I stood in the dirt among the commoners, with Roberts towering beside me.
Despite being a Village Chief, a fellow regional leader, Leonard had deliberately excluded me from the VIP seating on the stage. It was a petty, calculated insult designed to remind me of my place.
I looked up at the platform.
Baron Leonard sat in the center on a lavish, cushioned chair. He looked incredibly bloated, his fat fingers covered in gold rings as he greedily stuffed sweet pastries into his mouth.
Sitting next to him was the royal emissary from the capital. Liewerd Hawkins. He was an elderly man with thinning white hair, dressed in strict, formal royal attire. He looked exhausted, rubbing his temples as if the noise of the peasants was giving him a severe migraine.
Right in front of Liewerd was an ornate wooden podium. A neat stack of parchment rested on top of it. The official inauguration speech. Or so they thought.
The Baron's head butler stepped forward, raising his hands to silence the roaring crowd.
"Citizens of Balan!" the butler announced loudly. "We welcome our soon-to-be Mayor, Lord Leonard, and the esteemed representative of His Majesty the King, Lord Liewerd Hawkins!"
Leonard stood up, his massive belly jiggling. He grabbed a golden goblet filled to the brim with expensive wine and raised it high above his head.
"Let the entire city of Balan feast!" Leonard bellowed, his catfish-like mustache twitching with pure greed. "Eat your fill of our finest wheat!"
The crowd cheered wildly. Waiters moved through the plaza, handing out plates of freshly baked bread and rich wheat stews prepared earlier that afternoon.
Everyone was celebrating. Everyone was happy.
Especially me.
I stood perfectly still in the crowd, a cold, predatory smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
Any minute now, I thought, my eyes locked onto the stage. The real banquet is about to begin. Let us see how you choke on it, Leonard.
Liewerd Hawkins politely finished a small bite of the ceremonial bread. He wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief, sighed heavily, and stood up. It was time for the formalities.
He walked slowly to the wooden podium. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his coat pocket and placed them carefully on the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat, adjusting the stack of papers in front of him.
He squinted at the first page.
Then, he stopped.
Liewerd blinked, taking his glasses off and wiping them hastily before putting them back on. He leaned closer to the parchment. His wrinkled face, originally pale and bored, suddenly flushed with a dark, violent shade of red.
The crowd waited in complete silence.
Liewerd flipped the first page. His hands began to tremble. He flipped the next page, then the next.
These were not the words of a grand inauguration. These were detailed, meticulously forged ledgers. They were undeniable, written proof of Baron Leonard's massive tax evasion, rampant embezzlement of royal funds, and illegal economic manipulation of the neighboring territories. Zael had done his job flawlessly, swapping the papers right under their noses.
Cold sweat beaded on Liewerd's forehead. He stood frozen, staring at the damning evidence, absolutely speechless.
Leonard noticed the awkward silence. He swallowed a chunk of meat and leaned toward the podium.
"Is there a problem with the speech, Lord Liewerd?" Leonard asked, his voice laced with confusion.
Liewerd slowly turned his head to look at the Baron. His eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated fury.
"You..." Liewerd's voice shook with rage. He slammed his hand onto the papers. "How dare you! Embezzling royal taxes? Forging financial reports? Do you have any idea what the King will do to you for this treason?"
A collective gasp echoed through the massive plaza.
The citizens of Balan froze, dropping their bread and staring at the stage in absolute shock.
Leonard's fat face instantly drained of all color. His jaw dropped open.
"W-what?" Leonard stammered, his golden goblet slipping from his fingers and clattering loudly onto the wooden stage. Wine spilled everywhere like fresh blood. "What are you talking about? That is impossible!"
"The inauguration is suspended indefinitely!" Liewerd shouted, grabbing the papers and holding them up like a weapon. "I am launching a full royal investigation into this territory immediately!"
Leonard panicked. He scrambled out of his chair, lunging toward the emissary.
"Wait! Lord Liewerd, please! You must listen to me!" Leonard begged, sweat pouring down his fat cheeks. "This is a setup! Someone planted those papers! It is a sabotage!"
Before Leonard could take another step, two heavily armored Royal Knights stepped firmly between him and the emissary. They placed their hands on the hilts of their swords, glaring at the Baron with lethal intent.
Leonard squeaked in terror, stumbling backward and falling ungracefully onto his backside. He raised his hands defensively, still blabbering pathetic excuses.
The entire plaza descended into a dead, horrifying silence.
I stood in the crowd, my hands neatly folded behind my back. I forced my eyes wide, mimicking the shocked expressions of the peasants around me. But inside my mind, I was laughing hysterically.
Checkmate, I mused, thoroughly enjoying the masterpiece of destruction I had orchestrated. But the show is not quite over yet.
Suddenly, a loud, unnatural groan broke the silence.
A man standing a few feet away from me dropped his plate. He doubled over, clutching his stomach in sudden, excruciating agony.
A second later, a woman screamed, collapsing to her knees as severe cramps tore through her abdomen.
Then, it happened on the stage.
Liewerd Hawkins suddenly gasped. He dropped the forged tax documents, his hands flying to his own stomach. His face turned a sickly, pale shade of green.
The wheat. The glorious, abundant wheat that Zael had secretly tainted with a potent, fast-acting biological laxative during the dead of night.
Panic erupted. The agonizing cramps hit hundreds of people simultaneously. The plaza devolved into a chaotic nightmare of groaning, sweating, and desperate, humiliating scrambling.
Liewerd could not hold it in. Gagging and clutching his stomach in sheer, undignified agony, the royal emissary turned around and practically ran off the back of the stage. He looked at the groaning citizens and the sweating Baron with absolute, profound disgust.
He was done with this village.