Inside the duel arena, within the circular performance area covered in fine sand.
Two human fighters clad in light armor circled each other, wooden poles in hand. They were of sturdy build, with well-defined muscles and skin tanned dark by the sun. Their eyes were locked onto their opponent’s every move, like predators ready to pounce at any moment.
“That move just now was brilliant!”
“Get in there, take him down!”
In the stands behind them, deafening cheers rose and fell in waves.
The first row was occupied by members of the Royal Family, whose status was most prominent. Higher up sat other Blood Clan nobles, their status decreasing with each level of the stands.
They wore fine cloth robes and hats decorated with feathers, all of them focused intently on the performance.
On the outermost edge of the arena, humans with some status could only stand in the very last row, straining on their tiptoes to catch every detail on the stage.
There were no seats reserved for them in the arena; they could only hope to find a small foothold among the crowded masses.
This was the duel arena near the Wil Grand Plaza, where an annual duel performance was being held with great fanfare.
The so-called performance was essentially a form of gambling. The Blood Clan nobles would select physically strong human Blood Slaves, equip them with fine weapons, and have them kill each other on stage.
The winner would be rewarded, while the loser would be sent to the yellow springs. Nobles who bet on the winner could not only receive a prize from the King but also flaunt their luck in front of other nobles for having “good foresight.”
To be honest, Sista utterly loathed these boring performances.
She did not understand the meaning of such an extravagant waste that also thinned the population. Why did these scenes, filled with slaughter and the smell of blood, make them so excited?
‘Disgusting taste.’
But since this was a tradition of Antales, she, as a Princess, could not say much. Under pressure from her father and her elder sister, Sista had no choice but to come and watch this year.
‘It’s just a crowd of incompetent people.’
In the midst of the noisy environment, Sista quietly rolled her eyes and then turned her gaze to Steyat, who was sitting beside her.
Yesterday, Morhia had specifically gone to Summer Springs Palace to find her. The reason was very simple: she wanted Sista to persuade King Steyat to pass the New Tax Law to once again raise funds for the war.
Regarding the clauses of the New Tax Law, Morhia had already finished drafting them with the Financial Minister, Clara Pamir. Sista had glanced at it briefly; it was nothing more than an attempt to shift the financial crisis, which the Church refused to help with, onto the other nobles and commoners.
Now, that draft was in Sista’s hands.
Sista had not directly agreed to Morhia’s request, but she believed that given the current situation, it was necessary to have a proper talk with her father.
Indulging in wine and women was not the way of a King. If she could get her father to pull himself together, would the fate of Antales change?
However, as she looked at that fat, doting old man, Sista did not hold much hope.
At that moment, the shouting of the crowd reached a peak. One of the strong fighters made a mistake and had his right hand tripped up by his opponent, who then immediately struck his head. Blood splattered instantly.
On the stands, the ladies and young misses covered their faces and screamed in unison.
‘Alright, I can understand human women screaming… but aren’t you all Blood Clan? You should have been used to this kind of thing long ago.’
Sista wanted to吐槽, but she held it back.
She had once heard a noble lady say that the kingdom on the other side called this kind of behavior “feigned innocence,” and everyone looked down on it.
With great difficulty, she endured until the performance ended and the ear-splitting noise finally died down. Sista lifted her skirt and walked toward Steyat under Morhia’s watchful gaze.
“Father, please wait a moment. I have something to discuss with you.”
Steyat was somewhat surprised. He adjusted the crown on his head, stood up with the help of a male servant, and looked down at his daughter.
“Come and join me in the carriage.”
He did not ask much, turning to leave with his heavy body. Sista followed silently behind him.
“Oh, wait,” Morhia said as if she had suddenly remembered something. “Sista, where is that silver-haired personal maid of yours? Why didn’t you bring her to today’s performance?”
“She’s sick.”
“Do you need me to replace her for you…”
“No need.”
Sista interrupted Morhia and walked away without looking back, leaving Morhia behind to cover her mouth with a gold-rimmed fan, chuckling softly.
—
The journey was silent as Sista and Steyat took the carriage back to the high-standing Helios Castle.
They walked straight into the solemn Conference Hall. Although there were only two people for this conversation, Sista still felt it needed to be held in a place with better privacy.
Sitting at the long obsidian table, she faced Steyat and was the first to spread the legal draft prepared by Morhia and the Financial Minister on the table.
“I’ll speak plainly, Father. Morhia hopes that you will pass the New Tax Law to cover the treasury deficit and expand military spending.”
She pointed to the words on the parchment, explaining as she went.
Steyat’s gaze did not linger on it. Looking at his expression, it seemed he had known about Morhia’s plan all along.
“I expected as much,” Steyat said softly. “Sista, what do you think?”
As expected, Steyat was still the same—asking his daughter whenever he couldn’t make a decision. He knew nothing about law, taxes, or war, nor did he have much desire to learn; he only knew how to enjoy the pleasures of the royal court.
Sista couldn’t help but sigh.
“Father, this matter is very serious. Have you ever wondered why Morhia didn’t come to you herself but instead sent me?”
The old King was stunned for a moment and then shook his head.
“Because she knows that everything she is doing now oversteps the King’s authority. She only dares to act so recklessly because of your silent consent,” Sista analyzed coldly.
“The previous matters were fine. Moria—my mother—was, after all, the daughter of the Duke of Courcelles. Out of respect for the Duke’s power, no one dared to voice any criticism toward the Crown Princess, and Morhia cared even less about their attitude.”
Sista paused. Seeing that the King was finally listening seriously, she continued.
“But this time is different. The New Tax Law reform touches the core interests of the nobles and will have a massive impact on the situation in Ansels.”
“If Morhia acts on her own as she did before, she will likely be caught by the disgruntled nobles, who will use it as leverage to denounce her previous overstepping of authority.”
Sista knew that in this conversation with the King, she was being used as a convenient tool by Morhia. However, she didn’t intend to expose it directly.
Instead, she had come here to play along and tell the King about Morhia’s intentions in full detail.
Of course, she would not follow that woman’s wishes. She had no intention of persuading Steyat to sign the bill; instead, she planned to dissuade him from doing so.
“Father, let me interpret this legal draft for you. But let me say this first: as King, you can no longer let Morhia continue to be so willful,” Sista’s blood-red eyes shifted slightly. “Otherwise, the one who suffers might be you.”