their wheels grinding against the half-hardened road surface with low, solid thuds.
The mules and horses pulling the carts snorted and stamped their hooves with crisp, vigorous cracks.
The fragrance of earth in the air had been replaced by a unique, briny, ocean-fresh scent.
Those were dozens upon dozens of wagons piled with wind-dried, dehydrated treasures of the deep sea.
Old Pierre sat atop the leading wagon, which was cushioned with thick padding, turning an unlit pipe in his fingers. Those eyes — creased with wrinkles yet unusually sharp — swept across the neat furrows lining both sides of the road.
Behind him: a full fifty wagons of premium dried seafood, personally addressed and destined for the Palace cold storage.
Dried scallop flesh sun-cured to the color of translucent amber. Dried silver beltfish trussed harder than iron. Dehydrated shrimp. Basket upon basket of deep-sea crab pieces cured through with coarse salt.
And at the very tail end of the convoy: three to five wagons of private goods that Old Pierre had procured at his own expense — his stake for turning a handsome profit at Mason's trade square.
"Grandfather, we've traveled a full day faster than last year!" said the girl seated beside Pierre.
She was his granddaughter Nina — her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, her skin bronzed to a healthy wheat-gold by the sea wind. At that moment she was fiddling with a piece of dried scallop in her hand, her eyes brimming with wonder.
"The road isn't even fully finished yet, and the carriage glides like it's skating on ice.
By the time our Mason grows even stronger, every road will be this good — Her Majesty will see to it."
Old Pierre let out a hearty laugh and patted the gray-white hardened surface along the wagon's edge:
"Nina, this is Her Majesty's method.
An ordinary lord thinks about how to empty the pockets of the people before a war. But our Majesty... she's fitting this land with iron bones."
A young man in the convoy walking alongside the wagons wiped sweat from his brow and couldn't help cutting in:
"Boss, I heard they're already teaching the people combat training back in the Royal City.
And here in Avalon City we're fishing like mad too.
I just don't get it — the world's at peace. Why is Her Majesty in such a rush?"
Old Pierre's smile faded. His gaze grew deep and reverent:
"At peace?
Boy, what you see is the calm on the surface. What Her Majesty sees is a tsunami a hundred miles out.
You think this road was built just to make our cargo run faster?
Wrong!
This is so that when that moment comes, the grain and supplies from the south can fill the northern storehouses within days.
Her Majesty has us hauling dried goods because dried goods keep long and pack tight.
Every cart of salted fish on a battlefield is the lives of a hundred soldiers!
Her Majesty is using Order and cement to stitch all of Mason into an iron mass that can't be broken.
To follow a ruler who can see the future — we've truly lived a life worth living."
Nina glanced back at the few wagons of private goods at the rear, wrapped tight in canvas, and asked quietly:
"Grandfather, all those private goods we brought — if a war really breaks out, will we still be able to sell them for a good price?"
Old Pierre shook his head. A crafty curve touched the corner of his mouth:
"Good price?
No — we'll sell low. We'll practically give them away to the road-building crew chiefs.
Nina, remember this: in Mason, gold coins are just stones. The only real treasure is Her Majesty's trust.
That princess Liliana can stir up as much trouble as she likes in Leighton — she's only ever learned Her Majesty's surface.
As long as we keep hold of this Black Rose's root, no matter how the world turns, the Pierre family's rice bowl will forever be made of gold."
Nina listened to her grandfather's philosophically weighted counsel, blinking with a half-understanding expression, those obsidian-bright eyes reflecting the spring scenery rushing past on both sides of the official road.
For her, the complex logic of politics and warfare was still too distant a thing.
Right now, in this moment, her heart had already leapt across hill after hill and flown straight to that magnificent, towering Royal City.
There, radiant as the sun itself — the kind of radiance that made her hold her breath every time she thought of it — was Her Majesty Sophia.
And there too was that little sister around her own age, always clutching a notebook and scribbling away — little Hailey.
"I wonder just how many interesting things Hailey's little head has recorded this time."
Nina thought this with a warm sweetness, and unconsciously reached up to touch the delicate whistle tucked against her chest — crafted from polished deep-sea shells.
It was the gift she had specially prepared for Hailey. One soft blow, and it would ring out with a sound as clear and bright as a seagull beating its wings.
As the convoy officially entered the heartland of the City of Hill, the sheer scale of the procession could no longer be concealed.
Or rather — Old Pierre had never had any intention of keeping a low profile.
Atop each of those heavy wagons, Black Rose banners snapped and crackled in the wind.
That flag was the most powerful talisman in existence. In Mason today, anyone brazen enough to harbor ill intentions toward a Black Rose convoy had already — under Delilah's hand — become nameless dry bones, or been made into the perpetually toiling labor of the mines in the rear hills.
All along the roadside, people who had been working in the fields put down their tools, leaned on their iron spades, and craned their necks toward this endless procession.
"Look! That's the Avalon City convoy!
Those markings... that's definitely something for Her Majesty!"
"Good lord, how many wagons is that?
I can smell it... that briny smell of the sea!
Has Her Majesty hauled all the treasures of the ocean over here?"
"Whatever it is, as long as it's Her Majesty's, it's good fortune for all of Mason.
Look at those horses — every one of them fat and strong. Looks like Avalon City has been governed into a paradise under Her Majesty's hand."
There was no longer any trace of the old fear of powerful authority in the people's eyes. In its place was a kind of almost boundless pride and curiosity.
To them, every wagon-load of supplies heading to the Royal City was proof of Mason's ever-rising national strength.
When the convoy passed the City of Hill — where the first phase of city wall reinforcement had just been completed — Old Pierre cheerfully rapped on the lord's mansion door.
He did not unload all his private goods outright. With seasoned expertise, he sold only a single full wagon of wind-dried deep-sea crab legs and mixed fish jerky.
In an instant, the City of Hill's market erupted.
Those dried goods carrying a foreign, ocean-fresh aroma were — to the inland-dwelling people who had never known anything else — an offering from the divine realm.
In less than an hour, the entire wagon had been snapped up. Several of the wealthier merchants nearly came to blows in the street over the last basket of crab meat chunks.
"Grandfather, we still have so many private goods left. Why not sell more?"
Nina glanced back at those wagons wrapped tight in canvas, and asked with some puzzlement.
Old Pierre tucked away the heavy coin purse, and a sly wink crossed his face:
"Nina — this is what you call getting a taste of the world.
The City of Hill is a hub. We sold this one wagon to make sure every merchant passing through here knows: Mason now has the finest seafood in the entire world.
But the real big spenders are over there —"
He pointed his pipe toward the Royal City on the horizon.
"The people there have been given work by Her Majesty, their pockets are full of spending money, and their appetites are far larger than anything you'd find here.
We have to save the very best flavors for the lords and ladies of the Royal City.
As for the City of Hill — we pass through here every single trip anyway, so we'll sell here every time without fail."
The convoy rolled slowly out of the City of Hill's jurisdiction and continued pressing on toward the Royal City.
When Withered Willow Town — which had once been desolate with drought — appeared on the horizon, Old Pierre habitually squinted, searching instinctively for the barren, scorched yellow he remembered.
But what met his eyes made the hand holding his pipe tremble faintly.
In this small, sparsely populated town that should have been forgotten by the times, the sounds of sharp shouts and the clacking of wooden staves rose and fell without cease.
Beneath an old willow tree that had already put out fresh buds, dozens of people who had once looked gaunt and haggard were now lined up in neat rows, working up a sweat under the supervision of two dark-armored soldiers, drilling lethally precise stabbing techniques.
Holy spirits above... even a place like Withered Willow Town hasn't been left behind?
The lords of old would only conscript farmers as arrow fodder to throw at the battlefield when war came.
But Her Majesty... she is actually placing the means of survival directly into these commoners' hands in a time of peace.
This isn't a conscription drive. This is fitting all of Mason with a layer of thorned skin.
Her Majesty is a sun — and her light shines not only on the glorious Palace, but even into these dim, damp corners, offering them equal dignity and strength.
To serve a ruler with such far-seeing eyes — I, Pierre, have truly lived a life worth every last moment.
Old Pierre was not stingy. He had Nina carry down a crate of salted fish jerky and gifted it to the training people and the soldiers who were so earnestly instructing them.
He received the thanks of both the people and the soldiers, and Old Pierre felt a swelling pride in his chest.
Then, with a heart filled with even deeper reverence, he set foot once more on the open, smooth road leading toward the Royal City.
When the heavy convoy finally came to a stop on the mirror-smooth cement surface of the Palace Square, that sense of order — like something out of a dream — plunged the entire Avalon merchant convoy into an eerie silence.
A moment later, the doors of the Council Hall opened. Old Pierre, guided by Willow, stepped into that sacred hall carrying the cool fragrance of fir wood.
Sophia sat upright in the carved wooden chair, her moonlit silver hair shimmering with a sacred radiance beneath the faint lamplight.
She tilted her head slightly, and those pale-gold eyes came to rest on Old Pierre's weather-worn face. Her voice was as clear and cool as a mountain spring:
"Pierre — the journey must have been hard on you."
Thud.
Old Pierre had practically dropped to his knees before the sound even registered, his forehead lightly touching the cold marble floor, his voice trembling with emotion he could not contain:
"In reply to Your Majesty!
To transport supplies for the Black Rose is the eternal honor of this humble family!
It was not hard... not hard at all!
To walk upon the road of miracles that Your Majesty has laid — this servant feels every single minute to be a witness to a Divine Miracle!"
She told us the journey was hard...
This cool, quiet acknowledgment — it weighs more heavily than ten thousand gold coins.
She needs no words of praise. She only needs to sit there, and it is enough to make every person who fancies themselves clever offer up their very soul.
What I've brought back is not just dried fish — it is Avalon's absolute and unshakeable loyalty.
This feeling of being seen by the sun... it truly makes an old man on the edge of the grave burn with the desire to keep on living.
Sophia gave a faint nod and indicated to Willow to receive the cargo manifest:
"Settle your convoy in. Your original shop location has already been held for you.
Rest tonight. Tomorrow you are permitted to begin selling."
"This servant gives thanks for Your Majesty's great grace!"
Old Pierre kowtowed once more, and then — beneath Nina's curious gaze — backed out of the Council Hall step by step.
By now, news had already grown wings and spread to every corner of the Royal City's streets.
"Look! Old Mister Pierre is back!
The wagons are so heavily loaded — there's definitely that strange-smelling Avalon crab inside!"
"I was dreaming about the taste of seafood soup just last night.
Ever since that one taste last time, the oatmeal porridge at home hasn't had any flavor at all. Tomorrow morning I'm going to line up first!"
"I heard he brought a lot of dried goods this time — those are what Her Majesty had stored up for us to get through winter.
Look at that Black Rose emblem — now that's a sight to behold!"
"I heard the Avalon people are short on crops. Once the stuff from my fields ripens, I'm thinking about sending some to Avalon to sell — might earn a fair few copper coins too!"
"Never mind that for now — better think about how to get your name on the list for Her Majesty's next livestock distribution!"
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