I broke the wax seal. The parchment felt cold, like holding a piece of ice.
I scanned the contents. It was a royal decree, co-signed by the Church.
[MISSION UPDATE: The Northern Famine.]
[OBJECTIVE: Restore food supply to the Winter Wastelands.]
[TIMEFRAME: 7 Days.]
[PENALTY FOR FAILURE: Classification as "Heretic." Immediate Execution.]
I looked up. "The North? That’s a frozen graveyard. Nothing grows there. The supply lines are frozen solid. The peasants are eating tree bark."
"Exactly," Malakor said. He looked delighted. "The North is under a Divine Blight. A punishment for their lack of faith. The Church has tried to send aid, but the caravans vanish. The prayers go unanswered."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"You claim to be a master of assets, Duke. You claim logic is superior to faith. Prove it. Feed the North in one week."
My mind whirred. This was a setup. The North was thousands of miles away. Teleportation gates couldn't transport bulk grain—it was too expensive. Conventional wagons would get stuck in the snow.
And even if I got food there, the soil was cursed.
"This is impossible," I said. "Logistically, the travel time alone is five days."
"Then you will fail," Malakor said simply. "And if you fail, it proves that your 'efficiency' is a fraud. And frauds are deleted."
He stood up. The Paladins snapped to attention in unison, a clash of steel that echoed through the hall.
"One week, Arthur. I will be watching. If the people of the North are not full by the next Sabbath, I will return. And next time, I won’t use the Truth Siphon. I’ll use the fire."
Malakor turned and walked toward the exit. The Paladins fell into formation around him.
As he reached the door, he paused.
"Oh, and Duke?"
"Yes?" I asked, my voice tight.
"You should get that shoulder looked at," he said without turning around. "You appear to be leaking."
Then he was gone.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.