It began with bread.
At dawn, three bakeries in the southern district failed to open.
By mid-morning, grain shipments scheduled from the eastern warehouses had not arrived.
By noon, prices doubled.
By evening—
There was shouting.
Arthur was in the strategy chamber when the report arrived.
Seraphina read it calmly.
"Eastern grain caravans delayed. Southern district suppliers report 'administrative hold' on shipments."
Arthur didn't look up from the map.
"Administrative hold issued by?"
Seraphina glanced at the document again.
"Merchant Guild Subcommittee."
Darius frowned.
"That's private-sector jurisdiction."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Which meant—
Technically legal.
Conveniently indirect.
He turned toward the orb.
"Display grain reserve levels."
The projection shifted.
The empire was not starving.
Not even close.
But the southern district's dependency ratio was higher than central wards.
Localized pressure.
Controlled shortage.
Arthur's eyes sharpened slightly.
"They're not creating famine."
Darius understood instantly.
"They're creating anger."
Seraphina added quietly, "And if people riot, reform becomes 'instability.'"
Arthur exhaled slowly.
There it was.
A public test.
He had spoken of protecting commoners.
Now they would see whether he acted when inconvenience replaced symbolism.
"Who controls the eastern warehouses?" Arthur asked.
Seraphina answered immediately.
"Trade licensing under Duke Valmont's jurisdiction."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Predictable."
—
By late evening, smoke rose from the southern district.
Not large fires.
Small ones.
Cooking fires burning longer than usual.
Arguments breaking out.
Merchants shouting over prices.
Arthur did not wait.
He rode without escort.
Darius insisted on accompanying him.
They arrived just as a crowd began forming near a closed grain storehouse.
Voices were raised.
"Open it!"
"We know there's grain inside!"
"This is manipulation!"
Arthur dismounted calmly.
The crowd noticed him within seconds.
Murmurs spread.
"The Crown Prince…"
Some stepped back.
Some did not.
This was new.
The fear remained.
But hunger dulls reverence.
Arthur walked toward the storehouse door.
Locked.
Sealed with official merchant guild insignia.
He turned toward the nearest merchant representative.
"Why is this closed?"
The man swallowed nervously.
"Supply chain disruption, Your Highness."
Arthur's gaze hardened.
"Open it."
"I—I do not have authority—"
Arthur placed his palm against the seal.
Golden mana flowed outward.
Not violently.
Just enough to disintegrate the insignia mark.
The lock shattered cleanly.
Gasps filled the air.
He pushed the door open.
Inside—
Barrels.
Sacks.
Full.
Untouched.
The crowd grew louder.
Anger shifted direction.
Arthur raised a hand.
Silence spread slowly.
He turned to the merchant.
"Explain."
The man stammered.
"We were instructed to delay distribution—"
"By whom?"
He hesitated.
Arthur stepped closer.
The pressure in the air intensified slightly.
"By whom?"
"…Guild directive under Eastern Trade Council."
Arthur nodded once.
Then turned toward the gathered citizens.
"This grain will be distributed immediately."
The crowd stirred.
"But," Arthur continued calmly, "not freely."
Confusion flickered across faces.
Darius glanced at him briefly.
Arthur continued.
"Standard pricing resumes. No inflation. No panic purchases."
He turned to the storehouse manager.
"You will log every transaction. Any attempt to hoard will be punished."
Then he turned back to the crowd.
"You are not starving."
Silence.
"You are being provoked."
The words settled.
Not shouted.
Stated.
And that made them heavier.
A woman stepped forward cautiously.
"They're playing with us?"
Arthur met her gaze directly.
"Yes."
Murmurs spread again — but different now.
Focused.
Anger redirected.
Arthur continued calmly.
"The Crown does not benefit from your hunger."
He paused slightly.
"But some do."
That line lingered.
He stepped back.
"Buy what you need. Nothing more."
The distribution began.
Orderly.
Controlled.
Darius leaned closer as the crowd shifted into movement.
"You could've made it free."
Arthur replied quietly.
"And teach dependency?"
Darius blinked.
Arthur's eyes remained on the people.
"They need stability. Not charity."
—
Meanwhile, across the river.
Duke Valmont received news of the broken seal.
His expression did not change.
"He intervened personally?"
"Yes, my lord."
Valmont tapped the table slowly.
"And what did he do?"
"Opened the warehouse. Resumed normal pricing."
Valmont's fingers paused.
"…Interesting."
No mass gift.
No dramatic generosity.
No emotional spectacle.
Controlled response.
Valmont leaned back.
"He understands economic leverage."
A subordinate asked carefully,
"Shall we escalate?"
Valmont's eyes darkened slightly.
"No."
Pause.
"Shift to narrative."
—
The next morning, pamphlets circulated.
Anonymous.
Cleverly written.
"The Crown interferes in private trade."
"Royal overreach threatens market balance."
"Today grain, tomorrow guild autonomy."
Arthur held one of the pamphlets in his chamber.
Seraphina stood nearby.
"They're trying to reframe you as destabilizing."
Arthur nodded.
"Yes."
Darius crossed his arms.
"So we counter it?"
Arthur shook his head.
"No."
Both siblings looked at him.
"Let it circulate."
Seraphina's eyes sharpened.
"You're allowing criticism."
Arthur placed the pamphlet down calmly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Arthur looked toward the window.
"Because suppression validates fear."
He turned back.
"And because truth does not require shouting."
He had opened a warehouse.
Restored price.
Prevented riot.
There were witnesses.
No spectacle needed.
Narratives fight louder when they feel ignored.
Arthur preferred silence.
—
That evening, Emily arrived again.
This time, she didn't joke.
"You handled that well," she said quietly.
"Your father disapproves," Arthur replied.
She smiled faintly.
"He respects it."
She stepped closer.
"They wanted you to either overreact… or hesitate."
Arthur nodded.
"I did neither."
She studied him carefully.
"You're not just reforming."
"No."
"What then?"
Arthur's golden eyes reflected the fading sunlight.
"I am repositioning trust."
She watched him for a long moment.
"You're dangerous," she said softly.
Arthur didn't deny it.
—
Deep beneath an estate far from the capital—
The crimson-cloaked figure observed the city through a mana projection.
"He did not take the bait," a subordinate murmured.
"No," the figure replied.
"He strengthened his public position."
A pause.
"Then we proceed to phase three?"
The crimson figure's eyes gleamed faintly beneath the hood.
"Yes."
"This time… we test his core."
—
Back in the palace.
Arthur stood alone once more.
The city was calm again.
But tension coiled beneath the surface.
They were probing his politics.
Soon—
They would probe his weakness.
Arthur placed his hand over his chest lightly.
The crack pulsed faintly.
He closed his eyes.
"If you think I fear collapse…"
Golden light flickered softly around him.
"You misunderstand."