Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 153: When Coffers Run Dry - A Nation in Turmoil

"Impressive reproach as always, Little Brother," the eldest son taunted, a wicked satisfaction in his voice as he rubbed salt in the still raw wound without an ounce of remorse.

"You're not our brother," Reneal countered, his frown deepening as he eyed the boy who was barely a year older.

Ignoring him entirely, Stynx shifted his focus to Lumielle who still had her head lowered, her eyes concealed beneath the shadow of her bangs. "I'm not your brother, huh? Tell that to the masses whose favor I've already won."

A muscle twitched in Reneal's jaw.

"If you two don't see me as your legitimate brother, that actually works to my advantage," he murmured with a dark grin, his voice dripping with malice. Reaching out, he tilted Lumielle's chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. Then he slowly brushed his thumb across her lower lip, the smile on his face twisted with cruel satisfaction.

SLAP!

The princess's hand shot forward in a sudden motion, delivering a sound blow to his face.

"You disgust me!" she spat, spinning on her heels and storming off.

"L-Lumielle!" Reneal called out, rushing after her. "Wait! Please wait for me!"

Stynx, his fingers lightly brushing his cheek, watched with a cold, amused expression as the girl's coral pink hair swayed with each determined step she took down the corridor. Yet, on his face was not the fury or thirst for vengeance one might expect, but something far more unsettling—a quiet, predatory desire.

***

"Forget the possibility of being invaded and butchered by the enemy," grumbled an elder in tattered clothes, his toned frame marking him as a man of trade. "At this rate, we'll starve long before the war even begins!"

Grand Chancellor Cassius and several court officials had convened in the audience chamber at the behest of the kingdom's citizens. Disgruntled farmers, artisans, medical practitioners, and business owners had demanded an audience with the king.

The kingdom, already on the brink due to the looming war, was reeling from a crippling economic collapse. Tourism had dwindled to a trickle, explorers and adventurers kept their distance, and taxes had soared to unbearable heights—an unprecedented burden for the people. Farmers, unable to pay the exorbitant taxes in gold, were forced to surrender their crops, while apothecaries parted with their precious potions, and blacksmiths sacrificed weapons and armor.

"We're barely seeing any business and taxes are through the roof," another man argued, his frustration evident. "How do you expect us to survive?"

"If that wasn't bad enough," a vendor added, clutching her wailing child, "the crime rate is rising steadily, especially theft among the slum dwellers."

"Your struggles have been heard," one of the nobles responded smoothly, "and I promise we will do our utmost to alleviate—"

"Hogwash!" a farmer cut in, his voice rough with anger.

"While the aristocrats and their servants are well-fed, the rest of us are left to starve!"

"Don't act like you understand what we're going through," added another, his voice bitter and rising. "Even your precious hounds and horses are properly fed while we go without!"

The noble ground his teeth in fury, casting a fleeting glance at the chancellor who slowly shook his head in a subtle warning. Under normal circumstances, the three peasants would've been flogged and cast into the dungeon without a second thought. Yet, with the looming threat of war on the horizon, such measures were no longer viable. Aggravating the populace at this fragile moment could spark unrest, and the last thing they could afford was the risk of a civil uprising.