And Alaric's voice echoed again.
Measured. Sovereign. Unhurried.
"And… before any of you get the wrong idea about what I mean by 'chaos'—"
A brief pause.
"I'm not talking about opening dungeon gates in the capital," he said, almost scoffing. "Crude. Loud. Destructive. That kind of chaos would only harm us in the long run."
His tone sharpened.
"No. What I meant… is infighting."
The word struck like a blade dipped in venom.
"We'll turn the greedy, influence-addicted nobles against one another," Alaric continued. "We'll leak their deepest, darkest secrets… and frame their enemies to take the fall."
Silence fell again.
Then his voice returned—quiet, deliberate.
"One drop at a time. We'll ignite suspicion, jealousy, and ambition… and watch as the court fractures from within."
A breath.
"A slow, festering chaos… that spreads through the Vermora Kingdom until the entire structure buckles."
"And then," he said, voice darkening slightly, "we'll give the people what they want."
