Leaning against a tree on a main street in the southern part of the capital city, Brad's mind went over the various events reported today. He felt a faint headache creeping in. This had become a new habit for him over the past few months. Whenever he felt mentally and physically exhausted from dealing with state affairs in his study, he would sneak out disguised and wander around the city to experience the changes as an ordinary citizen.

Until recently, this had been a pleasant activity for him. Part of the joy came from hearing praises from the people, but mostly it stemmed from the genuine sense of achievement he felt upon seeing things in the city change in the direction he desired. However, as Brad looked at the faces of the pedestrians passing by on the street, their unhidden fear and confusion made him increasingly despondent.

To be honest, since the coup during the New Year celebrations took over the capital, he had been working extremely hard. His average daily rest time did not exceed four hours, as there was so much to handle that he often couldn't even find time to sleep. Many times, even coffee was ineffective, and he had to rely on stimulants prepared by his alchemists to stay awake – all for the sake of his ambition, believing that all these sacrifices would be worthwhile.

Yet, after these few months of diligent work, both by himself and those who followed him for the same aspirations, why were things only getting worse? The "bad" Brad was concerned about was not from the kingdom's army outside the city but from within the city. The voices of doubt about him had begun to surface.

If these doubts came from the old nobles he had ousted, he would have felt no emotion, perhaps even a sense of joy since his goal was to completely destroy their legitimacy. But when ordinary people, those who benefited from the changes, started discussing his mistakes, Brad could only smile bitterly. After all, even he was beginning to doubt himself now.

Granzon had done nothing wrong, yet Brad had led a coup resulting in much bloodshed. Also, with the Maston troops trampling on Milanía's lands to the northeast, he bore undeniable responsibility. Although every step seemed to further his ideals in his eyes, from the perspective of ordinary citizens, such actions were no different from treason.

Even though he repeatedly claimed it was for a better future for the country, would the common people believe him? They could see more direct facts.

"There's no way to refute it entirely..."

As he walked along the street, Brad occasionally heard discussions about himself. The sharp words were piercing, but he had gotten used to them. Aimlessly wandering, Brad had crossed the southern city area and arrived at the "gray area", once a slum.

Or rather, it used to be a slum. After the coup, Brad had put in a lot of effort to revamp this area, renovating the dilapidated buildings, hiring young adults from the gray area with financial incentives to work, all in an effort to eradicate poverty. However, as Granzon consolidated his forces to sweep the nearby fortifications encircling the capital, Brad's workload increased, so he gradually delegated this task to his subordinates.

"I can't believe...”

To his surprise, the gray area in front of him seemed no different from when he first arrived months ago. Although observing closely would reveal all the brick buildings were new, the wooden frames and makeshift shelters between the houses remained intricate. They seemed to grow like parasites on a tree, thriving in the brief time since the new buildings had been erected, akin to clinging vines or... maggots on a bone.

Looking around, he saw the idle street thugs, frail elderly, and malnourished children still gathered there. The dense shanties blocked the sunlight, casting a gloomy atmosphere that enveloped everyone in the neighborhood.

"Excuse me, coming through!"

As Brad turned around, a figure ran past him, brushing his shoulder. With Brad's agility, he swiftly steadied himself and effortlessly caught the culprit's wrist. In the small hand was a tiny pouch. Brad hadn't carried much money with him, just a few gold coins and some loose change.

"A child?" Brad examined the dirty face of the thief, except for the bright eyes.

"Let me go!" Although clearly on the wrong side of the law, the child's expression was fierce. His unrestrained hand swiftly pulled out a small knife from his pocket and brandished it at Brad. Several others of varying ages quickly surrounded them, even though the oldest appeared to be in their teens. In the gray area, people were indifferent to such scenes, with most not bothering to pay attention.

"...Take it." Brad had no intention of getting involved with them. He handed the child a single gold coin he flicked from his wallet using his index and middle fingers, then gave them the wallet. As they eyed the single coin intently, Brad felt somewhat helpless. Snapping his fingers with his left hand, a bright blue flame flickered to life. "I don't want trouble."

Even in the gray area, or perhaps because of it, there was a noticeable reverence for power. The group of teenagers scattered almost immediately.

"Why does it have to be like this..." Brad shook his head, glancing at the single coin left in his hand, then walked through a doorway with a wooden sign displaying a cup.

While the Agricultural Development Committee had attempted to organize people to cultivate land, there was limited space available for agriculture in a city that had long relied on external support for sustenance. After the supply lines from Maston outside the city were cut off, resources in the city became scarce. Most goods were rationed, and alcoholic beverages that required a significant amount of grain to produce were effectively banned. However, this didn't apply to the black-market establishments in the gray area.

“Can they really sell even the lowest-quality wheat beer at such a high price?”

With a frown, Brad sat by the bar, observing the half-filled cup of alcohol swaying before him. Most people around him were consuming soups and similar non-alcoholic beverages. It made sense, considering the price of a half cup of low-quality wheat beer could support an average person's meals for several days.

Recalling the bartender's subtle – or rather, foolish – gaze upon him, Brad's mood soured further.

Once he returned, he would send someone to thoroughly clean up the place.

With that thought in mind, Brad raised the cup and downed its contents.

*Cough cough!*

The pungent taste, the sharp alcoholic fumes, and the hint of mustiness from improper preservation in the barrel justified its quality. It might have been strong for seasoned drinkers, but for Brad, who had spent years developing his palate as a gourmet, it was nothing short of torture.

The icy liquid rolled down his throat, leaving a fiery sensation. Surprisingly, this discomfort slightly lifted Brad's previously gloomy mood.

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside.

"Run! The patrols are here!"

"Wait, I haven't finished my drink yet!"

"Stop right there!"

Brad paused, wondering what was happening.

"Hey! Finished drinking already?"

The bartender roughly snatched the cup from Brad's hand, saw there was nothing left in it, and tossed it into a cabinet. He then cleared out anything related to 'alcohol,' with the other servers swiftly following suit.

In no time, the tavern was no different from a regular eatery.

"Patrols?” Brad raised an eyebrow. It seemed the issue lay within the gray area itself, rather than due to the lack of enforcement by authorities... If he needed to hide, perhaps it would be wise to do so. It wasn't likely he would be recognized, but—

Just as Brad was about to discreetly move towards the back door of the tavern, the entrance swung open. A patrol guard, clad in armor repurposed from city guards' equipment, strode in. "Excuse me, everyone, just a routine check. Please cooperate."

Unbeknownst to Brad, he recognized one of the guards! Silently lowering his head, Brad subtly moved towards the tavern's rear door. Mentally affirming to himself, "You can't see me."

"Hey, what are you doing skulking around?" Brad's actions caught the attention of the guard who swiftly approached, hand on his sword hilt.

Realizing this could lead to bigger trouble if he was identified, Brad assessed the situation and swiftly made a decision. He accelerated his pace and rushed towards the door.

"Stop!"

Brad's sudden dash set off alarms, convincing the guard that something was not right with him. Ignoring other routine checks, the guard pursued Brad, but Brad was quicker, managing to close the door before the guard could catch up. Despite the guard's attempts to push open the tavern's rear entrance, it seemed as if the door had been sealed shut – no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.

Brad stood in the alley behind the door, glancing back at the sealed slit he had created with his ice spell. He breathed a sigh of relief and considered slipping back inside. However, the piercing whistle and the clamor of footsteps approaching from the alley's mouth made it clear that escape would not be so easy.

This is utterly ridiculous! What's the fuss about just missing an inspection? Do they have to be so diligent?

As a ruler, it was reassuring to see the grassroots patrol guards taking their responsibilities seriously. However, from Brad's current perspective, it was all rather exasperating.

"Let's make a run for it after a long time."

Discarding his cumbersome outer robe, Brad cast a low-level spell of agility on himself, granting him a burst of speed, and dashed out of the alley.

Once outside, Brad realized the situation was more lively than he had imagined. The routine patrol had turned into a chase, with petty thieves, bandits, vagabonds, and individuals engaged in underground dealings scurrying around. Using their knowledge of the terrain to evade the guards, sometimes even resorting to betrayal and backstabbing when cornered, the spectacle could be rather comical from an onlooker's perspective.

But the realization that he was also mingling among them left Brad feeling somewhat helpless.

Of course, with his abilities, there was little chance of being caught by the patrols.

"Hey, watch where you're going, idiot!"

What the...?

Before Brad could react, he collided with a figure that had suddenly emerged from a corner, sending them both tumbling on the ground in a tangled mess. The momentum from Brad's agile spell-induced run caused them to roll over three and a half times before finally coming to a stop.