The West Wing balcony was exactly as I expected: drafty, overpriced in terms of maintenance, and possessed of a view that made one feel like they owned the world. It was the perfect place to plan a hostile takeover.
I sat at a desk draped in maps and tax records, my fingers stained with the ink of a dozen different ledgers.
"Your Majesty," Lila whispered, peering over my shoulder. "The High Priest has sent three messengers this morning. They say the 'Holy Audit' you've requested is a sacrilege. They're calling it an act of war against the Sun God."
"In my experience, Lila, whenever someone claims that auditing them is 'sacrilege,' it's because they're hiding a second set of books," I said, not looking up.
[System Quest Triggered: The Temple's Toll] [Objective: Recover the 'Stolen Tithes' from the Church of the Sun.] [Reward: Skill Upgrade - 'Venture Capitalist's Eye'.] [Failure Penalty: Excommunication and a 50% drop in Public Reputation.]
I tapped my pen against the desk. The Church was the Empire's largest creditor. They didn't just hold the hearts of the people; they held the mortgages on half the noble estates in the capital. They were a bank wrapped in a prayer shawl.
"Tell the messengers I'll be at the Great Temple by noon," I said. "And tell them to bring the wine. Not the cheap stuff they give to the peasants—the vintage they keep in the 'Sacred Vaults.'"
"Evelyn."
The voice was cold and familiar. I didn't need to look up to know Alaric was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic that made his eyes look like the deep ocean.
"You're going to the Temple?" he asked, walking toward me. "Alone? The High Priest isn't like Duke Castellan. He can't be intimidated by a rusted sword. He has the backing of the common people. If you anger him, the streets will burn before sunset."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not going there to anger him," I said, finally looking up and meeting his gaze. "I'm going there to offer him a deal he can't refuse."
Alaric leaned over my desk, his hands resting on the parchment. "You're playing with fire. The Church hasn't paid a copper in taxes for three hundred years. Even my father, at the height of his power, didn't dare ask for a tithe."
"That's because your father was a King, not a CEO," I replied, standing up so our faces were inches apart. "A King asks for loyalty. A CEO asks for the ROI. The Church is sitting on a stagnant pool of gold that isn't circulating. They're killing the economy, Alaric. If I don't move that money, your 'Northern Campaign' won't just fail—your Empire will go into a deflationary spiral that no sword can stop."
Alaric's gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before he pulled back, his expression hardening. "And what do you want in return? You've already seized the Treasury. You've humiliated the Duke. What is the 'Wasteful Empress' really after?"
I smiled—a slow, predatory expression that usually preceded a corporate merger.
"I want the same thing you want, Alaric. Total control. I just happen to know that the way to a man's heart isn't through his ribs... it's through his wallet."
I brushed past him, my silk skirts rustling against his leathers. "Stay here and look brooding, Alaric. It suits you. I have a Bishop to bankrupt."
The Great Temple of the Sun
The Great Temple was an architectural nightmare of gold leaf and ego. It smelled of frankincense and the kind of "old money" that thought it was untouchable.
High Priest Malachi didn't greet me at the door. He made me wait in the outer hall for forty minutes—a classic power play. When he finally appeared, he was draped in white silk and gold chains, looking more like a pimp than a priest.
"Empress Evelyn," he said, his voice a practiced, holy purr. "To what do we owe this... unconventional visit? I hear you have been quite busy with the Duke's affairs. Surely the Church's small contributions are beneath your notice?"
"Small?" I laughed, walking past him into the main sanctuary. "Malachi, you own thirty percent of the arable land in the central province. You collect a 'Faith Tax' from every merchant who enters the city. By my count, the Church is sitting on a reserve of five million gold coins."
Malachi's smile didn't falter, but his eyes turned to chips of ice. "That gold belongs to the Sun God. It is for the poor, the sick, and the upkeep of the holy sites."
"Right. And the 'poor' just happen to live in that new marble villa you built on the coast?" I turned to face him, the [Sovereign's Audit] flashing in my eyes.
[Target: High Priest Malachi] [Current Liquid Assets: 4,200,000 Gold] [Hidden Debt: The Church has been 'short-selling' Imperial Bonds.]
My heart skipped a beat. Short-selling? These bastards weren't just hoarding gold; they were betting on the Empire's failure. If the Empire fell, the Church would buy up the remaining land for pennies on the dollar.
"I'm not here for a donation, Malachi," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm here because I know about the Short Bonds. You're betting against Alaric's victory in the North. That's not just greed—that's treason."
The High Priest went pale. The gold chains on his neck rattled as he took a step back. "You... you have no proof. No one can track the Bond exchange."
"I can," I said, stepping into his personal space. "I can see every coin, every transaction, every dirty little secret you've buried under those prayers. Now, here is the deal."
I pulled out a fresh contract.
"The Church will 'invest' three million gold into the Imperial Infrastructure Fund. In return, I won't have the Emperor bring his 'Star-Crusher Magic' down on this temple to find those bonds."
"Three million?!" Malachi hissed. "That would ruin our liquidity!"
"Then I suggest you start selling those villas," I replied. "You have twenty-four hours to move the funds. If the gold isn't in the Treasury by tomorrow's sunset, I'll release the audit records to the public. I wonder how the 'common people' will feel when they realize their prayers are paying for your Southern estates?"
I turned to leave, but as I reached the heavy oak doors, the air in the temple suddenly turned cold. A blinding light erupted from the altar, and a voice—ancient and resonant—echoed through the hall.
"WHO DARES AUDIT THE DIVINE?"
The System in my head began to scream in red text.
[WARNING: Divine Presence Detected!] [The Sun God 'Sol' is displeased.] [Survival Probability: 0.01%]
I stood my ground, clutching my ledger. "I don't care if you're a god or a ghost," I shouted into the light. "If you're on my balance sheet, you're going to pay what you owe!"
The light flared, and for the first time since I woke up in this world, I felt a power that didn't come from a system. It came from pure, unadulterated wrath.