Chương 190: 23. Mudslings and Accusations 3

After Haerdin swallowed back the filth he'd tried to fling at Lei Lian, the room went quiet again. Not the quiet of resolution. The quiet of everyone understanding: this dog still had fight left. He'd just had his first tooth kicked out and was now, mouth full of blood, hunting for the next throat to bite. Watching him kneel there, I felt something closer to revulsion than pity. Not at his wretchedness. At his eyes. Still moving. Still calculating.

Still searching—for someone to absorb another blow, for anyone with even a speck of dirt clinging to them, for any body he could drag into the same pit. … People like this really are worse than enemies who just come at you with a blade. Ignicia didn't press. She simply stood there, watching in perfect silence. That silence was the most lethal thing in the room. Because without saying a word, she was telling Haerdin exactly what he needed to know: I know you still want to bite. Go ahead. Let's see how far you get.

Predictably, after two ragged breaths, he whipped toward the other side.

"B-but the harbor commander's side isn't clean either!" His voice had gone hoarse, but carried more desperation now.

"Coastal rotation schedules, warehouse requisitions, patrol vessel maintenance—where isn't there a gap? Those supply ledgers look immaculate on paper, but when you actually need something it's always missing or short. Who knows where it all went?" There it is. Second bite. Not wild snapping this time—the classic I may be guilty but none of you are walking away spotless gambit.

The harbor commander's face, already dark as storm clouds, went the color of a man deciding whether to dismantle the table and use it as a weapon. But he didn't charge. That surprised me slightly—foul temper, but the fire hadn't burned his brain out. He simply lowered his crossed arms and took one step forward. Not a large step. But the entire table seemed to settle under the weight of it.

"You want to talk coastal rotations?" His voice dropped to bedrock.

"Fine. Let's start there." He brought his knuckles down on the tabletop with deliberate force.

"Monthly rotation ledgers. Three copies. One kept by the garrison, one forwarded to harbor administration, one copied to dragon tower for record. Want me to pull them right now? We can see exactly which shift was short, which watch went missing." Haerdin's jaw twitched. The commander didn't give him breathing room.

"Warehouse requisitions, you said?" A cold laugh.

"Port armory requires three-party authorization—mine, the quartermaster's, and harbor administration's countersignature. Those things you claim mysteriously disappeared—they couldn't leave without your Governor's stamp. Could they?" He actually turned and looked at Haerdin—the look one reserves for something unpleasant tracked in from outside.

"And patrol vessel repairs—" He paused, smile turning arctic.

"Maintenance requests originate from my side. But disbursement authorization sits with you. Last autumn you held up hull replacement on the third and sixth patrol boats for twenty full days. Want me to refresh your memory about the reason you gave?" Haerdin's color drained another visible layer. I stood behind Ignicia and barely suppressed the urge to whistle appreciatively. Point by point. Line by line. Not emotional rebuttal—systematic disassembly.

Since you want to bite, I'll explain to everyone exactly how each of your teeth grew crooked. Much nastier than shouting back. Haerdin, visibly rattled, scrambled for purchase.

"T-that was because port tax transfers were delayed—""Wrong." Clean and instant.

"Funds had already arrived."

"—but the accounts showed—""Wrong again." Another step forward.

"I reviewed those accounts personally. Numbers were complete."

"It was subordinates who—""Still wrong." Not the commander this time. Lei Lian. Standing exactly where she'd been, voice carrying the temperature of winter on iron.

"During those vessels' repair suspension, dragon tower deployed supplementary low-altitude patrol coverage," she said with clinical precision.

"Tower issued formal written request demanding harbor administration expedite repair disbursement. The reply came directly from your Governor's office. The stated reason was—" She paused, as though confirming she hadn't misremembered something quite this spectacularly absurd."' Port district year-end foreign guest reception expenditure is substantial. Request temporary deferral of secondary military matters.'" Silence fell like a stone. Then I nearly laughed out loud. Not because it was funny.

Because it was so catastrophically stupid. Foreign guest reception expenditure? You let patrol boat hulls rot through because dinner parties were expensive? This wasn't corruption anymore. This was stamping I am profoundly unfit for command onto official correspondence and distributing it with your personal seal. Even Marro produced a short, appreciative sound from the doorway.

"Huh," he drawled.

"So port defense genuinely loses out to catering bills. Educational." His crew were shaking with suppressed laughter, shoulders bouncing. Haerdin snapped his head toward Marro and glared, but the look carried no authority—more like a man stripped of his robes still trying to perform dignity.

"You're all conspiring—""Conspiring to what?" the commander said flatly.

"Remember better than you?" Haerdin's breathing went ragged. But he couldn't stop. Past strategy now—pure animal thrashing.

"Even so, this doesn't prove I'm the only problem!" His voice pitched higher.

"What about your garrison's own men? Drinking on watch, taking passage money from merchant ships, selling patrol schedules to friendly captains—are you claiming none of that exists?" The harbor commander nodded without hesitation.

"It exists," he said. Haerdin blinked. So did I. That direct? Then came the hammer blow.

"The drinkers—I had flogged." One finger up.

"The ones taking passage money—I cut their rations and posted them to outer reef night watch for three months." Second finger.

"The one selling patrol schedules—I personally broke two of his ribs. He's counting rats in the punishment cell right now." Third finger. He lowered his hand and looked down at Haerdin with something approaching pity.

"My people had rot. I own that. I dealt with it." A pause.

"You're different." Haerdin's lips trembled. The commander's voice went lower still.

"You're not some rotten soldiers at the bottom."

"You're the one sitting at the very top, using the entire defensive line as your personal revenue stream." … That was surgical. Because it cut the problem into layers with one stroke. Men drinking and taking bribes at the bottom—that's discipline failure, a management problem. Haerdin's variety was selling the very authority to deal with failures as a commodity. Completely different categories. Haerdin clearly understood this, because for the first time he couldn't even assemble a rebuttal.

Mouth working, no complete sentence emerging. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Lei Lian delivered the finishing cut.

"Additionally," she said with the lightness of someone reading inventory, "dragon tower night watch records show three instances of harbor patrol delay, each annotated as Governor's office temporary vessel requisition. Tower inquired about purpose. All responses were evasive." She raised her eyes to Haerdin.

"If you intend to implicate the harbor commander, perhaps first explain what official business those three temporary requisitions were actually for." Haerdin choked on his next words entirely. His expression was that of a man who'd thrown mud only to watch the other side reach in and pull out ledgers he'd forgotten were buried there—then read them aloud to the room. I watched him and felt something crystallize. This was how he'd always operated. Skim a little here, suppress a little there.

When things went wrong, push down. When that failed, splash sideways. As long as everyone had dirt on them, he could keep sitting in the middle wearing official robes and performing respectability. The problem was that nobody in this room was interested in playing along. Ignicia finally spoke again. Her voice wasn't raised. But it drove a nail through every word that had been flying around, pinning them all to the table.

"Enough." Two syllables. Silence fell. She looked at Haerdin, the last trace of performative patience gone from her eyes.

"You bit at Lei Lian. Wrong target."

"You bit at the harbor commander. Also wrong." She tilted her head slightly, tone almost conversational.

"Tell me, Lord Haerdin—have you noticed something?" He said nothing. Or rather—he no longer quite dared.

"Every handful of filth you throw," Ignicia said slowly, "only helps us map exactly how much you've been soaking in yourself." Ignicia looked at Haerdin the way you look at meat that's gone bad but still somehow believes it belongs on the table. That look did more damage than blades.

"Lord Haerdin, we've been quite generous getting this far." She crouched slowly, bringing her eyes level with his where he slumped on the floor. Her voice smoothed into something almost gentle.

"Tell us everything honestly now, and perhaps you can die without it being too ugly." … Oh no. When she started using that tone, someone was in serious trouble. Because Ignicia's default setting was sharp-tongued, but when she was actually about to destroy someone, she went polite. Not from grace—from the same instinct that makes you wipe a blade clean before using it. Haerdin's lips went bloodless. His throat worked twice. Nothing came out.

Ignicia extended one finger and tapped her chin thoughtfully, as though genuinely working through his options.

"You can stay stubborn," she said.

"Then you go into a standing cage." She even tilted her head considerately, providing definition for the uninitiated.

"That's the iron cage they hang over the outer harbor—where you can only stand, can't sit, can't lie down, positioned where the wind is worst. Sun during the day, freezing at night. By the time your lips crack from thirst and you're seriously considering whether your own tongue is edible—" She paused. The corner of her mouth lifted.

"The crows, the gulls, and everything else that flies toward the smell of rot will eat you. Gradually." The room went very still. Even the harbor commander, who had been radiating fury, went quiet. I lit a mental candle for Haerdin. Not in mourning. As a preview. Because Ignicia had delivered that description with the fluency of someone who was absolutely not improvising—she had an entire menu of executions filed away and was simply reading the relevant page. She raised her hand and drew it across her own throat.

Clean. Precise. Like a blade through air.

"Or," she said pleasantly, "there's this option. Fast. Over immediately. If you're fortunate, you won't even register the pain." Then she added, helpfully:"Take your time. Decide whether you'd prefer the crows to take you piece by piece, or something clean." …This wasn't multiple choice. This was a death menu, presented with server recommendations. Haerdin's face sprinted from corpse-white toward ash-grey faster than when Lei Lian had held steel to his throat.

"Y-Your Highness… I…" Three syllables. Then his voice began to shake. Ignicia didn't rush him. She held that half-crouched posture, watching with the patience of someone who already knew the answer and was waiting for him to tear off his own last shred of cover. And Haerdin— He broke. Not metaphorically. Not spiritually collapsed. Concretely, specifically, and with considerable lack of dignity— He wet himself. I smelled it first.

Then I saw the dark spreading stain beneath him, seeping through gaps between floorboards. The room fell into peculiar suspended silence. Then from behind me came the sounds of Marro's crew trying very hard not to laugh. Not open laughter. The kind that gets compressed until shoulders shake uncontrollably and escapes anyway through the nose.

"Pfft—""Oh come on, he didn't—""Does this count as paying harbor dues early—""Shut it," the commander growled. Though honestly, that shut it sounded more like a man giving the order to himself. Even I nearly lost it. Nearly. Because thinking about this man, minutes ago, invoking regulations and royal authority and official documentation to build himself a coffin— Justice came a little slowly, but at least it found the right address. Ignicia didn't so much as raise an eyebrow.

She simply stood, brushed nonexistent dust from her skirt, and spoke as if reminding staff about a missing side order.

"Good. Now you finally look like someone who understands they're about to die," she said.

"Talk." Haerdin's mouth hung open. His whole body shook.

"I'll talk! I'll talk! Please, Your Highness, spare me—no—just make it quick—""That depends on whether what you say has any value," Ignicia replied. Haerdin nodded so fast his neck looked structurally compromised.

"B-bribes—two payments—!" Every set of eyes in the room locked onto him. Lei Lian stood straight as a blade, eyes holding winter's temperature. The harbor commander had his arms crossed, face dark enough that Haerdin would be lucky to make it to official execution without first getting reduced to a more convenient shape. Marro leaned by the door wearing the expression of someone who'd come expecting a decent show and received an encore. As for me— I felt something complicated settle in my chest. Not shock.

The specific exhaustion of of course. By this point, Haerdin having dirt was no longer a question. We were just waiting to hear how deep it went. Haerdin dragged in two breaths, assembling whatever remained of his survival instincts.

"The first payment… was from the Yanxia Empire…" He swallowed. His voice had gone completely dry.

"Sent under the name of tribute… they said it was for years of goodwill in border maritime trade, smooth passage, gratitude for the port district's consideration…"

"Consideration," the harbor commander repeated, very quietly, in the tone of someone grinding back teeth to powder. Haerdin didn't look at him. Kept trembling forward.

"The second… was from the sea-dragons…" Even Lei Lian's expression shifted a fraction.

"They called it a maritime defense levy…" Haerdin's voice shrank with each word.

"A routine… courtesy… for passage rights through certain sea lanes… as long as the port district looked the other way, didn't investigate certain routes too closely…" Bang. The commander's palm hit the table. The impact rattled my shoulders from across the room.

"Maritime defense levy," he said, jaw muscles jumping.

"And I didn't see a single copper of it. You absolute—" …I understood that completely. I'm up front taking cannon fire, and you're selling my defensive line as a storefront, pocketing the proceeds, then blocking ship repairs and patrol schedules until enemy warships are practically knocking on our harbor's door. If I were him, I'd want to load Haerdin into a cannon and fire him out to sea, on the off chance he might learn something useful on the way down.

"And it wasn't just taking money," Lei Lian said coldly.

"You covered for them." Haerdin flinched. Ignicia followed immediately.

"Be specific," she said.

"Not a menu recitation. Dates, names, who delivered it, how you received it, and what you did for them afterward." I almost lit a second candle for Haerdin. Round one had been selecting his method of death. Round two was apparently guided confession tutorial. Your Highness, if you ever applied this level of systematic clarity to our conversations, I estimate there would be at least a three percent improvement in our working relationship. Haerdin had no capacity left to appreciate my internal commentary.

He emptied himself completely. The Yanxia Empire payments came through trading houses and offshore intermediaries. Labeled tribute—which was just polished extortion. As long as the port district overlooked certain vessel manifests, certain cargo declarations, certain voyage records that had coincidentally gone missing in bad weather, payment arrived quarterly. The sea-dragon arrangement was blunter. No trading houses, no ceremony.

Money passed through familiar merchant contacts labeled maritime defense levy—nominally framed as sharing the port's burden, functionally meaning: don't schedule patrols too densely, don't let the dragon tower get suspicious too early, don't intercept certain ships on certain nights. This wasn't an elaborate conspiracy. It wasn't some world-shaking plot.

It was the most contemptible, most ordinary, most lethally effective variety of corruption—a greedy official selling the doors he was supposed to guard, to both sides, then continuing to stand at those doors holding the keys and performing the role of guardian.

"The ledgers?" Lei Lian asked.

"In—in my residence… behind the study cabinet, hidden compartment… and a sealed chest in the outer storehouse…"

"Receipts?" the commander said.

"Yanxia side has… transaction slips… sea-dragon side was mostly verbal… but I kept records… in a private ledger…"

"Perfect," Ignicia said. In that moment she looked exactly like a tyrant who'd just finished hearing a subordinate's report and was preparing to restructure an entire province. Apologies—princess. Though the distinction felt academic. She turned without preamble and clapped twice.

"Then it's settled," she said. Not loud. But clean as a blade falling.

"Effective immediately, the position of Governor of Iskaaprubla Port is vacant. Replacement to be determined later." Haerdin's head snapped up. Whatever residual life had been in his face evacuated in one breath. Ignicia didn't look at him. She continued.

"Until a new governor is appointed, port operations will be jointly managed by the harbor commander and the dragon tower. Temporarily." The harbor commander blinked. Lei Lian's eyes moved. Simple arrangement. Quietly devastating. Not consolidating power under the commander—that would create a military fiefdom. Not handing everything to the tower—that would sever administrative chains. Joint oversight, mutual accountability.

No single person could ever again sit behind one desk with a few seals and sell an entire harbor. … I was, briefly, genuinely impressed. Which didn't prevent me from wanting to argue with her about approximately everything else.

"All ledgers, private accounts, and sealed chests are to be impounded," she continued.

"Governor's office sealed immediately. Every clerk, courier, and quartermaster who handled those documents—no one leaves. Capital investigators will arrive for full review."

"Yes, Your Highness." Lei Lian answered without hesitation. The harbor commander nodded grimly. Only Haerdin—who had clearly just understood that he was no longer a person with a seat at any table—crumpled entirely.

"Your Highness… Your Highness… I told you everything… I told you everything…" He reached out, trying to grab the hem of Ignicia's clothing. His hand barely extended before she caught him by the back of the collar. Not dramatically. With the casual efficiency one uses to pick up a bag of rubbish. She lifted him clean off the floor.

"Yes, you did," Ignicia said, tone bright and almost cheerful, which made it considerably more alarming.

"So naturally, we move to the next step." Haerdin's face went transparent. His feet left the ground. He kicked twice—looking absurd, like a fish that had been lifted out of water and hadn't yet processed the change in circumstances. I couldn't help it.

"Your Highness, are you going to—" Ignicia turned and looked at me. Eyes wide. Expression broadcasting with absolute clarity. The are you genuinely this slow expression. Upgraded version.

"Obviously," she said. She held Haerdin in one hand like something that had forfeited its right to the title of Governor, and pointed toward the door with the other as though indicating where to put the recycling.

"Execution." The room held a beat of silence. Then Marro produced a quiet, appreciative whistle.

"Efficient," he remarked.

"I'm starting to appreciate this port's administrative culture."

"Shut up," I said reflexively.

"What's wrong, kid? Not your preference?"

"I'm not used to someone saying execution with the same energy as let's get dinner!"

"You'll adjust." Marro shrugged.

"The person you're traveling with isn't exactly a standard-issue noblewoman." … Infuriatingly accurate. Ignicia had no intention of waiting for anyone's adjustment period. She carried the still-trembling Haerdin toward the door. It swung open and salt-laced harbor wind poured in, making the lamp flutter, dispersing the room's accumulated atmosphere with considerable efficiency. Oddly, I felt something release in my chest. Maybe because even the air seemed to be saying: Right.

This ugly business is finally wrapping up. I watched that figure recede. Dark red cloak caught by harbor wind, swirling like embers that hadn't decided whether to become fire again. The way she walked out carrying Haerdin looked like neither a princess nor a magistrate. More like a dragon who had finished cleaning house and was taking out the rubbish on the way. I stood where I was and arrived at a thought that was both extremely practical and extremely bleak— Thank god it wasn't me she was glaring at earlier.

Because if it had been, the emergency envoy of the Kingdom of Eckhaus would currently be the one dangling by his collar, kicking at empty air.