Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended [Part One]

VOLUME IV: SMOLDERING HORIZON | CHAPTER: 108 Political Strife - The Road Ahead

Alaric and his wife shared warm smiles as they watched their son being gently escorted from the dining room by a female servant. But as soon as they were alone, the woman's expression turned grave.

"I've heard Lord Pembroke offered another bribe," she whispered. "Can we really trust him not to resort to violence?"

Alaric held her worried gaze with a calming smile. "Pembroke may be greedy, but he's not naïve. With plans to conquer Wavecrest Port underway, he wouldn't squander resources on a civil war. In any case," he reassured, tenderly cupping the side of her face, "Commander Leopold has the soldiers on high alert, so there's no need to fret."

As dusk descended into night, the guards grew increasingly vigilant under the captain's orders. However, their vigilance proved no match for the stealth and finesse of elite assassins.

With seamless grace, the assailants infiltrated, gliding through the shadows like phantoms. A few soldiers and attendants were unfortunate enough to cross paths with the deadly intruders, meeting their demise swiftly and silently, their lifeless forms discreetly hidden away.

"MMMMMH!" Alaric's eyes shot open in alarm, startled from his slumber by the sudden sensation of someone forcefully covering his mouth.

Instinctively, he cast his gaze to the left, only to find his wife lying cold and motionless beside him on the bed, her blood stark against her pale white skin.

Alaric's scream was muffled by the man's gloved palm, fury surging through his veins. Desperation fueled his attempts to break free, but his struggles were in vain as he found himself pinned down by several other shadows.

The man covering Alaric's mouth shifted his mask slightly to the side, revealing himself as the messenger who had visited earlier. With a twisted grin, he leaned in and whispered, "Lord Ignatius Pembroke sends his regards."

SWISHH!

A sharp blade traced a lethal arc across Alaric's neck.

***

Lunarel's throne room was a marvel of opulence and power, its high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate paintings depicting the kingdom's glorious history. Massive pillars lined the walls, each carved with the sigils of noble houses and crowned with golden capitals that shimmered in the light of the chandeliers overhead. The floor was a mosaic of polished marble, reflecting the light from torches and magic crystals.

At the far end of the room, elevated on a dais, sat the king's imposing throne, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. The king himself was seated upon it, his expression an ungraceful daze. Beside him stood his trusted minister, a shrewd advisor, always close at hand to offer counsel.

Gathered before the throne were the nobles of the realm, garbed in their finest attire. Among them stood the first prince, his posture unimpressive and his eyes meek. The assembled crowd murmured softly among themselves, the anticipation palpable.

The minister leaned in, whispering in the king's ear. As the man straightened, the king raised a hand, and the room fell into a respectful silence.

"Thank you all... for coming on such... short notice," he began in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and far from eloquent. "As... some of you... may already... be aware—"

Anxiety rippled through the gathered dignitaries as the king's words began to slur, his eyelids fluttering, and his body slumping in his chair. Yet, amidst the concerned murmurs, a disturbing number of them wore amused expressions, ominous smiles playing upon their lips. Among them stood a familiar noble with whom Casimir had struck a deal after allowing the man to sample his wares.

As a few clerics and servants rushed to attend to their ruler, the minister stepped forward with a solemn expression, his worry for his monarch evident despite his efforts to maintain composure.

Taking a calming breath, he addressed the room. "Despite our best efforts, the king remains afflicted by a mysterious illness. However, our most brilliant minds are tirelessly working on a cure. In the meantime, I will humbly act as His Majesty's voice."

The prince pursed his lips uncomfortably.

"To expand on the previous statement," the man began gravely, "I regret to inform you that Lord Alaric Beaumont and his family were found dead at their manor last night. We believe it was murder."

Gasps rippled through the congregation, yet once more, the sentiments were divided—some genuinely shocked, others knowingly terrified, and a select few oddly amused.

"And what of his son?" One of the men asked, his eyes trembling with devastation. "Is he alright?"

The minister shook his head sorrowfully. "...I'm afraid he perished along with his parents."

The man lowered his head. "No, that's..."

"..."

"I assure you," the minister began, his expression resolute, "we'll find the monsters responsible for this atrocity and make them and their families pay the ultimate price. The Magical Forensics Guild is already investigating the crime scene. It's only a matter of time before we identify their mana signatures and trace them back to their source.

Unfortunately, as we prepare for war, we cannot address this matter as delicately as we would prefer. With no known relatives to inherit his legacy and his only son lost in the carnage, Lord Beaumont's assets will be transferred to Lord Ignatius Pembroke, by royal decree. This includes his estate and the entirety of the land of Zorno."

Alarmed gasps and accusatory gazes shifted to Ignatius, but he didn't shrink back. Instead, he flashed an ecstatic grin that stoked both anger and fear among the onlookers.

"Lord Beaumont was a good man," the minister explained. "However, his lifestyle and ideologies were quite controversial. He refused to keep slaves and frequently advocated for equality, even working alongside his subjects like a commoner."

"After showing such weakness, it's no surprise he's dead," scoffed one of the men.

"I'd wager my manor he was killed by one of his own peasants," said another. "Those mongrels won't hesitate to bite the hand that feeds them. You have to keep them on a tight leash, or they'll start getting ideas above their station."

The prince clenched his teeth, his fingers tightly balled into trembling fists. Yet, as he felt the suffocating energy radiating from the men around him, he slowly relaxed his grip and averted his gaze, overcome with apprehension.

"Now, now," the minister raised his hand dismissively. "We're not here to cast blame. His Majesty simply wished to inform you of Lord Beaumont's untimely passing and encourage vigilance, as this attack could be a preemptive strike by Wavecrest.

Moreover, I understand some of you may be displeased with the decision to transfer Lord Beaumont's assets, but rest assured, this conclusion was reached after careful consideration.

As many of you know, Lord Pembroke's estate borders Lord Beaumont's, and both are highly regarded as prominent farming entrepreneurs. In contrast to Lord Beaumont, Lord Pembroke has pledged to take a significant number of the surplus slaves and utilize them to cultivate the vast, untapped lands of Zorno.

This initiative will not only resolve the immediate crisis of feeding the slaves until the supply chain is restored, but it will also create new job opportunities for citizens. Moreover, it will strengthen the production of goods for the local market and boost exports abroad.

As we brace for our eastern campaign to besiege the port town of Wavecrest and confront the sea beast obstructing maritime trade, we are in dire need of individuals of Lord Pembroke's caliber. His visionary leadership promises to elevate our kingdom to new heights of wealth and power."

Several of the nobles, previously consumed by fear and uncertainty, now exchanged knowing glances, their expressions betraying an eagerness to receive even a portion of Ignatius's newfound influence. The minister observed them with a raised brow, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.