Daisuke—currently disguised as Sophia—approached the grounds of the charity event with Reneal and Neville in tow. The young prince wore his usual expression of nervous uncertainty, occasionally tugging at the hem of his sleeves or glancing around anxiously.
Neville, older and ever composed, kept his eyes sharp.
Daisuke’s gaze shifted to the sides, catching sight of something odd. Several wagons were parked inconspicuously beyond the event’s border. At first glance, they appeared mundane, but upon closer inspection, he noticed the edges of stone blocks and wooden frames peeking through the canvas coverings.
“Construction materials?” he muttered under his breath.
“For additional cooking stoves, perhaps,” Neville said, following his gaze. “Though it’s curious they’re hidden.”
They hadn’t gone much further when a pair of adventurers passed by, speaking in hushed yet venomous tones.
“Should’ve just dumped the slaves and slum rats at Myst Mountain,” one said, sneering. “Let the monsters feast. That would’ve saved us all the trouble and taxes.”
The other laughed. “Right? This whole charity thing is a bloody joke. Inflation’s kicking us in the teeth and they’re feeding beggars? Might as well just burn gold in the streets.”
Daisuke’s jaw tightened.
Reneal looked down, visibly uncomfortable. “I… I don’t think that’s funny at all,” he mumbled quietly.
Neville placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and frowned. “Keep your head up, Your Highness. We must remain composed.”
Around them, the whispers caught fire. Grumbling voices grew louder. Citizens bemoaned the taxes, the war preparations, and the poor timing of such a bizarre, misplaced display of generosity. Their complaints clashed with the festive appearance of the event, twisting the mood into a volatile blend of suspicion and resentment.
Then a voice rang out.
“My dear friends,” said Father Alvian, stepping up onto a high platform flanked by two acolytes, “thank you for coming.”
He raised his hands and the crowd quieted. “The goddess loves all people,” he continued, “regardless of social class or race. Her blessings are mysterious, but never undeserved. Many among us here today—slaves, the homeless, the impoverished—were once like you and me. Misfortune struck. Loss followed. And now they suffer.”
The crowd shifted.
“For the demihumans here… they did not choose their race. And yet, they too contribute. They clean our streets. They serve in silence. They do the jobs others scorn. As for the slaves, their presence attracts the rich who do trade with our city. They are part of the lifeblood of our capital.”
He paused, voice dropping into something gentler.
“Shouldn’t their work be honored? Shouldn’t their presence be acknowledged? These are trying times, yes… but perhaps our compassion might invoke the goddess’s mercy. Perhaps she will bless us with abundance if we show grace in scarcity.”
For a moment, the crowd was silent. Then Father Alvian stepped aside and gestured. “In place of the Grand Chancellor, who was unfortunately detained, we have here Baron Aurelius, assistant to the Master of Coin.”
With a grand flourish, the priest raised his arms, his smile glowing with charm. “In Her breath, we are made pure. May goddess Zepharion bless you all.”
The baron—a man with a sharp face and well-trimmed mustache—stepped forward. He cleared his throat before speaking, voice clipped and businesslike.
“Thank you, Father Alvian. Today, we gather in accordance with a divine decree to honor the less fortunate among us—our slaves, the slum dwellers, and some of our less fortunate citizens in need.
They will be given the first opportunity to partake in the offerings prepared for this blessed occasion. Once they’ve had their turn, the booths will open to the rest of the public.
As part of our promise, clean garments will be distributed to the underprivileged. Moreover, we will take this opportunity to introduce new programs designed to help reintegrate the slum folk into society—empowering them to become self-reliant and contributing members of our wonderful kingdom.”
Daisuke watched him with narrowed eyes.
Neville glanced around, his brow furrowing. “I’m surprised the Master of Coin would approve of such a grand endeavor, especially with everything going on. It seems… ill-timed.”
Reneal nodded slowly. “I understand charity is important and the people are desperate, but… I highly doubt my father would support an effort of this magnitude. Not with the current state of the kingdom.”
Daisuke scanned the crowd again. It was then that he noticed it—the subtle yet clear segregation. The slum folk and slaves were eagerly indulging in the food, their faces alight with joy. But the rest of the crowd—the “less fortunate” citizens—stood apart. Their attention wasn’t on the enticing feast before them, but on the coordinators and VIPs.
They were watching and far too alert.
Too still.
Daisuke’s instincts prickled.
Something wasn’t right.
Activating the Eye of Verity, he scanned the group and his pupils narrowed when he noticed it. All the so-called less fortunate denizens were all high-level and overflowing with MP.
They’re all mages. All of them.
But why?
Why would so many mages be here? And why were they all posing as impoverished souls?
Before Daisuke could process the information further, a rush of memories hit him—the two adventurers talking about dumping slaves and slum folk at Myst Mountain to be devoured by monsters. Another conversation in the guild about a looming dungeon break and how suspiciously lax the soldiers were in their preparations.
Daisuke’s pulse quickened. It can’t be…
His eyes snapped toward the distant hills. Just past the trees, he saw it—a faint, flickering blue aura pulsing from a rocky outcrop in the distance.
The dungeon.
A sickening realization struck him like a rusty dagger to the chest. This wasn’t a charity event… it was a culling.
Daisuke’s heart pounded in his chest as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
DING!
[The Insight stat has been unlocked.]
The slaves and slum folk were gathered here to be slaughtered the moment the break occurred. The dungeon would release its monsters and they would be trapped and helpless. The rich and powerful would remain safe with the aid of the mages while the rest would be left to die.
Without thinking, Daisuke sprang into action, shouting to the crowd, “Get out of here! It’s a trap—!”
But his warning was cut short.
A thunderous crack split the air—louder than any storm, louder than any monster’s roar. The sound came from the direction of the dungeon. The barrier sealing the monsters inside had shattered. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the very air seemed to warp and twist.
Before anyone could react, a colossal shadow descended from the sky—a massive winged creature akin to a dimorphodon from the Early Jurassic period, its wings cutting through the air with a deafening screech. The monster was covered in jagged crystals and its eyes gleamed with an unnatural hunger.
Screams erupted.
The mages moved instantly. Barriers shimmered to life—protecting only the VIPs and coordinators as planned. The rest were left vulnerable.
But their vile plot was about to be foiled.
With a pulse of energy, the monster unleashed its ability and space suddenly warped. In the blink of an eye, Daisuke, the slaves, the slum folk, the mages, the coordinators, the nobles, and crooked priest—
Vanished.
Neville stood frozen.
Reneal stared, mouth agape. “Sophia…?” he whispered.
All around him, the people screamed and shouted.
The prince’s trembling hand reached out toward where his sister’s friend had been. “Sophia!!!”
But she was gone.
***
The belfry bell rang out to issue a state of emergency, echoing across the city like a siren of doom. The cries of the terrified mingled with the thunder of booted soldiers locking into position.
Steel glinted in the morning sun as men in uniform began erecting thick wooden barricades around the field’s perimeter, forming a wall that cut the people off from any possible escape.
People ran—screaming, stumbling, pushing past one another in panic—but the blockade was already closing in like a snare.
Neville shoved himself up from the ground, his eyes trembling as they swept the scattering crowd. “Miss Sophia… and that beast—where did they all go?”
Beside him, the prince stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. His lips parted, but for a moment no words came out. Reneal lacked backbone, but not sense—his overbearing conscience often bred paranoia, but sharpened his instincts in return.
“…That sound was from a Dungeon Break,” he said at last, his voice distant. “And that monster… it had to be the Dungeon Boss.”
Neville turned to him sharply, disbelief written across his face. “Your Highness—”
“This whole event,” Reneal cut in, “it wasn’t charity. It was planned. All of it. A vile way to get rid of the slaves and slum folk in one fell swoop.”