The grand reception room of the palace should have been a place of dignity, yet today its atmosphere reeked of arrogance. Several wealthy businessmen lounged around the polished table, each clothed in luxurious fabrics, their bellies full and fingers adorned with rings. Their postures radiated indulgence and greed.
The contrast was painful. Outside these walls, the people of Ross grew thinner every day, their faces pale from hunger and exhaustion. But here, wealth dripped like honey from every corner of the merchants' attire.
"What on earth is King Gavin Ward planning?" one of them muttered with a lazy sneer. "Summoning us in such a hurry…"
Another, a plump man with a heavy beard, smirked. "Hmph. That boy Gavin is at the end of his rope. You'll see—he'll beg us for donations soon enough."
The others chuckled darkly. To them, Ross was already a corpse, waiting to be stripped.
---
Merchants Without Borders
These men, though technically subjects of Ross, no longer saw themselves bound by loyalty to the kingdom. Their businesses sprawled across neighboring lands; they sold Rossian iron and timber at cutthroat prices abroad while squeezing their own starving countrymen dry. War was nothing but an opportunity to profit.
"Just earlier today," the fat, bearded man said proudly, "Gavin came crawling to me, demanding materials. I sold him stock I'd buried at the bottom of my warehouse—worthless junk, really. Do you know how much I wrung out of him? Fifteen thousand gold coins!"
He laughed, and the others roared with him. There was not a hint of respect for the young king in their voices.
One thin, narrow-eyed merchant leaned back, smirking. "If Gavin asks us for donations again, we'll take his land in exchange. Why not? Ross is finished. Without our money, Gavin won't last a month. And if he dares refuse, we'll just snatch the royal textile factory outside the city. That place is a gold mine."
"Indeed," another chimed in. "That factory's worth more than his throne."
---
A Flicker of Doubt
For a brief moment, one middle-aged merchant hesitated. "Gentlemen… we are Rossians, after all. Is it not too much to betray our own kingdom like this?"
"Rossians?" the fat man snorted, eyes flashing with disdain. "Tell me, when did the nobles of Ross ever treat common folk as human? Of all the kingdoms in Loriland, Rossian nobles were the most vicious leeches. I hate them more than I can say."
The others murmured in agreement. Yet another merchant frowned. "But didn't you hear? The new king abolished noble privileges. Left them with nothing but empty titles."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
"What?!"
"Did Gavin really do that?"
"Is he insane?"
They exchanged shocked looks. Everyone knew the unwritten law of the continent: the privileges of the nobility were sacred. Anyone who dared strip them away became an enemy of the entire aristocracy. Gavin had essentially declared war not only on Nord, but on every kingdom in Loriland.
The merchants shook their heads in disbelief. "Ross is finished already. With this, he's guaranteed to be destroyed."
---
Treasonous Whispers
The thin-eyed merchant chuckled wickedly. "Why wait for Ross to die slowly? I'm considering something more profitable. What if we donate to King Ragnor IV of Nord? Perhaps he'll grant us viscountcies once Ross is carved apart. If I can't gain land here, I'll simply become a Nord noble instead. Imagine the prestige!"
The merchants laughed, though unease lingered beneath their bravado. None of them knew the Nord army had been obliterated that very morning.
---
The King Appears
"You wish to become a noble of Nord?" A voice colder than steel cut through the air. "Then you may accompany Ragnor IV to the grave."
The laughter died instantly. Every man froze as the heavy doors of the chamber creaked open.
There, framed in the doorway, stood King Gavin Ward. He wore the dark ceremonial robes of Ross, embroidered with silver trim, his figure tall and commanding. His eyes gleamed like a predator's, scanning the room with disdain.
The merchants trembled. It felt as though the very air had turned to ice.
Yet the thin-eyed merchant sneered, forcing bravado. "Gavin Ward, don't be arrogant. So what if you overheard? You're nothing more than a king presiding over ruins. What can you do to us?"
Gavin's lips curved faintly. "Is there anyone else who thinks like him?" His gaze swept the room, sharp as a blade.
Silence. The others dared not speak, though defiance still flickered in their eyes.
---
Clover McCauley's Sentence
At last Gavin pointed to the thin-eyed man. "Merchant Clover McCauley. You collude with Nord. You plot to betray Ross for your own gain. The punishment is death."
His words struck like thunder.
The doors burst open again. A squad of German Guards, clad in steel helmets and bearing MP40 submachine guns, marched inside. Their boots pounded in unison as they surrounded the merchants.
Clover McCauley barked a laugh. "Death? Don't make me laugh! Do you think these peasants in uniform can touch me? Nord's army still controls Ross's towns. My wealth lies with them, not you!"
He gestured, and four burly bodyguards stepped forward, hands on their swords. Their eyes burned with hostility, daring the king to act.
Clover's confidence was absolute. He believed Nord's 50,000 troops still stood strong, while Gavin had no more than a thousand. In his mind, Ross's survival was a temporary illusion.
---
The Terrifying Gift
"Then allow me to give you a gift," Gavin said calmly. He beckoned with one hand.
A guard stepped forward, carrying a heavy wooden box. With a click, the lid creaked open.
Every pair of eyes turned toward it, curious.
"Another bribe, perhaps?" Clover sneered. "Trying to buy us with trinkets?"
His words faltered as he saw what lay inside. His face drained of blood. His body stiffened, trembling violently.
"No… impossible…!" His voice broke into a strangled scream.
Inside the box lay the severed head of King Ragnor IV of Nord. The eyes stared lifelessly, mouth frozen in a final grimace. Blood had long since dried along the neck.
The merchants recoiled in horror, their laughter replaced with silence and terror.
"Impossible…" one whispered. "Ragnor IV… slain?"
"Yes," Gavin said softly, his tone laced with lethal amusement. "This morning, the Nord army was annihilated. Their king's head now rests in my hands."
He smiled, but to the merchants it was the most terrifying smile they had ever seen.
---
Judgment
Clover staggered back, all arrogance gone. His knees buckled, but he forced himself upright, still trembling.
"You lie… Nord's army… fifty thousand strong…"
"Fifty thousand dead men," Gavin corrected coldly.
The room felt suffocating. Every merchant's heart pounded in terror. For the first time, they understood: Gavin Ward was not a weakling clinging to a collapsing throne. He was a dragon awakening in the ruins.
A pistol gleamed suddenly in Gavin's hand. Its barrel leveled at Clover's head, unshaking.
"Betraying your country for personal gain is treason. Treason is death."
The sentence was final.
---
[End of Chapter 9]