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

CHAPTER 247: The Memorial Ceremony

The royal palace gleamed like a polished gem under the twilight sky. On the ground level, the courtyard teemed with commoners. The flames of torches flickered at the edges, fighting back the encroaching darkness and the chill night's air.

Wooden benches had been arranged in orderly rows, though many stood, clutching their cloaks. Families huddled close. Some held candles. Others clung to keepsakes of the dead.

Upstairs, in the grandeur of the royal ballroom, the atmosphere could not have been more different. The chamber was spacious, warm, and immaculate, its marble floors so polished that the shimmering glow of the mana crystal chandeliers reflected like a pool of light underfoot.

A band played softly in the background, a mournful yet elegant tune that floated through the gilded hall.

The aristocrats arrived in droves, cloaked in luxury. Silks. Velvet. Gemstones. Embroidered crests and shining medals that caught the light with every calculated gesture.

Yet beneath their practiced expressions of solemnity, they whispered, bargained, curried favor, and smiled with knowing glances. Here, grief was but a veil worn only for the sake of appearances.

Long, rectangular tables lined the walls, overflowing with lavish displays of food—roasted meats, gleaming fruits, and sugared delicacies. Poised waiters in crisp uniforms moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing silver trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine wine.

"Lord Bescot is actually smiling," whispered a woman, her lips barely moving as she plucked a fruit tart from a passing tray.

"His nephew died this morning," murmured her companion while swirling her wine. "That estate passes to him now."

"Did you hear the Graysons lost a whole caravan in the chaos?" a rotund noble murmured behind a crystal goblet, voice tinged with intrigue rather than sympathy.

"Yes, and I heard Count Fraderick's estate was struck as well," another replied, her face so caked with makeup it looked like a mask. "Such a shame... though I suppose it does open the land for new ventures—well, assuming any respectable business would dare set up so close to the dungeon after today's horrors."

Their laughter was subtle. Controlled. Too polished to be genuine.

From this realm of opulence and treachery, Grand Chancellor Cassius emerged. He wore his ceremonial robes with dignity. His sharp eyes swept over the ballroom briefly before he made his way to the balcony where the world beyond the palace waited.

He placed his hands on the cold stone rail and looked down at the gathered masses. His expression softened, drawing on the gravity of the moment. A hush fell across the courtyard as the commoners turned their faces upward.

"My beloved people," he began, his voice calm and rich, like a well-aged wine. "We gather not to celebrate, but to mourn. Not to indulge in luxury, but to pay tribute to those who perished—our neighbors, our workers, our children."

A hushed moment washed over the courtyard. The nobles at the windows paused their chatter, casting dutiful glances at the people below, though few wore any true sorrow on their faces.

"Today was to be a day of gratitude," Cassius continued. "By decree of the Zepharion Church, a tribute was arranged to honor the slaves and demihumans—our brothers and sisters—who, for so long, have toiled unseen, their contributions and sacrifices uncelebrated. The goddess herself had spoken. And so, we fed them, clothed them, and offered them our blessings."

He bowed his head earnestly, and many in the courtyard mirrored him. "But in our moment of goodwill... came disaster."

The crowd held its breath.