Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 113

Chapter 113: Return the People’s Money in Full, Split the Gentry’s Money Seventy-Thirty

The towering iron gates of Londinium groaned as they parted. Vina, draped in a heavy, concealing cloak, rode through the cobblestone streets. Beneath her was not a true beast, but a massive lion manifested by the Shapeshifter. With Gawain still absent, the Sarkaz operative had to make do as her royal mount. Frez walked steadily by her side, an imposing vanguard protecting her return to the capital.

The citizens lining the thoroughfare wore a mosaic of expressions. Some gaped in sheer surprise. Others leaned out of windows, eyes wide with curiosity. But the vast majority glared.

Their resentment toward the Royal Family ran deep, festering like an untreated wound. The older generation still vividly remembered the hanged king—Vina’s father, Alistair II. His aggressive tax policies had choked the life out of the working class, tightening the noose around their livelihoods until the boiling point was reached and he was dragged to the gallows.

To the people of Londinium, the crown was nothing but a parasite. The city had survived without a king; they believed it would remain great without one.

“We don’t want a king!” a voice roared from the throng.

“We don’t need one!”

“Get out of Londinium! Get out!”

The jeers cascaded into a riotous clamor. A crumpled tin can sailed through the air, followed by a shower of rotten refuse. Vina flinched, her eyes darting away from the hostile crowd.

Frez stepped ahead of the manifested lion.

“Silence.”

He didn’t scream, but the sheer, crushing weight of his aura slammed into the street. The oppressive pressure choked the air from their lungs. The angry shouts died in an instant, replaced by a suffocating, terrified quiet. Thousands of eyes locked onto him, wide with sudden dread.

Frez swept his gaze over the frozen crowd. “Her Highness Vina will be crowned under our protection. She will become the Emperor of Victoria. You are all her subjects. With the combined efforts of Her Highness and the Sarkaz, I promise you a life far better than the miserable existence you endure now.”

He let the words hang in the tense air. “A king should not bleed his own people dry. That is exactly why the previous Emperor deserved his fate.”

A ripple of shock passed through the onlookers.

“Alistair II was a tyrant,” Frez continued, his voice ringing against the stone facades. “But Vina is not. She has bled in the alleys. She has lived among the common dust and knows the exact shape of your hardships. She has made a vow to us, and now she makes it to you: Victoria will thrive again.”

A brave, trembling citizen pushed to the front of the barricades. “How can you guarantee she won’t just become another leech like her father?”

“Because her father turned his back on the very people who built this empire, and the empire swallowed him whole,” Frez replied, his tone absolute. “You, the citizens, are the spine of Victoria. You are its foundation. The burdens ahead will be shared. We will drag Victoria out of this depression, stabilize the streets, and uplift those who have suffered in the shadows. I guarantee peace and prosperity in the days to come.”

“And who are you?” someone shouted from a balcony. “Why isn’t Her Highness giving us this guarantee herself?!”

Frez stood tall, his presence expanding to fill the avenue. “I am the Monarch of the Sarkaz. The Demon King of Kazdel. And the Regent of Victoria. I give you my word. That is your guarantee.”

A beat of stunned silence held the street captive. Then, a slow, hesitant clapping began, swelling rapidly into thunderous applause. The sheer audacity and absolute confidence of his speech had cracked their cynicism. The mob blocking the thoroughfare parted, clearing a wide path.

From atop the Shapeshifter-lion, Vina watched the transformation. The raw hatred in the citizens’ eyes had fractured into something complex—a fragile, desperate glimmer of hope.

“How did you do that?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“The people don’t want a rebellion,” Frez replied, matching her quiet tone as they resumed their march. “They just want a decent life. They don’t actually care who sits on the throne, as long as there’s bread on the table. Your father’s impatience and bottomless greed are what built his gallows.”

Alistair II had been too eager. He had tried to force economic reform acts to wrest power and wealth away from the Great Dukes and the nobility. But the backlash had crushed the commoners. Taxes skyrocketed. Families shattered. People were displaced, starving in the gutters, and many chose the river over another day of suffering.

On the night the King died, Londinium hadn’t mourned. The city had celebrated until dawn. Shops were looted, the cobblestones buried under broken glass and empty beer bottles. Gaulish scholars had even documented that the riots were more chaotic than the fall of Leithanien.

Frez glanced up at her. “Vina, what do you think is the true rot eating away at Victoria?”

She frowned, looking at the ragged clothes of the cheering crowd. “The suffering of the people? The lack of resources?”

“You’re looking at the symptoms, not the disease. What caused them to suffer in the first place?” Frez smiled, adopting the tone of a patient tutor guiding a student.

Vina hesitated. “Is it… the nobles? Is it them?”

“Them, and the merchants.”

Frez’s smile sharpened as he laid out the grim reality of her empire. “The aristocracy and the trade barons are the leeches draining Victoria dry. Look at your grandfather, the majestic Lion King, Frederick III. He won the Battle of the Four Emperors. He stood as the ultimate victor of that bloody era, alongside the Gaulish King Corsica I, the Ursus Emperor Ivan the Terrible, and the Witch King of Leithanien. Victoria and Ursus carved up Gaul, swallowing the most fertile central valleys of Terra and hoarding a vast fortune.”

He paused, letting the history settle. “Yet, despite all that glory, Frederick III died under highly mysterious circumstances. Why? Because decades of expansion made the princes and nobles obscenely wealthy and powerful, while the Royal Family’s actual grip on the military and economy withered.”

The merchants and the high nobility had conspired to eliminate the conqueror of Gaul. And the subsequent death of his son—Vina’s father, Henry Alistair Victoria—had been nothing more than a carefully orchestrated farce to complete their takeover.

“They refuse to surrender the power and wealth they’ve stolen,” Frez said, his eyes cold. “So, we are going to make them choke on it, Vina.”

Vina tilted her head, confused by his absolute investment in this. “But what do you actually get out of all this?”

“Money. The plan is simple. The citizens’ money is returned in full, while the nobles’ and merchants’ money is split seventy-thirty.”

“You’re taking thirty percent?” she asked.

“No.” Frez chuckled. “That seventy percent is ours.”

He cast an amused glance at the naive little lion. Behind them, Duq’arael, the Sanguinarch, let out a low, chilling sneer.

Did she really think his ultimate goal was just filling a treasury?

No. It was Victoria itself.

From the exact second his boots touched the paving stones of Londinium, this city—and the entire nation—was already resting comfortably in the palm of the Sarkaz.

“Aren’t you being a bit too greedy?” Vina asked, her brow furrowing.

“That thirty percent is more than enough to let the citizens of Londinium live like kings,” Frez countered smoothly.

“Only Londinium?”

“I don’t have absolute control over the outer Dukedoms yet,” Frez admitted, pointing out the looming threat. “The Great Dukes won’t roll over and cooperate. They are the true enemies waiting for us over the horizon.”

The Great Dukes had already murdered one king. They wouldn’t hesitate to butcher a second, or a third. They had been blinded by the allure of the empty throne for years and would never let a foreign Regent steal their prize.

But they had made a fatal miscalculation. They had let Frez inside the walls. And now, there was absolutely no force on Terra that could drag him back out.

“Vina, I know you have no real desire to wear the crown,” Frez said, his tone softening slightly. “So leave the heavy lifting to me. You just need to sit there and be a beautiful mascot. I won’t make you do anything you hate. If there’s a banquet or a summit you despise, the Shapeshifter can take your face and attend in your place. That was the deal Gawain and I struck.”

Vina fell silent, the rhythmic thud of the manifested lion’s paws echoing against the stone. She had to admit, Frez treated her well. He actually considered her feelings, a rarity in the cutthroat politics of Victoria.

Gawain had told her, back in the slums, that she could learn how to truly rule by watching this man.

The old lion had been right. She was already learning.

“I understand,” she finally said, her posture straightening. “I’ll follow your lead.”