"Ahem."
Hel cleared her throat and looked over the crowd before her, noticing a few unfamiliar faces among them. Then, in a calm, ringing voice, she began to speak:
"Today, I have several new announcements to make.
First, the Mandrake Territory will conduct a population census. After that, all farmland will be fairly redistributed according to each household's circumstances.
Second, I will launch universal education throughout Mandrake. All minors will receive compulsory education, while adults must participate in basic literacy and civic courses.
Third, the appointment of most government officials within the territory will now be determined through civil examinations—positions will go to the most qualified, not just the most privileged. Therefore, even if you're not of noble birth, a strong educational record will still earn you a place in the construction of Mandrake's future."
As Hel spoke, she could see the nobles in the crowd growing increasingly sullen.
Clearly, their earlier plans had failed miserably. On top of that, under Niv's careful manipulations, they had even suffered minor losses.
Now, all they could do was glare at Hel with impotent fury.
But really, Hel mused, was it healthy for them to keep all that hatred bottled up inside?
For their own mental and emotional well-being, she decided she might as well help them vent it.
And so—just as she flashed them a faint, knowing smile—a figure suddenly leapt out from the crowd.
He tore off his cloak, revealing himself to be none other than the captain of the guards that the Marquis of Northhill had brought from the royal capital.
From his back, he produced a small crossbow and, without hesitation, fired a bolt straight at Hel.
The arrow shot through the air. Hel made no move to dodge—it struck her squarely in the chest.
Then, her hands moved in a blur.
When she stopped, both of her hands were tightly gripping the shaft of the arrow that had hit her—a bolt that had nearly ricocheted off from the impact.
A heartbeat later, she collapsed dramatically onto the platform.
At that moment, the guard captain roared:
"The Duke of Mandrake has bewitched you all with lies! This so-called reform was nothing but a ploy to enslave us, the free people, even further! Her death marks the victory of justice!
People of Mandrake—you are free once more!"
As his shout echoed across the square, another armored knight suddenly charged out from among the spectators—this one the captain of the Marquis of Riverside's guard.
"For the Marquis!" he bellowed. "Now is the time to cut down the Duke's lackeys! All for Lord Marquis!"
"All for Lord Count!"
"All for Lord Baron!"
One after another, knights emerged from hidden corners of the square, each shouting for their respective masters.
The nobles standing at the front turned pale with terror.
The Marquis of Riverside shot a suspicious glance at the Marquis of Northhill—as if to ask, Was this your doing?
Northhill shook his head frantically, then looked back at Riverside, only to see genuine confusion on the man's face.
If it wasn't Riverside's plot, then whose was it?
Who else could have had the power to coordinate the guards of so many noble families?
Could it be a plot by someone high up in the royal capital?
Had they—the supposed elite—just become disposable pawns in someone else's plan to eliminate Duke Hel?
The more he thought about it, the more fear gnawed at him.
Just who could possibly orchestrate something like this?
What kind of figure could manipulate them all so effortlessly?
What none of them saw, however, was Hel—still lying atop the platform—watching everything unfold below her with amused interest.
Yes, this entire "rebellion" had been her own carefully staged performance.
A self-directed, self-inflicted trap designed to flush out and eliminate every unstable element within the city in one swift stroke.
It might earn her a few powerful enemies back in the royal capital, but it was the surest, cleanest way to bring Mandrake fully under her control.
And even if the capital did learn the truth, they'd have to swallow the bitter pill—because the ones who made the first move were their own sons.
Hel shifted slightly on the platform, getting herself more comfortable as the chaos raged on.
Below, the din of battle filled the air.
The moment the nobles' guards had raised their banners and charged, Hel's puppet knights—hidden among the crowd—had instantly surged into action.
Against a force of entirely third-tier puppet knights, those so-called elite guards—soldiers sent here less as trusted retainers and more as exiles—didn't last long.
In mere moments, half were dead. The rest quickly followed, cut down in a one-sided slaughter.
The nobles and their retainers, packed tightly near the center of the square, had nowhere to run.
Even the few fourth-tier warriors among them were silently assassinated by Hel's Bloodlust Elves, who had been lurking unseen in the shadows.
The entire operation was swift and absolute.
By the time the commoners even began to panic, the entire noble contingent had already been annihilated.
Before long, city officials moved in to restore order, guiding the bewildered townsfolk out of the square in an orderly manner.
"All over already, huh…"
Hearing the noise below gradually die down, Hel sighed softly.
"Wolves don't need a reason to eat sheep," she murmured. "But sheep must learn to run.
Once, you all treated the commoners like sheep… and now, I treat you the same way.
Perhaps one day, someone stronger will treat me like a lamb and slaughter me just as easily.
But for now… I'm still the wolf."
As she whispered to herself and gazed toward the rising sun, a tall figure stepped into the light, blocking the glare.
The sunlight traced a golden halo around the woman's silhouette, illuminating every strand of her wind-blown hair.
A slender, jade-like hand glowing faintly with green light reached toward Hel's chest.
"With the power you already command, Master," said a gentle voice, "who in this continent could still dare to bully you?"
The figure was Elf Niv—one of the key players in this grand performance.
According to their plan, once Hel was "gravely wounded," Niv would appear to "heal" her with Life Magic before the public.
"Who can really say?" Hel murmured. "At least for now, I'm still far from being able to fight the whole continent.
I can't even guarantee a fifty-fifty fight against a Saint-tier warrior—let alone a demigod."
She sighed softly and closed her eyes, letting Niv's magic wash over her.
As she stared absently ahead, two large, soft shapes swayed right in her line of sight.
"…They're huge," Hel muttered absentmindedly.
"Does Master wish to touch them?" Niv teased, leaning in a little closer so Hel could "see" better.
"It's not like I haven't before," Hel replied dryly. "They're just lumps of fat."
She pouted slightly—suspecting, though without proof, that Niv was intentionally trying to tease her.
Seeing Hel's unimpressed look, Niv stopped her mischief. After all, they were still outside, and publicly, she was supposed to be the newly allied Elven Chieftain—hardly a role that allowed for open intimacy.
A short while later, Niv withdrew her glowing hand and extended it toward Hel.
"It's time to claim your victory, my little wolf king."
Hel took Niv's offered hand, got to her feet, and gave her palm a playful scratch before replying with a smirk:
"If I'm the little wolf king—then what does that make Nikki?"