After the competition, exhaustion hung thick in the air like mist over a battlefield. The once roaring crowd had quieted, reduced to murmurs of fatigue and relief.
Many of the young competitors were slumped on the benches, some nursing injuries, others barely conscious from overexertion. The healers and attendants moved briskly across the arena, administering potions and wrapping wounds under the fading golden hue of dusk.
The plan had been to conclude the entire tournament that very day. But as the sun dipped lower, staining the horizon with streaks of crimson and purple, it became evident that pushing further would be unwise. Too many had fallen, too many required recovery—even with medicine and healing draughts, the toll on their bodies was undeniable.
Governor Raphael MacNelly approached the imperial platform, bowing slightly before speaking. "Your Majesty, the competition has progressed splendidly, but dusk is nearly upon us. Many of the participants require medical attention. Shall we postpone the remaining duels until tomorrow?"
The emperor said nothing at first. His golden eyes, calm yet fathomless, stared into the distance—into the encroaching twilight. He was a man burdened by foresight and haunted by danger. The night, he knew, was not a time of rest in this land. It was a time when whispers grew teeth and shadows could bleed.
His mind drifted briefly to the great Archmage—Amber Nois, his seer and protector—whose magical eyes could pierce through the veils of fate. Had she been present, he would have known which path was safest. But without her, he was navigating blind through a field of daggers.
He exhaled slowly, his voice low and firm when he finally spoke. "We will not delay for long. The inspection will continue through the night under Inspector Granero's supervision. Let the citizens and the children return to their homes to rest. At dawn, we complete the competition and depart this region."
His tone left no room for negotiation.
The governor hesitated for a fraction of a second, his lips parting to speak, but then he caught the faint gleam in the emperor's eyes and thought better of it. He bowed deeply, the words leaving his mouth in a respectful murmur. "As you command, my Lord Emperor."
Inside, though, a sigh coiled in his chest. He had hoped for respite—to gather his thoughts, his allies, perhaps to smooth over some political fractures before the imperial gaze turned elsewhere. But that hope crumbled the moment the emperor's decree was made.
Standing a few paces away, Inspector Granero remained motionless, his expression unreadable—a portrait of stoicism. Yet beneath that cold exterior, a flicker of satisfaction burned.
The emperor's decision was precisely what he wanted.
With the continuation of the inspection, there would be no time for the local elites to cover their tracks or hide their misconduct. Granero had been watching them since he arrived in the region a few hours ago, tracing every movement, every selective gathering, every whisper in secret places. And now, with this sudden imperial command, any hidden schemes could be caught early, and would be dragged into the light before they had a chance to bury the evidence.
He glanced briefly across the arena to the points where several nobles exchanged worried looks. Their unease was like music to his ears.
So... you thought nightfall would hide your sins, Granero mused, folding his hands behind his back. Let's see how well you sleep tonight.
The emperor rose from his seat, his crimson cloak fluttering in the evening wind as he turned toward the horizon. The sky had deepened into indigo, and the first stars were beginning to pierce the veil of night.
Somewhere beyond those stars, perhaps, the Archmage watched.
But down below, within the city's walls, tension simmered quietly. The night that was supposed to bring rest instead whispered of judgment. The lamps that lined the governor's square burned with pale, flickering flames, their light revealing the anxious faces of clerks, scribes, and stewards hastily summoned to account for their records.
Within minutes, Inspector Granero and his investigative unit were on the move—escorted by the governor himself and his council of advisors. Their boots echoed across the stone corridors of the administrative hall as they began their inspection. Every corner of the region's governance would be laid bare before dawn.
They started with the heart of corruption—the treasury records. Money handling was always the truest mirror of a man's integrity. Granero ordered the imperial clerks to bring forth the ledgers detailing revenue generation, tax collection, and imperial disbursements meant for welfare programs—the funds for the orphaned children, the sick, and the widowed of war.
Stacks of parchment were piled high on the wooden tables, the scent of old ink thick in the air. The inspectors' hands moved deftly, flipping through scrolls, cross-checking signatures, comparing stamps, and counting allocations with ruthless precision.
Beside them, the governor maintained a composed façade, though his ministers were visibly nervous. He was, in truth, not directly involved in the treasury's accounting. His role was largely administrative—he approved projects and issued directives—but the handling of gold, taxes, and trade revenues fell under the domain of specially appointed officials. It was these men and women who now trembled under the scrutiny of Granero's cold gaze.
The inspector's eyes, sharp and unblinking, swept over the quill-written ledgers resting on the wide oak slab before him. At first glance, everything seemed immaculate—beautifully written records, signatures in place, imperial wax seals still intact. But Granero was not a man to be deceived by neat handwriting or ornamental ink. He had built his reputation on finding deceit where others saw order.
He began to calculate silently, his gloved finger tracing the rows of figures on the parchment.
"Fifty-six million Nazare Blade gold coins…" he murmured under his breath, doing the arithmetic as his aide leaned in to note. "Allocated to the payment of nobles, each to receive five hundred thousand gold coins."
He paused, his expression unreadable.
"There are forty-six nobles in this district. That would make… twenty-three million coins disbursed in total."
He flipped another page, cross-referencing with the treasury vault log. His brow furrowed.
"Then there should be thirty-three million coins remaining in the reserve."
He glanced up at the scribe beside the vault records, who swallowed hard.
"Yet the balance shown here," Granero continued, his tone as cold as steel, "is fourteen million."
A hush fell over the room. Even the sound of the flickering candles seemed to fade away.
That meant nineteen million gold coins—gone.
Vanished into thin air.
Granero didn't react outwardly. He merely tapped the page once, then closed the ledger with a measured calm. To anyone watching, it looked as though he had found nothing of concern. But behind that calm exterior, his mind was already dissecting the web.
So… nineteen million disappears, and yet no adjustment in trade output, no inflation spike, no official request for treasury replenishment. That means… someone powerful enough to rewrite records, yet careful enough to conceal their trail.
He turned to his aide and spoke in a low voice, "We proceed to the infrastructure expenditure next—the bridges, the academy, the governor's new wing, the military barracks. I want every signature, every contractor name, every seal compared with the central records."
"Yes, Inspector," the aide replied swiftly.
The governor tried to smile, though it came out stiff and hollow. "Inspector Granero, is everything… in order?"
Granero's eyes, dark as midnight, flicked toward him for only a second. "For now," he replied simply. "But numbers never lie, Governor. Only men do."
He turned and motioned for his men to move.
As they departed the treasury hall, a ripple of unease spread among the nobles and financiers left behind. One of them—a plump man with jeweled fingers—whispered shakily to another, "Does he suspect?"
The other shook his head nervously. "He couldn't possibly. Those ledgers were—"
"I believe, if there is anything to be found, our leader won't miss it," came a faint voice from behind them.
Both men froze.
It was one of Granero's assistants, lingering in the doorway, his expression calm but knowing. "if your hands are clean, shouldn't you feel relaxed, And yet, somehow, you still appear nervous and fearful."
The nobles blanched.
Outside, under the moon's pale gaze, Inspector Granero walked ahead with his cloak brushing the cobblestones. His steps were steady, but in his eyes burned the gleam of a hunter who had scented blood.
He would not alert the emperor yet. Not until he had the full picture.
This wasn't a matter of a missing fortune—it was the symptom of a deeper rot, one that had spread through the region's very core. And before dawn broke, Granero intended to trace every vein of that corruption back to its beating heart.