"Everyone, get to work."
With a single command from the Queen, the long-vacant commercial street on the Palace Square had all its empty shops—aside from the Black Rose store—completely cleared out within a mere two hours.
Without any hesitation, bundles of linen, washed straw mats, and various basic furniture urgently dispatched by Irene were swiftly laid out in every shop under the soldiers' efficient transport.
When the first batch of critically ill subjects was carried away on stretchers by the soldiers, suppressed cries erupted from the crowd of subjects on both sides of the street.
"Don't take my son away! He just has a little fever, he's innocent!"
An old woman desperately clutched the edge of the stretcher, her eyes filled with despair and panic.
In the understanding of these subjects living at the bottom of society, large-scale isolation often meant 'abandonment.'
In the history of neighboring countries, the method of handling plagues was usually to find a piece of wasteland and lock the sick and their healthy relatives together until the last person stopped breathing.
"Is Her Majesty going to take them for Alchemy experiments?"
"I heard that those who were taken away will be thrown into the great furnace of the West Tower and refined into that glowing Potion..."
"No! Our family members have been taken away; are we next?"
Rumors spread as rapidly as the plague itself.
Facing the subjects' gradually agitated emotions, Delilah's hand already gripped the hilt of her sword, her brows tightly furrowed.
However, at this moment, Sophia slowly walked onto the street.
She wore her iconic Black Rose mask. That head of silver hair flickered with a cold and holy luster under the winter sun, and the golden crown represented the symbol of authority.
"This Queen does not force your trust."
Sophia's voice was clear and cold, yet it carried a weight that pierced the soul.
"If you are not at ease, each household can provide one healthy family member to accompany them into the quarantine zone as a 'volunteer.'
"This Queen will distribute masks to you, teach you how to nurse them, and even give you double the rations as a reward.
"You must care for other patients while taking care of your own family members; this is the duty of a volunteer.
"You can watch with your own eyes whether This Queen is actually saving people, or sacrificing them."
The dozens of volunteers, who had originally been half-doubting or even harboring the resolve to die to accompany the sickbeds, thoroughly fell into a certain cognitive disconnect upon stepping into the temporary hospital transformed from that row of shops.
There was no darkness or dampness here, no smell of rot.
This place was filled with Order and cleanliness.
Every shop had been thoroughly fumigated with mugwort, and the walls bore Irene's hand-drawn, simple and clear hygiene rules.
Every patient lay on a tidy bed, wearing linen clothes that had been boiled at high temperatures. Placed at the head of their beds was warm water and the Potion brewed by Daphne that carried the aura of the Holy Light.
Those attendants rapidly trained by Willow were wearing masks, orderly measuring temperatures and recording the conditions for every patient.
Even though the training was too rapid, the situation was urgent and everything could only be kept simple.
This sense of Order that transcended the era subjected this group of subjects, who were accustomed to surviving in mud and chaos, to an unprecedented psychological impact.
Old Pete's neighbor, a white-haired old stonemason, didn't have any family, so he specifically requested to come to the plague quarantine zone to act as a volunteer.
Gazing at everything in perfect order, he couldn't help but sigh with emotion, "I've seen the palaces of nobles in my life, and I've also seen the stables of the slums.
"But I've never seen a place that could serve us diseased, rotting meat like human beings.
"Her Majesty... Her Majesty is not merely saving lives; she is laying down rules for the God of Death.
"How is this a temporary treatment center? This is a sanctuary Her Majesty built in the mortal world for us poor folks!"
A washerwoman in her early twenties, currently taking care of her sick younger sister, wiped away the teardrop that had just fallen.
"I originally thought that once she was taken away, I would never see my sister again. But just now, that shop assistant sister wearing a uniform taught me how to wash my hands using that thing called magic disinfectant, and even handed me a bowl of piping hot wheat porridge.
"Her Majesty clearly could have saved this money to fight wars, yet she used it to buy us these snow-white linens.
"I don't ask for anything else in this life. As long as she's cured, my life belongs to Her Majesty. Even if I have to go to the borders to dig dirt, I absolutely won't utter a single word of complaint!"
A young man who had originally taken the lead in protesting—he had been willing to risk his life to come here in order to expose all the darkness.
His voice choked slightly as he looked at the neat beds in the room and that faint Holy Light.
"Look, that Potion is glowing.
"Lord Saint is overdrawing her life to prepare medicine for us, and Her Majesty is braving the wind and snow at the door to save our lives. Yet we surprisingly suspected that Her Majesty wanted to refine us... Are we even human?
"Her Majesty is reshaping Mason's spine!
"She wants the whole world to know that in Mason, even if a beggar falls ill, Her Majesty won't let him die like a dog!"
Hearing the waves of crying and subsequent pious cheers transmitting from inside the quarantine zone, Sophia, standing beneath the long corridor, gently rubbed her temples.
Gathering them together wasn't merely for the convenience of unified medicine feeding and management; it also saved my people from running all over the city and dying of sudden exhaustion.
However... looking at their current expressions of wishing they could block arrows for her, it feels like the effect of this wave of civilization appeasement is several times stronger than she expected.
Sophia looked at Delilah beside her. No emotion could be seen on that stoic face, but her tone revealed a chilling resoluteness.
"Order has been stabilized.
"Delilah, notify Victor: everyone is to rest and work in an orderly manner.
"I want to let those hiding in the shadows watching the show know that the God of Death cannot enter Mason's land, and the armies of other countries shouldn't even think about getting their hands on it."
"Complying with the decree!!"
The clashing sound of Delilah's armor was resonant and powerful.
The hot air and mugwort smoke of the quarantine zone intertwined, constructing a line of defense named 'survival' on the street in front of the Palace.
However, beneath this Order that seemed as immovable as iron laws, an extremely minute malice, akin to a crawling snake, was quietly seeping in.
Vasha placed a thick stack of clean linen on the shelf. Her forehead was covered in fine sweat, and the hem of her long dress was stained with dust, making her look thoroughly disheveled.
The air inside the quarantine zone was stirred by the rich mugwort smoke, presenting a hazy blue-gray color.
Every temporary consultation room was as taut as a fully drawn bowstring; only the busy footsteps of the volunteers intertwined on the Cement floor.
At this moment, Vasha was kneeling in a dark corner. Her skirt had long been mottled by medicinal juice and dust.
Holding a white cloth that had been boiled in water, she was mechanically wiping a heavy wooden box.
However, those eyes, accustomed to surviving in the power vortex of the Orr court, were like falcons in a deep pool, piercing through the pervasive smoke and locking tightly onto a figure not far away.
In such a quarantine zone where the God of Death could knock on the door at any time, everyone's face was inscribed with the same underlying tone: an extreme fear of death that couldn't be concealed even when wearing masks.
However, that man who was currently bending over to distribute warm water to the patients was too calm.
Vasha watched him.
Although his movements appeared somewhat flustered, his footsteps were extremely steady, and when his gaze scanned the surrounding sentries, it revealed a cold, calculating intent.
Most crucially, when his rough hands touched the handle of the water pitcher, the tip of his index finger would habitually curl up slightly.
That was a special training movement of the court secret guards of the Kingdom of Orr when conducting trace poisoning, intended to prevent the highly toxic substance from contaminating their own nails.
Vasha's heart immediately realized something.
She hesitated for a moment, and then made an immediate decision.
Since you think Mason's quarantine zone is a sieve that can be casually poked through, then I will teach you what the residual might of a loser looks like.
Her Majesty is watching from above, and Daphne is supporting from behind. If I let you small fry disturb this painstakingly established Order, what face do I, Vasha... still have to seek a job here?
Vasha didn't make a sound, not even alerting the patrolling Delilah.
She was very clear that these deathsworn usually had suicide poison hidden on their bodies. Once alerted, the clue would be broken.
She casually grabbed a bundle of recently unloaded dry firewood and, pretending to be physically exhausted, stumbled towards the man.
"Lend a hand... the things are too heavy..."
Vasha's voice was hoarse and weak, bearing an extreme resemblance to an exhausted exiled princess.
A hint of impatience flashed through the man's eyes, but in order not to attract attention, he still reached out and took the firewood.
The moment he bent down, Vasha's originally lowered eyelids abruptly lifted, and that aura of slaughter belonging to a noble at the bottom of her eyes instantly erupted.
There was no magic, only the small self-preservation techniques honed over years of treading on thin ice.
Vasha slid a narrow, long dagger normally used for slicing herbs from her sleeve. Under the cover of the sound of the rolling firewood, she accurately stabbed it into the base of the other party's thigh.
"Ugh!"
The man cried out in pain, but Vasha beat him to the punch, using that dirty floor-wiping cloth to tightly gag his mouth and nose.
Vasha used her knee to press firmly against his spine, bringing all her body weight to bear. Her actions were so experienced that it sent chills down one's spine.
Beside the man's ear, she coldly murmured in the Orr language, audible only to the two of them:
"Want to swap the medicine? Or want to add some 'ingredients' to the water?
"Using Orr's tricks on Mason's turf—do you think the master here is blind?"
She was breathing rapidly. Although she had learned some minor self-defense combat techniques from the soldiers when she was in Orr, that was merely a part of it.
Furthermore, her physical strength was indeed somewhat lacking compared to this person who was much taller and stronger than her. Fortunately, she could launch a sneak attack.
Just as the man was about to faint from the severe pain and suffocation, Vasha was quick of eye and deft of hand, hooking out a small porcelain bottle from the crevice of his belt.
The bottle's mouth was sealed with specially made wax.
Vasha held it up against the lamplight to observe it. The turbid liquid caused her pupils to shrink slightly.
This wasn't medicine; this was a virus!
The color of this thing was very strange. It looked like the blood of an infected person had been mixed into it, which would cause anyone who came into contact with this diluted blood to also be infected with the plague.
If this thing were poured into the large cauldron of medicinal soup, the public sentiment and Order that Sophia had just established would collapse within a few quarters of an hour.
Vasha knocked the spy unconscious with a hand chop, and then, like dragging a piece of clutter, dragged him into the shadows at the end of the corridor.
On the high platform of the Council Hall, Sophia was currently rubbing her sore neck, casting her gaze out the window.
Her pale golden eyes took in the entire sequence of Vasha's throat-locking, blood-letting, and disarming actions from just now.
This girl Vasha... what exactly did she go through in Orr before?
Although it's visible that her physical strength isn't that great and she isn't very proficient, her movements are quite professional, like she has studied them.
That shoulder throw was simply more professional than Delilah's, and that posture for delivering the final blow... she even carefully avoided the other party's artery to prevent blood from splattering everywhere.
Sophia set down the documents in her hand. Although she was loudly complaining internally, on the surface, she still maintained an aloofness of 'everything is under This Queen's control.'
Very good.
When a temp employee starts actively clearing out spies for the boss, it means the corporate identity of this project has been maxed out.
Ah, Vasha, since you want to prove so much that you aren't just a vase, then This Queen... will give you this chance.
Victor stood behind Sophia. Looking at the spy being dragged into the shadows, the wrinkles on his old face were entirely filled with shock after being amazed.
What a terrifying balancing act!
Her Majesty deliberately made Miss Vasha do those dirtiest and most tiring jobs, not even giving her an official title, all for the sake of forging her into an invisible poisoned dagger!
In the quarantine zone, on the surface there are General Delilah's iron-blooded guards, yet in the dark, there is Miss Vasha, this inquisitor who is familiar with the enemy country's tricks.
This double-layered filtration epidemic prevention system is simply airtight!
The moment Her Majesty recruited Miss Vasha, she likely had already calculated today's poisoning attempt.
How is this an exiled princess? This is a Shadow Guard personally selected by Her Majesty to keep watch for civilization at night—
When Vasha appeared before Sophia, bringing along that half-dead man and that bottle of poison that hadn't yet been opened, the air of the entire quarantine street came to a standstill.
Vasha knelt in the snow, sweat mixed with mud droplets dripping down her chin. She raised the porcelain bottle, her voice shaking but carrying a satisfaction of a great revenge having been exacted:
"Your Majesty, Orr's shadow... I have caught him."
Sophia stood up from her chair and slowly walked in front of Vasha.
She didn't look at that spy, but instead looked at Vasha's chafed fingers.
"Victor, take that spy down and let Valery interrogate him. If nothing can be interrogated out of him, then take him to make compost."
Sophia turned her head and tossed a pristine white handkerchief printed with a Black Rose pattern into Vasha's embrace.
"Vasha, change out of these dirty clothes.
"Go rest for a bit, and afterwards, call Willow and the others to come to a meeting together."
Vasha tightly gripped that handkerchief, allowing the cold snowflakes to fall into her eye sockets, yet she felt that the giant boulder that had always been suspended in her heart had finally landed and taken root.
Since Her Majesty had her call the others to go to a meeting together, then it represented that she was no longer being excluded.
Regarding the matter of rooting out the Orr spy, Vasha didn't have any psychological burden.
Even though she was born in Orr, she had always been raised as a vase and a tool over there; her Old King father merely wanted to use her to exchange for more benefits for the country.
Furthermore, she truly couldn't bear to watch more people die because of the Kingdom of Orr's schemes and tricks.
With this transmission speed, if the people of Orr continued to secretly poison the patients, then very soon, more than half of Mason's people would die.
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