CHAPTER 362: MALIA

Damon’s expression didn’t shift, but his crimson eyes gleamed with interest. A scapegoat, was she? That meant one of two things, either she was truly competent and dangerous enough that her lord needed her gone, or she really had failed and Varnyx was covering for her.

"Convenient story," Damon shook his head. "If she was so capable, why hasn’t someone else claimed her already?"

"Because she is feared, my Lord. She is a monster who nearly bankrupted a duchy with her schemes. She is a reminder of betrayal. Everyone turned their backs on her. But that only makes her more valuable to us. She has nothing left to lose, and everything to prove. Loyalty born of desperation can be stronger than chains."

Damon sighed inwardly. Already, his three recruits were weirdos whom he had to struggle to deal with. Here he was hoping that at least Varnyx would recommend him a normal one which was straightforward to deal with but it looked like that was not going to happen.

Once again, an anomaly was staring at his face. Well whatever. It was not a big deal. He would have Varnyx check the progress as well. Both of them would be oathbound to him and there shouldn’t be any way for them to betray him.

He personally did not know anyone else so he had to take this chance based on Varnyx’s recommendation.

And Varnyx was someone whom he could trust. Even in his previous life, there was no wrong news or gossip circulating about him. There was simply no reason why he shouldn’t trust him.

"Okay. I will trust your words, Varnyx. Bring her to me. If she impresses me in these next few days, she can continue. Otherwise, I might have to replace her."

Varnyx bowed. "Understood, my Lord. I shall summon her at once. She will not fail you." The vampire hurriedly left the room and a few minutes later, he returned along with someone else.

She was not what Damon expected. Varnyx had painted a picture of a fallen stewardess clawing for relevance, desperate to prove her worth again. But the woman who followed him into the chamber radiated anything but desperation.

Her long crimson hair was tied into a sharp ponytail, not a strand out of place, giving her a look of disciplined elegance. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses sat neatly on her nose, catching the red glow of the Hall’s sconces as her gaze swept across the throne room.

Stockings clung to her legs, paired with a fitted skirt and blouse that gave her the air of a cold, calculating secretary rather than some shamed exile. She looked like someone who had just stepped out of a court chamber, ready to command armies with ink and parchment instead of blood and steel.

Her crimson eyes were icy, indifferent, merciles and they scanned Damon with the precision of an auditor dissecting numbers in a ledger. No hunger. No desperation.

Only a detached, professional disinterest that made it feel as though he was the one being weighed and measured. Her entrance was not the plea of a beggar for a second chance. It was the stride of someone who fully believed she still deserved the world at her feet.

Damon’s lips twitched. So this was Malia, the so-called monster who had nearly bankrupted a duchy. She carried herself not like a disgraced servant but like a queen disguised as a scribe.

Damon remained deliberately silent. On the other side, Malia stood perfectly straight, hands clasped neatly in front of her, expression unreadable behind those glasses. The only movement came from the slow blink of her eyes as she studied the throne room in quiet calculation, as though already rearranging the Blood Hall in her mind.

"So," Damon finally said. "This is the great vampiress who nearly bankrupted an entire duchy. Tell me, Malia, should I be preparing to count losses before I’ve even given you the treasury keys?"

Varnyx stiffened beside her, his lips parting in alarm, but Malia’s composure didn’t falter. Her gaze slid from Damon to the obsidian pillars of the Hall and then back to him, steady and sharp.

"If your Hall was already bleeding coin, I would tell you the same thing I told the Crimson Duke," she replied coolly. "That no amount of soldiers or blood feasts can hide a rotten foundation. They called it treachery. I called it truth. And when the walls finally crumbled, they preferred a scapegoat to facing their own incompetence."

"But from what I gather, you do not need to worry about any such thing, my Lord. This city is in ruins and your treasury should pretty much be empty. There isn’t much for me to destroy here."

Damon’s face twitched. Sharp tongued and straightforward. He liked it.

Malia adjusted her glasses with one finger, her middle finger. "You asked for someone who can manage and maintain. If you want flattery, find a bard. If you want results, you’ll need someone willing to tell you the truth, especially when it’s inconvenient."

"Okay," Damon said slowly, his voice a low rumble that carried through the throne room. "You talk big, and I’m inclined to believe you. But talk is easy. Anyone can spin words. What matters is results."

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin lightly against his fist, his eyes gleaming. "So tell me, Malia... if I handed you this ruined city and my overflowing treasury, where would you start? Give me something more than words. Convince me."

"My Lord, Varnyx spoke of soldiers and markets. That is child’s play. What truly breaks or builds a kingdom isn’t coin or steel, it’s information. Control the flow of knowledge, and you control the battlefield before a single sword is drawn."

"Spies. Informants. Whisper networks. Smugglers paid to bring news instead of contraband. False rumors planted in the right ears. While others scramble to react to threats, we will already have the knife in their ribs before they realize they’ve been bled."

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