Chapter 22 : Calculated Mercy is the Key !
"What? We don't know anything—what are you talking about?" Dei Gein's voice pitched higher with fear. The others in his group echoed similar protests, desperately trying to maintain their innocence even as the trap closed around them.
"I think we now have permission to torture you for the truth." General Onnes grabbed a coiled whip from a nearby guard, his expression dark with contempt. "We know you're the ones who tried to sell their own birthplace to foreign interests."
Duke Vasant stepped forward, positioning himself directly in front of the seated nobles who seemed unable to even stand under the weight of their exposure.
"Dei Gein, you worked in the state ministry." His voice carried disappointment rather than rage—somehow worse than anger. "I thought everything was fine. We're prosperous. We adjusted the taxes. Still, you did this." He looked genuinely broken. "Are you fools? Or just so greedy that nothing else matters?"
One of the corrupt nobles crumbled first, breaking into tears.
"Pardon us, Duke Vasant—please!" He bent forward, forehead nearly touching the floor. "We went blind with so much money. The offerings of authority from Kazzara—we couldn't resist. We're sorry, we're—"
'Strange,' Minister Graham thought, watching the scene unfold with careful neutrality. 'Why did the Emperor order us not to capture them? Instead, he wants us to reward them with double the gold coins we gave to loyal nobles?'
His eyes tracked to the Art of Rebels instructions he'd memorized, trying to understand the mechanism at work.
'Prince Lucien is really very different from any strategist I've known.'
"Oi, how much longer do I need to wait?" Princess Thalira's voice cut through the tension like a child interrupting adult conversation. She looked thoroughly bored and frustrated. "I've been sitting in the same place for almost three hours! I want to go to the capital immediately!"
"Ah, we need to wait a while longer, Your Highness." General Baschain tried to placate her with patient courtesy. "The Imperial Guards need rest—they traveled just as we did."
Thalira huffed and turned to adjust her dress, gesturing impatiently for her maids to fix perceived imperfections in the fabric.
Minister Graham didn't even glance her direction. Not now. Not when he was witnessing something far more significant than a princess's discomfort.
Imperial Guards moved forward to arrest the corrupt nobles, but Graham raised a hand, stopping them.
He gestured to nearby servants. "Bring a plate of gold coins. Two for each of these men."
Duke Vasant's head snapped toward him. "What are you doing, Minister Graham?" Confusion warred with disgust on his face. "Shouldn't we torture them? Make them pay back what they stole? And here you're giving them double what we gave to the loyal ones?"
"Oi, explain this!" Thalira demanded, still fussing with her dress. Graham ignored her completely.
The servants returned with coins. Two golden pieces placed before each of the corrupt nobles, who stared at them like they'd been presented with vipers.
Graham's voice carried across the hall with deliberate calm.
"I don't know the full reasoning, but the Emperor said we must reward your guilt with freedom and gold."
Silence crashed over the room.
Duke Vasant, both Generals, even Thalira—all stood frozen in shock. The corrupt nobles looked between the coins, the guards, each other, utterly unable to comprehend what was happening.
"But remember—" Graham's tone sharpened. "The second time, a Platoon Knight will come for you. Not us. Not this mercy. Do you understand what that means?"
The threat landed like a physical blow.
'Is the Emperor insane?' Dei Gein's mind reeled. 'This makes no sense. We betrayed them. We stole from them. We deserved execution, and instead...'
But beneath the confusion, something else stirred. Something powerful and binding.
'I love my life. I love my family. I was ready to die, and they gave me another chance. Not just life—gold. Forgiveness. A second beginning.'
Around him, the other corrupt nobles were clearly experiencing the same cognitive dissonance. The same transformation from terror to overwhelming, irrational gratitude.
"We are grateful—" Dei Gein's voice cracked. He stood, the others following, and they bowed deeply. "We promise that we will never again betray the Aurelith Empire. Never."
The oath came from somewhere primal. Not calculated. Not strategic. Just... true.
"Don't worry." Graham stepped closer, his political mask perfect. "Your names will not be revealed to the public. Only one thing is required—you must return all the money you looted. Within one week."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"We will say we captured the corrupt ones. The public will believe justice was served. But you—you will have the chance to make this right."
"Thank you, Minister Graham—" Dei Gein could barely speak through the emotion choking his throat. "I hereby take an oath—I will never work against Aurelith in any sense!" His hand moved to his chest, over his heart. "We will repay all the money. Every coin. I swear it."
The others echoed him, voices overlapping in desperate sincerity.
Duke Vasant watched this transformation with something approaching awe. He didn't fully understand the psychology at work—couldn't quite grasp how fear and mercy combined to create something more binding than chains—but he recognized genius when he saw it.
'The Serpent Prince,' he thought. 'What kind of mind conceives of this?'
"You may leave soon," Vasant told them, his voice softer now. "But you will tell no one what truly happened here. Publicly, we announce that corrupt nobles were identified and dealt with. Privately..." He gestured to the gold coins. "Thanks to the Serpent Prince and the Emperor, you are forgiven."
The corrupt nobles—no longer quite so corrupt, transformed by illogical mercy into something new—gathered their coins with trembling hands.
They would return the money. They would never betray again. Not because of fear alone, but because they'd been given something they never expected: a second chance at redemption.
And that gift would bind them more securely than any punishment ever could.
---
Outside the palace, beyond the walls and the guards and the political machinations, the lake caught evening light in ripples of gold and silver.
A figure in white sat beneath a tree near the water's edge, perfectly still. His covered bundle—that long, wrapped weapon—rested against another tree a few paces away.
Mabel had found a quiet place to rest after the banquet. The food had been good. The atmosphere interesting. Now he simply existed in the moment, breathing the clean air, listening to water lap against the shore.
Oblivious.Content.
Alive in the way only someone who truly loved the world could be.
Two hundred meters away, moving through shadows with predatory grace, Hunter Knight Urus Deacon searched the lakeside with growing frustration.
"Where is that guy?" he muttered, green-black cloak helping him blend with the foliage. "I saw him come this way."
His crossbow was loaded. Throwing knives ready. Chains coiled at his belt for binding or strangling.
Then he spotted the white-cloaked figure beneath the tree.
A smile spread across Urus's face—the kind that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with anticipation of violence.
"This lakeside is a great place to bury someone. Ha... perfect."
He knew the target was dangerous—that much was obvious from how he carried himself. But Urus was Rank 8. A Death Knight. He'd killed stronger opponents than this.
This would be good practice. A warm-up before the main event with the princess.
He began his approach, moving silently through undergrowth, crossbow raised.
The figure in white didn't move. Didn't seem to notice. Just sat there, breathing, resting, utterly unaware.
'Too easy,' Urus thought.
He took aim.
And in that moment—though Urus couldn't know it—he made the single worst decision of his life.
Because the man he was about to attack wasn't just dangerous.
He was Mabel.
Connoisseur Knight.
The walking god of destruction who'd spent a lifetime perfecting reflexes that operated beyond conscious thought.
Urus's finger tightened on the trigger.
And the world was about to teach him the difference between Rank 8 and Rank 2.