Several dozen steps behind the selection area, a carved wooden chair cushioned with thick velvet had been set firmly in the shade.
Sophia sat there in silence, her moon-silver hair stirring gently in the breeze.
She held no documents. She simply sat with her legs crossed in perfect poise, her pale fingertips resting lightly against her chin, those pale-gold eyes seeming to pass through the noise of the crowd and reach straight into the depths of every soul present.
She had not said a single word, yet the very atmosphere of the entire grounds had grown heavy and solemn under the weight of her presence.
"Look... Her Majesty is right over there.
"Even from this distance, I feel like something cold—like Holy Light itself—is pressing against my spine.
"She's like a goddess out of legend, sitting in judgment over whether we're worthy to offer our sweat to this land.
"One of the girls nearly turned red in the face lifting a stone just now, because she felt Her Majesty's gaze sweep across her shoulder.
"In Her Majesty's presence, the strength of us common folk feels like an offering at the altar.
"Only those who pass Lord Delilah's selection earn the right to kneel at the feet of that silver-haired sovereign.
"An honor like that—it's more blood-stirring than becoming a minor noble in some neighboring kingdom!"
"Willow."
Sophia tilted her head slightly. Her voice was cool and clear as a mountain spring, yet carried an unmistakable gravity that brooked no argument.
"This servant is here."
Willow immediately gave a slight bow, pulling her attention away from where she had been watching Delilah's selection, and fixed her complete focus on her sovereign, waiting for instructions.
"Tell Delilah."
Sophia tapped her armrest lightly with one fingertip, her gaze resting on a few subjects who stood hanging their heads in dejection, unable to move the heavy stones.
"Apart from those exceptionally strong core craftsmen who must be retained, select as many new faces as possible—people who did not take part in the rear hills reclamation last time."
She paused, and when she spoke again her tone had deepened:
"Every inch of Mason's land needs to be watered, and this Queen's grace must not be concentrated in the hands of a few.
Every person who wants to work hard, every person who wants to follow the Black Rose—they deserve a chance to change their own fate with their own hands."
The moment those words reached Willow's ears, the faint weariness she had been carrying was instantly swept away.
By the Holy Spirit above... is this Her Majesty's compassion, shared equally like rain upon all things?
I thought Her Majesty was simply selecting workers for road construction—but her vision has long since reached beyond these few gravel paths!
She is using this as a means to carry out a class-inclusive social restructuring.
If the same veterans like Hans are always the ones doing the work, wealth and status will calcify.
But by bringing in new faces, Her Majesty is shattering that potential divide.
She wants every subject to understand: in Mason, as long as you have strength in your arms and loyalty in your heart toward the Black Rose, you will never be left behind by the tide of history.
This kind of precise control over the human heart is more magnificent than any Alchemy.
Willow moved like a gust of wind across the grounds and murmured a few words into Delilah's ear.
Delilah, who had been about to order another exhausted young man to step down, went suddenly rigid.
Instinctively she turned to look back at the silver-haired figure seated in the shadows in the distance, and the hand gripping her longsword trembled slightly with an awe she had never known before.
"I understand..."
Delilah murmured under her breath, a warmth flickering in her eyes that had never been there before.
"Your Majesty—you intend to protect even the hopes of the weak?"
Delilah spun back around, and her voice rang out again like thunder—yet this time it carried a thread of warmth underneath:
"From this point forward, those whose strength meets the standard will be prioritized as new subjects who have not previously participated in Royal City construction—
"By Her Majesty's decree: so long as your hearts are sincere and your hands are diligent, there is a brick on Mason's royal road with your name on it!
"Those who have already participated need not be discouraged—the Kingdom is growing better, and every person will have endless opportunities!"
The moment those words fell, the subjects who had been on the verge of despair—afraid they were not experienced enough—erupted into cheers even more frenzied than before.
"Did you hear that? Her Majesty didn't look down on me for being weak!
"She said she wants to give us newcomers a chance!
"Gods above, I'm going to go lift that stone right now—even if my back breaks, I'll pave the road for Her Majesty!"
"This fairness, this compassion that transcends seniority!
"Her Majesty is looking at our souls, not just our muscles.
"The lords of neighboring kingdoms only put slaves to work, but Her Majesty is treating us as participants!"
"It's never too late to show your worth!
"Is this Her Majesty's magnanimity?
"As long as I want to try, any moment is a starting point. I'm leaving every ounce of my strength on this road!"
"Just watch—there'll be more work like this going forward.
"Her Majesty isn't hiring manual labor. She's taking us with her to create Divine Miracles!"
"Heh, Her Majesty has made sure there's enough for everyone.
"I couldn't bring more of my brothers in, but I admire Her Majesty even more now. A lord who gives everyone something to strive toward—that's the kind of person worth laying down your life for!"
Sophia watched as those faces, which had been flushed with shame only moments before, now straightened their backs and walked one by one toward the registration desk. She was satisfied.
In her calculations, this embryonic rotation system would not only prevent the formation of cliques at the grassroots level to the greatest possible degree—it would also allow that most potent of adhesives, the sense of participation, to fully permeate every stratum of Mason.
This perfect interplay between labor force and the feeling of fairness—this was the true cornerstone of a long-enduring empire.
Hailey sat on a small stool beside Sophia and took a sip of wild berry juice.
Spring. Before the Royal City gates. The second round of recruitment.
Her Majesty has opened the sacred distribution of grace shared equally among all!
When Willow-sis went to pass on the message, Delilah-sis looked like she was secretly tearing up.
Her Majesty doesn't like only a few people growing strong—she likes everyone growing stronger together, hand in hand.
Those uncles who received a hoe for the first time smiled brighter than I do when I eat candy.
So it turns out Her Majesty isn't just building roads—she's mending people's hearts.
As long as you follow that silver hair, every person who works hard can find their own little seat here in Mason.
The last light of the setting sun dyed the marble of Palace Square into a sweeping blaze of gold and crimson.
Before those two hundred carefully selected young men and women stood several mounds of gray powder heaped like small mountains, along with baskets of sand and fragments of worn stone.
Though their faces were young and written with the fidgety uncertainty of the unknown, their eyes burned with the fervor of the chosen.
They rubbed their hands together self-consciously, watching soldiers in light armor move briskly about hauling wooden barrels, their hearts full of reverence for the sacred work of road-building.
"Everyone look over here!
"Stop standing around in a daze—from here on out, you're qualified workers!"
Irene had produced from somewhere a deep-gray bib overall, her pink ponytail tied up smooth and neat, a small wooden trowel swinging in her hand as she swept it before the crowd.
The soldiers behind her were the elite who had personally repaired the palace steps the previous year; now they maintained order with expressions of grave composure.
"Her Majesty says roads are the veins of a nation.
"But veins can't be soft, mushy mud—they have to be hard as bone!"
Irene pointed to the bags of tightly sealed gray powder at her feet.
"This substance is called Black Rose Cement.
"Aside from Her Majesty and myself, Mason's Chief Inventor, no one knows its origins.
"All you need to remember is: it can take this pile of scattered rubble and turn it into bedrock that will not crumble for a thousand years!"
"Could those gray powders be ash that Her Majesty refined from some mysterious substance?"
"That powder can actually make stones obedient?
"In the past, when we built roads, we just threw down some dirt and spread gravel—and the moment it rained, it turned into a swamp.
"But Lord Irene says this stuff can make the ground harder than a city wall!"
"These must be the Secret Arts of the Royal Palace! And we common people are actually going to have the chance to wield a power that only the gods could use."
"Isn't that what they used on the small stretch of road in front of the Black Rose flagship store?
"I saw it when Her Majesty's soldiers were working on it—it started out all soft and sloshy, but within two days it had turned into a smooth, flat road!"
"Those bags of powder look expensive just sitting there.
"Her Majesty is actually letting us newcomers practice with them... that feeling of being trusted fills me with so much strength I could burst!"
"Nora, demonstrate the mixing ratio for them!"
At Irene's command, a veteran soldier expertly spread out a large waterproof tarp.
Under the gaze of two hundred pairs of eyes, one part gray powder, two parts sand, and three parts crushed stone were precisely measured and heaped together.
"Remember this ratio! Too much and it becomes brittle; too little and it crumbles!"
Irene strode through the crowd like a proud little cat, her eyes sharp and piercing.
"Her Majesty doesn't want 'close enough'—she wants absolute precision.
"Every single trowel-load you handle is tied to Mason's future.
"Anyone who dares to cut corners is undermining the very foundations of the Black Rose!"
When clear water was poured into the pile of gray powder, something remarkable happened.
The powder, which had been dull and inert, transformed under stirring into a dense, richly textured gray slurry that wrapped tightly around every jagged fragment of stone.
A few subjects who had leaned in too close for a better look broke into coughing fits from the dust.
Seeing this, Sophia asked Daphne, who was nearby, to prepare a few Potions—several of those who had inhaled a solid lungful of cement dust through the nose were at real risk of developing a respiratory infection.
She watched as these two hundred newcomers went from their initial timid fumbling to clumsily gripping wooden trowels under the guidance of the soldiers. The embryonic form of Order was slowly hardening on this ancient land.
The following morning.
As the first rays of sunlight pierced through the morning mist over Mason's Royal City, the entire central avenue connecting the Palace to the trade square had already been enveloped in a solemn, taut atmosphere.
This was the day to witness the birth of Mason Royal City's first royal road.
The two hundred young men and women, whose faces had been smeared with gray mud just the day before, today wore freshly pressed and stiffly starched gray work clothes. Red bands—symbolizing their Black Rose covenant—were tied around their arms, and led by the veteran soldiers, they marched in neat formations into the street.
At a sharp blast of Irene's whistle, the previously clamorous street fell instantly into organized order.
Soldiers drew up cordons, holding back the thousands of subjects who had rushed over upon hearing the news, pressing them to either side of the street.
The young men and women swung iron shovels, tamping down the base of the pre-dug trench once more and laying an even layer of crushed stone.
This was the main battleground for those two hundred newcomers.
Great wooden barrels stood side by side; water and the gray Black Rose Cement were turned together by wooden trowels, producing a dull, heavy, viscous sound.
"Look! That gray mud is being poured out!
"It flows so evenly—like a layer of living skin spreading across the earth!"
"Look at those newcomers—yesterday they were muddy commoners just like us, but today, dressed in those outfits and holding those trowels, their movements are so synchronized it looks like a dance.
"Is this what Her Majesty's instruction does to people?"
"This road used to get ankle-deep mud every time it rained, but look at what's being poured out there—in just a short while, it's already starting to set...
"Her Majesty is turning flowing earth into immortal stone before our very eyes!"
"This road-laying ceremony is even more solemn than the coronation rites of the Orr Empire.
"Every inch of black stone laid down feels like it's severing the mire of the old era."
"Oh please, have you ever even seen the coronation rites of the Orr Empire?"
"I don't care—the Kingdom of Orr's coronation isn't worth a single finger of our Mason lords!"
Irene had made a special effort today to wear a small sun-shading straw hat, a long, slender ruler clutched in her hand as she wove between the two hundred newcomers.
Her pink ponytail swung left and right in the sunlight with each bouncing step.
"Keep your hands steady! Don't leave gaps at the edges!"
Irene shouted, her throat a little hoarse, yet her eyes blazed with astonishing brightness.
"Her Majesty is watching from behind! Anyone who lays this Black Rose avenue even an inch crooked can go spend three days hauling stones in the rear hills on their own!"
The newcomers straightened their backs at once upon hearing this, and the hands gripping their wooden trowels steadied further.
They breathed in the distinctive dry smell of cement, felt the resistance of the slurry being pushed flat beneath the board, and found a sacred sense of mission welling up in their chests.
They were not just mixing mortar—they were building the stairway to the future for their goddess!
Because Mason's roads were limited, they could only be built one at a time.
While the entire main avenue in front of the Palace was being laid, the few smaller side lanes alongside it could not be done simultaneously—otherwise the Royal City's entire transport system would grind to a halt.
At the pavilion at the far end of the street, Sophia sat in quiet stillness.
She wore a sharply tailored dark ink-black fitted hunting coat today, her silver hair tied back simply with a ribbon, which gave her a crisp, martial air.
She watched the gray slurry spreading outward in the hands of the young men and women—smooth, gray, yet radiating an indestructible sense of strength.
It was not merely cement. It was Mason Royal City's Order slowly solidifying—a foundation that no political scheming or catastrophe could wash away.
Willow stood beside her and poured a cup of wild berry juice.
This was the spot that Her Majesty and Miss Irene had calculated in advance—Her Majesty could observe the road-laying from here without being troubled by the cement dust.
Her Majesty chose the most bustling main avenue to begin construction precisely so that every subject could witness with their own eyes the birth of this Divine Miracle.
The visual impact of that sight was a far more powerful instrument of rule than any numbers on a report.
When this road was fully cured, its mirror-flat, rain-proof surface would become the most powerful advertisement the Kingdom of Mason had ever produced.
On the central avenue at the forefront of the Royal City, the two hundred trained newcomers showed no rush to pour the slurry. Instead, at Irene's sharp whistle blasts, they launched into a collaboration as precise as the meshing of clockwork.
"Group One, set the side panels!
"Drive the stakes three inches into the ground—if anyone lets the edge forms go crooked, I'll hang them on the city wall to air out!"
Irene paced back and forth along the long shallow trench that had been dug, slender wooden ruler in hand.
Soldiers led the subjects in setting long, smoothed planks vertically against both sides of the trench, fixing them in place.
These planks formed the skeleton of the road surface, determining the width and thickness of the entire avenue.
The subjects first spread an even layer of collected crushed stone across the bottom of the trench, then compacted it repeatedly with heavy wooden mallets.
Each impact was dull and powerful, driving out every pocket of looseness deep beneath the earth.
This was the drainage base layer—ensuring that even in a downpour, water could seep through the gaps down into the deep soil rather than causing the road surface to collapse.
"Look at how those planks are set—straighter than a tailor's measuring rule!
"Her Majesty doesn't just want the road to be hard—she wants it to be beautiful as a painting."
"In the past, laying a road just meant grabbing a handful of dirt and tossing it down. We'd never seen anything like this—establish the rules first, then add the material.
"This is the dignity of a royal road!"
"Group Two, open the water!
"Mix according to ratio—don't let the slurry go thin as porridge, and don't let it go dry as dust!"
In the middle of the avenue, dozens of great wooden barrels were lined up in a row.
This was the most skill-testing stage of the process—the moment of divine judgment in the eyes of the watching subjects.
Following the "one powder, two sand, three stone" ratio, the subjects swung iron shovels, fully blending the gray Black Rose Cement with fine sand and small stones.
As clean water was added, the previously dry powder rapidly became viscous.
The newcomers gritted their teeth and drove their wooden trowels through the mixture with full force, until the slurry had become as uniformly coating as cooked wheat porridge, suffused with a deep, settled gray sheen.
Irene leaned close to a barrel, extended a finger to dip into the slurry and assess its consistency, then blew a second short whistle with satisfaction:
"Pour!"
As barrel after barrel of thick gray slurry was tipped into the channel formed by the wooden planks, a gray serpent began to stretch slowly down the street.
The subjects split into two rows, gripping long-handled wooden rakes to quickly push the accumulating slurry into the corners, filling every last gap.
The screeding—this was the most beautiful stage of the entire process to behold.
Two sturdy men lifted a straight screed board several meters long and set it across the edge molds on either side, drawing it slowly from south to north.
Wherever the screed board passed, the previously uneven slurry became instantly smooth as a mirror, pushing the excess material forward.
Next came the tamping—since there were no machines, a human-powered version had to do.
To expel the air bubbles trapped inside, soldiers led the subjects in rapidly jabbing iron rods into the slurry, ensuring the interior was solid and without voids.
"Did you see the moment the screed board passed?... It was as if the earth had been smoothed by Her Majesty's sacred hand.
"Those jagged stones were actually tamed by that gray divine mud—made so docile and smooth!"
"This isn't road-laying. This is plainly the writing of Mason's epic!
"Every inch of level ground is Her Majesty's seal of Order upon this land!"
Once the road surface had been roughly leveled, Irene personally picked up a flat little wooden float and crouched at the edge to demonstrate.
"This final pass is called the finishing sweep."
Irene's movements were light yet steady; the wooden float glided across the still-damp surface, drawing out a fine layer of slurry that sealed every last tiny sand-pore shut.
"The road surface should have a slight arch—higher in the center, lower on the sides—so rainwater won't pool."
The young men and women followed Irene's example, kneeling on the temporary spanning boards, and devoutly smoothed away the final marks.
Their faces were splattered with gray flecks, but the eyes looking at the road surface growing smooth and mirror-flat under their own hands shone with a brilliance they had never known before.
In the pavilion, Sophia raised her lightly cooled wild berry juice. The pale-gold pupils reflected the gray avenue gradually taking shape before her.
She watched the subjects go from initial chaos to their current wordless coordination, watched that straight line representing civilization slice through the backwardness of the old age—and the grand blueprint of empire in her heart sharpened by another degree.
Sophia set down her cup and spoke softly:
"Willow, is this road level?"
"In reply to Your Majesty—this road is very level."
Willow's voice carried a slight undercurrent of excitement.
"Before, this road was all uneven cobblestones—pitted and waterlogged every time it rained.
"But now that this cement road is laid, it will certainly be wonderfully smooth."
"I think so too."
Sophia said in her characteristically cool tone:
"It's a pity that with our current resources, we're still unable to produce large-scale lighting."
Willow understood at once that her sovereign was thinking again about the nighttime safety of the subjects.
So she said:
"Your Majesty—you have fed your subjects, you have given your subjects work, and you have given your subjects roads.
"You are already a sage ruler for the ages, unmatched in centuries.
"Under your guidance, we will have everything in time.
"So please don't put so much pressure on yourself—we who serve you are pained to see you strain so."
Sophia looked at Willow, whose sincerity was written all over her face, and gave her hand a gentle, reassuring pat.
With the completion of the final finishing sweep, the central avenue entered a lockdown period lasting several days.
Under the close watch of those two hundred newly minted workers and the patrolling soldiers, no cattle, carts, or even pedestrians were permitted to set foot on this expanse of gray that was still in the process of curing.
A few days later, the previously dark and damp slurry had shed its moisture entirely, transforming into a light gray with a cool, crisp texture that caught the sunlight with a subtle matte shimmer—like polished stone.
It was right at this moment that another light spring rain arrived, unannounced, as Mason's new season continued.
The rain was not heavy—fine, hair-thin threads of water falling like silk.
In the past, this kind of weather would have had the subjects retreating into their damp, dim earthen houses, or resigning themselves to trudging through roads as sticky and clinging as glue.
But today, countless pairs of eyes were riveted to that gray serpent cutting through the Royal City.
The raindrops that fell on the flat road surface did not, as they once would have, instantly soak the earth soft. Instead, they gathered into glittering, translucent beads.
Thanks to the slight slope that Irene had so strictly demanded—higher in the center, lower on the sides—these pooling droplets, as if receiving some sacred command, rolled smoothly into the drainage channels on either side.
"Look! The water doesn't stay! That road—that road won't absorb the rain!"
"A Divine Miracle! In weather like this before, the whole main street would have turned into a pot of overcooked wheat porridge. But now, that black stone avenue is drier than my old face!"
"Her Majesty didn't just mend the earth—she armored it with a waterproof plating! Is this the dignity of a kingdom?"
"Truly worthy of Her Majesty—truly worthy of the Chief Inventor!"
Hans had made a special effort today to put on a pair of cloth shoes—old and worn, yet polished to the cleanest they could be.
After receiving the sentries' permission, he became one of the first subjects allowed to step onto the Black Rose avenue.
He first shuffled his soles against the roadside for a moment, wiping away mud that wasn't actually there, then—as though treading on fragile glass—set his foot down with cautious reverence for his first step.
Flat. Solid. Silken smooth.
The firm, steady feeling that traveled up from the soles of his feet almost made him want to jump up and down right there.
He walked a full fifty steps in the fine rain, then suddenly stopped, lifted his heel, and looked down at the bottom of his shoe.
"Dry... it's actually dry!"
Hans let out a roar that shook the heavens, thrusting his toes at the people around him and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Not a single speck of mud! In thirty years of living, this is the first time I've ever walked in rain without ruining my shoes!"
That one shout lit the whole city ablaze.
As the first pedestrians shared their experience, a reverence almost religious in nature began to spread among the subjects.
Since this road was a Divine Miracle bestowed by Her Majesty's own hands, since it was so smooth and clean—any act of fouling it became, in the eyes of Mason's people, a desecration of divine grace.
An ox-cart heading into the city hadn't even drawn close to the entrance when it was stopped by subjects who had organized themselves spontaneously.
Several burly men with buckets insisted on scrubbing the ox's hooves and the cart wheels clean before they would let it pass.
Even the occasional dropping left by a passing horse—within three seconds, a subject would come sprinting over with a bamboo basket and a shovel, cleaning it up more thoroughly than they'd ever cleaned their own dinner bowl.
"Her Majesty gave us such a fine road—anyone who dares spit on it or track mud onto it has got a quarrel with every last person in Mason!"
"This isn't just a road—this is Her Majesty's face.
"Even if the soles of our shoes wear through, we won't wear down so much as a scratch on this black stone avenue!"
Sophia and Willow still stood in the pavilion above, watching in quiet stillness as the absurd yet hope-filled celebration unfolded below.
"Your Majesty, look at those subjects."
Willow's eyes brimmed with warmth, and with a touch of something tender and aching.
"They're even reluctant to tread too heavily on that road.
"This kind of spontaneous upkeep saves the Urban Management Guard quite a bit of trouble."
Sophia reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her pale-gold pupils reflecting the avenue gleaming in the rain:
"What they are cherishing is not the road. It's that way of living with dignity.
"Once they grow accustomed to walking with clean shoes, they can never go back to that savage mire."
Sophia turned, her voice cool and resolute.
"Willow, the success of the first stretch is only the beginning.
"Tell Irene—tonight, steak, roasted potatoes, and honey pudding are to be delivered to Irene's room as an extra meal.
"She's earned it.
"Furthermore, have Valery dispatch people to prepare materials for the second phase. We are going to lay this road all the way to every city gate in Mason."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
At the crisp series of whistles signaling the end of the shift, Irene once again led those two hundred road-builders—transformed beyond recognition—pushing the front line to the Royal City's jugular: the towering city gate.
At this moment, the Royal City was like one enormous, precision-engineered gear.
To ensure the city's most basic transport did not grind to a halt, Sophia and Irene had worked out a dynamic road-laying method.
If an area had three small lanes feeding into a main road, two would be sealed off first, leaving the narrowest one for carts to pass through slowly.
The cordoned-off stretches were marked either by heavy stones stacked in neat rows, or by conspicuous red cloth strips tied to sharpened wooden stakes.
The subjects were remarkably disciplined—even when in a hurry to leave the city, they would willingly detour half a li rather than set foot inside the restricted zone.
Each morning and evening, the sealed-off sections of cement road still in their curing phase were invariably surrounded by subjects standing transfixed, gazing on in wordless wonder.
They dared not make noise, only watching in silence as the gray slurry shed its moisture bit by bit, growing harder and smoother.
In their eyes, it was not a road. It was a bridge Her Majesty had bestowed upon them—a bridge to a life of dignity.
"Look—yesterday it was still deep gray, and today it already has that cold, moonlit white shining through.
"Once this road is done, my beat-up old flatbed cart will probably run as fast as a war chariot!"
"Her Majesty truly thinks of everything.
"Look at those cloth strips—those are the boundaries of Order.
"As long as we hold to the rules, the good days won't slip away from us."
"I really want to reach out and touch it... but this is the Black Rose's property. If I got it dirty, my heart would ache for a week."
Yet this near-sacred sense of hallowed stillness was shattered in the afternoon by a sudden shriek.
A group of children were roughhousing near the roadside. Perhaps they had gotten too carried away—one boy, about five or six years old, was shoved by a playmate, lost his footing, and stumbled clean over the fragile red cloth barrier, pitching forward with unstoppable momentum.
"Splat—!"
The soft sound of a body sinking into thick slurry rang out in the silent street, sharp and jarring.
The small boy scrambled in fright to his feet. Both his little hands were sunk deep in the road surface—the cement still not fully cured, still in its final hardening stage.
Two small, tender, unmistakably clear handprints now jutted incongruously from the center of that mirror-smooth royal road.
The air seemed to have been sucked dry in an instant.
The subjects who had been murmuring quietly fell silent at once. The eyes that turned toward the boy and his parents filled with alarm, regret—and even a faint, undeniable ember of anger.
"Gods above... that is Her Majesty's road!"
The boy's parents—a pair of honest, simple tenant farmer subjects—had gone a shade paler than the cement itself.
They nearly stumbled over each other rushing forward, yet they dared not step onto the road surface. They could only drop to their knees outside the cloth barrier, their bodies trembling like leaves in a storm.
"My lord, please spare the child! He didn't do it on purpose!"
The mother let out a keening cry, both hands clawing at the earth.
"He's just a child... he doesn't understand anything!
"Please, my lords—I am willing to go haul stones on the rear hills for him for the rest of my life. Please don't blame him!"
The father, meanwhile, was kowtowing desperately beside her, his forehead striking the old stone paving with dull, heavy thuds:
"It is our fault for failing to watch over our child... we deserve to die!
"We have desecrated Her Majesty's gift! Please, soldiers—punish us instead!"
The onlooking subjects exchanged glances and murmured in subdued voices, the atmosphere so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
"Oh no—this is the most visible stretch of the whole road.
"Two handprints on something that perfect... isn't it like splattering ink on the hem of Her Majesty's gown?"
"Rules are rules.
"Her Majesty has been so good to us—if everyone was careless like this, how would Order in Mason ever be established? This child is going to suffer for it."
"But it's still just a child.
"Seeing those parents like this... it breaks your heart.
"No telling what kind of decree the sovereign up on that pavilion will hand down..."
The atmosphere in the pavilion itself had grown somewhat taut from this unexpected incident.
Willow returned at a quick step, her composed face carrying the meticulousness of someone who had just finished verifying the facts.
"Your Majesty, the situation has been confirmed."
Willow gave a slight bow, her voice level as she reported.
"The child's name is Toby. He is five years old.
"He fell in just now because he was chased by playmates and slipped.
"Both parents are honest tenant farmers from the city outskirts—hardworking in their daily lives, with no record of wrongdoing.
"At this moment, they are waiting outside the barrier, and have willingly declared themselves deserving of death if it spares the child."
The fingers of Sophia's hand holding the wild berry juice paused ever so slightly. Her pale-gold eyes gazed into the distance.
There in the center of that long gray expanse still not fully cured, two clear handprints caught the last rays of the setting sun—and in that light, they gave off a strangely vibrant, life-filled quality.
"Death penalty?"
Sophia parted her red lips lightly. Her tone carried no trace of anger—only a quiet, distant depth.
"A road is hard. It is a dead thing.
"But if this road holds nothing but cold slurry and rubble, then it is nothing more than armor thrown over wasteland.
"Now that these marks have been left behind—they prove that this land is no longer the dead, stagnant old era."
She rose slowly. Her silver hair swept a graceful arc in the evening breeze, and those golden eyes seemed to look straight through a hundred years of Mason's rise and fall:
"Children are the Kingdom's future. And these hands pressed into the royal road are the signposts pointing toward that future.
"Since the future has already made its mark here—why should I begrudge such a small imperfection?"
Willow's lips parted slightly, her eyes brimming with reverence.
Holy Spirit above... is this Her Majesty's magnanimity?
All of us saw rules being broken. All of us saw a Divine Miracle being marred.
But what Her Majesty sees is civilization and life intertwined!
To regard a child's handprints as signposts to the future—that perspective, spanning across time itself, surpasses even the foresight of the gods.
Her Majesty is not maintaining a stretch of road. She is tending to the hope of all of Mason.
This art of transforming offense into romance—this is the highest pinnacle of the sovereign's craft.
"However."
Sophia turned, and her eyes resumed that sovereign's cool sharpness.
"A capital offense may be pardoned. The lesser punishment cannot be escaped.
"If the barriers of Order can be crossed at will, then Order itself will crumble."
She pointed at several side lanes in the distance that had yet to be paved, and the dense web of village and township routes marked on the planning map:
"Convey this Queen's decree: the child's father and mother are sentenced to participate in all subsequent road construction within the Royal City.
"This includes the village branch roads soon to commence. They must be present for the full duration—and until those two handprints have been completely worn away, all their labor wages shall be paid at half rate.
"The remaining half shall be held as a road maintenance fund for the Kingdom."
When Willow returned to the city gate carrying this decree—which seemed to carry something almost divine in its nature—the deadened scene was instantly filled with an air of redemption.
"By Her Majesty's decree—the capital offense is pardoned!
"You are sentenced to labor in lieu of punishment, to participate in subsequent road construction, and to receive half wages in gratitude for Her Majesty's grace!"
The couple had already mentally prepared for being dragged away by soldiers, or worse. Hearing instead that they would work at half wages, they stood frozen for a moment—then erupted into heaving, shuddering sobs of those pulled back from the edge of death.
"Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you for Your Majesty's grace!"
The child's father kowtowed frantically, his eyes streaming with tears of gratitude.
"We'll build roads for Her Majesty our whole lives!
"Never mind half wages—even without a single copper, we'd be willing to leave our lives in the foundations of the Black Rose!"
The subjects around them, who had been suppressing their emotions, now plunged into a fervor bordering on worship.
"My gods—I never imagined I'd hear something like this in my life."
"Her Majesty must be the reincarnation of a goddess, surely?"
"Did you see? This is our sovereign!
"She called those handprints the road to the future... that kind of compassion—even the gods would be ashamed to compare!"
"Not only was their life spared—they were given work to do!
"Her Majesty is saving their lives and teaching them how to honor the rules at the same time. This punishment... is a blessing!"
"From this day on, anyone who dares step on that child's handprints, I'll be the first to stop them!
"Those are Mason's marks for the future—we're going to protect them!"
"If even an innocent child can receive forgiveness, then as long as we remain loyal and devoted, what obstacle in Mason could ever be too great to overcome?"
Hailey crouched beside the red cloth barrier, watching as the couple was helped to their feet. She glanced at the elegant silver figure departing in the distance, and her pen flew across the little notebook:
The Handprint Incident on the Black Stone Avenue.
Her Majesty has opened the ultimate chapter of gentle judgment.
Turns out Her Majesty wasn't angry at all.
She said: a road with handprints on it is a road that's truly alive.
Watching that little boy's parents—even though they have a lot of work ahead of them—they smiled so happily. It was the smile of people who'd crawled out from among the dead.
I understand now! Her Majesty is the one pushing everyone forward from behind.
She gave everyone the chance to make mistakes, but she also made everyone feel the weight of honest sweat.
Those two little handprints glisten in the moonlight. Whenever I'm tired and want to rest, I'll look at them—because they're the signposts to the future.
Sophia walked back to the Council Hall. The moonlight fell across her shoulders like a draping of silver gauze.
"Willow, have Irene carve a small Black Rose beside those two handprints tonight."
Sophia said quietly.
"I want everyone who passes by to know: Mason's Order is built upon life and upon guardianship."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
That night, the first stretch of the royal road did not merely cure its slurry—it cured the hearts of the entire Royal City as well.
Meanwhile, hundreds of li away, in the City of Qubi.
The last light of dusk filtered through carved lattice windows and fell across the slightly weary face of the Qubi City Lord.
He sat with brow furrowed, working through a mountain of accumulated documents, until a messenger rushed in with a panicked expression, carefully carrying a letter still sealed with red wax.
It was the dark gold seal of the Black Rose—glinting in the candlelight with an authority that made it hard to look at directly.
"Quickly—bring it here!"
The Qubi City Lord almost snatched the letter, and when his fingertips touched the outline of that blooming Black Rose pattern, his heart gave an involuntary shudder.
Ever since he had witnessed that young sovereign's thunderous methods on the rear hills, that flower had long since ceased to be any romantic ornament in his eyes. It was either a death god's invitation, or a divine decree from a higher power.
He held his breath and broke open the envelope, his gaze racing across those cool, forceful characters.
"Her Majesty actually wrote personally... could it be that this year's tax revenues had a discrepancy?
"Or that our show of loyalty has not been thorough enough?
"Whatever she wants—even if it were the moon itself, I would climb up and scrape it down for her immediately!"
However, when he read the contents of the letter clearly, the tension that had been gripping his shoulders suddenly released—replaced by a disorientation that verged on absurdity.
"Have... Bardess set out immediately and report to the Royal City?"
The King of Qubi rubbed his eyes and confirmed he had not misread the name.
Bardess—that young female official in his court who, though sharp-minded and supremely skilled at reading a room, had never been able to enter the inner circle of power precisely because she showed her edge too readily?
"When did Her Majesty take a liking to this little one?"
He leaned back in his chair, thoroughly at a loss, tapping the desk lightly with his fingertips.
In his estimation, Bardess was clever enough in small ways—but in the talent-rich Royal City of the Black Rose, she would amount to little more than an unremarkable grain of sand.
Why would that young and wise sovereign—the one who could redirect wind and rain and reshape Order itself—call for her by name?
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