Chapter 4: Behind the Veil of Politics

Pale moonlight streamed through the tall glass windows of my private study. I, Lord Valerius Thorn, Prime Minister of the Kingdom, stood over the large map spread across my polished mahogany desk. It depicted the Whispering Forest and its surrounding territories, with meticulously drawn red lines marking the first phase of the "development zone." The air was thick with the scent of fine cigars, mingling with the faint traces of protective enchantments woven throughout the room.

I had just concluded a private meeting with the nobles and merchants investing in this "project." They hungered for profit as much as I craved power. The Whispering Forest… a name the ignorant commoners had given it, as if it possessed a soul of its own. To me, it was nothing more than an untapped resource—an expanse of untouched hardwood, rare minerals, and, perhaps, hidden reserves of magical energy waiting to be exploited.

The latest report lay beside the map. Good news—the Stonehand family's land dispute had been settled. The court had done its job well enough (with a little "guidance" from my associates). That hot-blooded fool, Caelen Stonehand, was probably drowning his sorrows in some dingy tavern by now. Pathetic, but necessary. Securing that land made access to "Sector Gamma" far easier, eliminating many inconvenient obstacles.

But a minor annoyance had arisen—one that demanded attention. A report from my spies mentioned a woman frequenting the forest too often for mere coincidence. Elara Meadowlight… an independent scholar with an unfortunate fascination for nature. I had seen her name before, scribbled on meaningless petitions that had long since been discarded. Perhaps she had stumbled upon a boundary marker or an overlooked document left behind by my men. Fools.

I tapped my fingers against the desk. This Elara Meadowlight might be nothing more than an idealistic fool trying to "protect" the trees, but excessive curiosity had a way of leading to complications. And I did not tolerate variables beyond my control—especially not when this project had to proceed as discreetly as possible until it reached the point of no return.

"My Lord." A voice emerged from the shadowed corner of the room. Malchor, my most trusted advisor and master of dark arts. "How may I serve you?"

I did not turn to face him. "Keep a close watch on this scholar, Malchor. Do not let her out of your sight. If she seems inclined to interfere… find a way to 'handle' her quietly. No unnecessary attention." I emphasized the word handle. "And as for that Stonehand boy—though he's lost the case, desperate men often do foolish things. Send a little… encouragement his way. Let him understand the cost of resistance."

"As you command, my Lord." Malchor bowed before fading into the darkness, vanishing as if he had never been there.

I turned my gaze back to the map. This project was a crucial step in solidifying my power. The wealth it would generate would flow into my coffers and those of my allies, strengthening the intricate web of influence I had woven—within the council, the military, the merchant guilds, and even the shadowed corners of the magical underworld.

And the people? They would hear only what I wanted them to hear—tales of "progress" and "a bright future" spun by my loyal mouthpieces. They would rejoice at the new roads and the jobs created by the factories (never mind the pollution they would bring). They would forget about the old forest and the ruined noble family soon enough. That was the nature of the masses—docile and forgetful, easily appeased with crumbs of bread and cheap entertainment.

I lit another cigar, watching the gray smoke curl and dissipate into the air. Let the whispers of the forest, or the wails of those crushed beneath my ambition, echo on. They were nothing more than background noise—faint murmurs soon to be drowned beneath the relentless march of power and progress.

Valerius Thorn would let nothing stand in his way.