Chapter 37: Myrain Viscounty [4]

The sudden, icy command hung in the heavy air of the Grand Throne Room like a suspended executioner’s blade.

An instant, suffocating silence fell over the hall, swiftly shattered by a wave of frantic, hushed whispers from the assembled nobles and civil administrators.

"Did... did the Lord Viscount truly just order the execution of Master Sebas?"

"He must be bluffing. He is only fifteen years old!"

"To kill the Master of State Affairs on his very first day without a trial? Impossible..."

Confusion and mounting dread rippled through the ranks of the twenty-odd officials.

They shifted uncomfortably in their silk robes, exchanging panicked, incredulous glances.

Even the seven Barons, hardened by years of regional politics, straightened up, their eyes widening in shock.

Yet, as the murmurs grew louder, the crimson-haired youth seated upon the obsidian throne did not blink.

Craig’s golden eyes remained entirely fixed on the towering, heavily armored figure standing at the front of the military line.

"Why do you hesitate, Ser Gunther?" Craig asked, his voice low, calm, and laced with a terrifying, absolute gravity.

The Ranker Sword Sage froze.

A cold sweat broke out across Gunther’s brow beneath his heavy iron helmet.

He faltered for a fraction of a second, his throat bobbing as he audibly swallowed his saliva.

He was a veteran warrior who had served the Myrain Viscounty for over two decades, but the sheer, ancient pressure emanating from the eyes of the young successor made his blood run cold.

Master Sebas’s arrogant grin vanished completely, replaced by a grim, dark contortion of fury and sudden panic.

He took a hasty step back, pointing a trembling, ringed finger at the throne.

"W-What is the meaning of this?!" Sebas shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to maintain his authoritative posture.

"You dare order my execution?! On what grounds?! I am the Master of State Affairs appointed by the high council! You cannot simply—"

Craig did not bother to interrupt him.

He didn’t even grant the man a reply.

Instead, Craig simply leaned back into the plush leather cushion of his throne, resting his chin on his gloved hand with an expression of pure, detached indifference.

That silence was the final verdict.

Ser Gunther’s eyes hardened. Composing himself instantly, the veteran knight reached down and gripped the hilt of his broadsword.

CLANG!

In a single, fluid motion, the silver blade cleared its scabbard.

The air in the throne room split with a sharp whistle as a surge of refined sword-mana coated the iron edge.

Before Sebas could utter another word or flee the room, Ser Gunther stepped forward and executed a diagonal slash.

SLASH!

A clean arc of crimson blood sprayed across the polished black marble floor.

Master Sebas’s eyes remained wide with shock as his severed head detached from his neck, bouncing twice against the red carpet before rolling to a stop near the front row of terrified officials.

His headless body stood upright for a agonizing second before collapsing heavily onto the stone.

Screams erupted from several minor scribes, who frantically scrambled backward, their faces pale as chalk.

Without missing a beat, Ser Gunther flicked the blood off his blade, sheathed it with a heavy click, and dropped heavily to both knees before the dais.

He pressed his forehead flat against the marble floor, right beside the fresh pool of crimson.

"I have carried out your command, my Lord!" Gunther bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. ℴ

The entire hall turned its gaze back toward the elevated throne, expecting to see a horrified or shaken fifteen-year-old boy.

Instead, every noble and commander felt a chill run down their spine.

Sitting upon the obsidian throne, a faint, dark grin was carved across Craig’s lips.

To Craig, Sebas’s arrogant political maneuver hadn’t been an insult—it had been the absolute perfect opportunity he had been waiting for.

In a single stroke, he had found a legitimate reason to begin culling the bloated ranks of the civil administration, while simultaneously putting the loyalty and responsiveness of the Viscounty’s strongest native Ranker to the ultimate test.

"Why did you hesitate at first, Ser Gunther?" Craig asked smoothly, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees.

Gunther kept his face pressed to the cold stone, speaking clearly and without an ounce of deceit. "Forgive me, Lord Viscount! I foolishly assumed your Lordship was merely issuing a stern political threat to discipline the Master.

But the moment I recognized the absolute nature of your will, I acted without delay. I throw myself upon your mercy and humbly request to be punished for my momentary doubt!"

Craig let out a soft, quiet exhale, a faint chuckle escaping his throat. "Rise, Ser Gunther. Your prompt execution of my order has cleared your hesitation."

"Thank you, my Lord!" Gunther stood up, bowing deeply before retreating back to his position at the head of the knights, his posture far more rigid and respectful than before.

Craig slowly stood up from the high throne.

He pulled down the cuffs of his royal crimson cloak, his tall, posture radiating an aura of unquestionable authority that dwarfed everyone in the cavernous room.

He stepped to the edge of the elevated dais, sweeping his golden eyes across the silent, trembling crowd of Barons, ministers, and commanders.

"Master Sebas fell today because he mistook my youth for weakness," Craig declared, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the hall.

"He dared to challenge the absolute authority of the Darkstar lineage. Let his blood serve as a permanent reminder to every soul within Myrain: young or old, I am the appointed, absolute ruler of this Viscounty.

I will tolerate no treason, no insubordination, and no challenges to my command."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink deep into their minds before gesturing toward the terrified group of civil administrators.

"Starting this very second, every single administrative position within the Myrain Viscounty is declared vacant," Craig announced coldly.

"Every master, clerk, and judicial executives present shall tender their formal resignation within twenty-four hours. None of you are permitted to leave the capital. You will remain here for a thorough background reevaluation."

A wave of desperate gasps rippled through the officials, but before anyone could protest, Craig delivered the final blow to their bloated numbers.

"Furthermore, when the administrative branch is reformed, there will no longer be twenty ministers leeching off the public treasury," Craig stated.

"Only ten ministers shall be reappointed. The corrupt, the inefficient, and the useless among you will be stripped of your titles and cast out."

Turning his gaze toward the seven Barons standing on the opposite side, Craig’s expression softened slightly, offering a subtle mix of the iron fist and the velvet glove.

"As for the Barons and landed nobles," Craig continued, "you shall retain your current titles and territories. However, the days of autonomous neglect are over.

Every barony must submit detailed weekly administrative and economic reports directly to my office."

The Barons bowed their heads in tense compliance, not daring to utter a single word of complaint while the blood of Master Sebas was still warm on the carpet.

Seeing that absolute fear had taken root, Craig decided it was time to offer the reward to balance the threat.

"However, I am not a tyrant without reason," Craig added, a light smirk playing on his face.

"To those baronies that demonstrate exceptional economic growth and meet their production quotas, I will grant a ten percent reduction on your seasonal ducal taxes."

The eyes of the seven Barons lit up with sudden, unhidden surprise.

A ten percent tax cut was a massive financial relief that could allow their personal domains to flourish.

"And finally," Craig concluded, sweeping his arm outward, "to mark my official ascension and to honor the people of Myrain, a grand seven-day festival shall be hosted across the capital town, funded directly by the Viscounty treasury!

And on the final day of the festival, the ten newly selected ministers shall be officially announced!"

With those final words, Craig turned on his heel, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he walked toward the side exit of the throne room.

Ser Hughway fell into step right behind him, leaving a hall filled with awe, terror, and completely restructured loyalty in their wake..