"Madam, the rain last night caused the river to overflow, flooding several areas," Count Globin muttered, clearly embarrassed. "I apologize for the mud clinging to your shoes. I'm afraid your dress might get dirty."
"Oh, it's not a problem. Mud isn't dirty," Moraine replied with a light smile. "May I see the river?"
"Oh—of course, Your Grace," the Count stammered, surprised by her lack of concern.When they reached the riverbank, Moraine was taken aback by the sight before her. The trees lining the shores were withered and dry, as though every last bit of life had been drained from them by some unseen parasite.
"The residents are nearby, you said?" Moraine asked, her tone sharp with concern.
"Yes, Your Grace. Miss Kana, Miss Laila, and my wife are distributing the goods you brought, just a few meters away."
Without hesitation, Moraine headed toward the gathering. The dense fog that had long cloaked the area was now mingling with the smoke from freshly cooked beef mushroom soup. Residents, including nobles, stood in line, waiting for their share. Their pride had long been sacrificed to the gnawing hunger that had taken hold of their lives.
Moraine pursed her lips as she took in the scene. The sight of once-proud people reduced to this—hungry, desperate, and forgotten—left a bitter taste in her mouth. These were the very people who had once been the backbone of Vernize. When the South had thrived, they had extended their hands to help those in need. But now, branded as "cursed" and abandoned in their time of crisis, they were left to fend for themselves.
Closing their doors as if they had already forgotten the favors they once owed.
'Humans are indeed selfish. All they think about is their own survival and benefits—how ugly,' Moraine thought bitterly.
"A goddess," someone muttered in awe.
Startled from her thoughts, Moraine glanced down to see a small child tugging at her skirt. His hands were covered in mud, which now stained the fabric.
"G-Grand Duchess!" a woman cried out in panic. "F-Forgive me for my child's insolence!"
Moraine frowned as she noticed the woman kneeling, her head pressed into the muddy ground.
"You and the child did nothing wrong, so stop it," Moraine said, her voice cold yet free of hostility.
The woman looked up, blinking in surprise. Her mouth fell open as she took in the sight of the young Grand Duchess. Unconsciously, she wiped her eyes, trying to confirm what she was seeing. But it was real—Moraine was indeed standing before her, as beautiful as the legends claimed.
"Baroness, please stand up. The madam is uncomfortable," Laila immediately interjected, helping the woman to her feet.
'Baroness? Her?' Moraine thought, taking in the woman's appearance—torn hems, muddy shoes, and hands covered with blisters. The sight left her dumbfounded.
'This is really bad,' she realized.
"I came here to hear your experiences and, of course, to find a solution," Moraine continued, her voice steady. "There are some factors I've been considering, but I need your help to prove them. Please, tell me what you've all gone through during these four years of misfortune."
A glimmer of hope flickered in the eyes of the people around her. They began to see Moraine in a new light, a beacon of hope shining brighter than any they had known in years. They didn't hesitate to share their stories—how they coped with the sudden change, how they struggled but remained resilient. Some wept, but most spoke with a quiet confidence, as if telling Moraine that they were still strong enough, that she need not worry.
In their minds, it didn't matter if Moraine had a solution or not. The fact that she visited them, handed them relief supplies, cooked warm soup, and most importantly, lent them her ears, was more than enough. None of the other nobles had offered them any help, let alone given them a chance to tell their stories.
The Grand Duke was the only one who had provided any assistance, but even his help had been limited—sending magicians and experts to revive the land, though none had succeeded. In the end, all he could do was supply them with monthly provisions, treating them like leeches without asking for anything in return.
It was a significant help, but it didn't make them feel any better. They were still strong, yet no one needed them. They felt like they were just insignificant beings, no better than pigs in a barn—the only difference being that pigs had a purpose, while they had none.
"I see," Moraine said thoughtfully. "The rainwater tastes sour, no plants grow despite the rain, and the river water can't nourish crops. And there's a volcano nearby, which you believe is the reason you've never experienced harsh winters, so you've been using fire-induced magic stones, afraid that the volcano would cool off?"
Count Globin couldn't quite grasp why the Grand Duchess kept repeating the people's words, but to avoid any offense, he simply nodded in agreement.
"Yes, Grand Duchess."
"I see." Moraine smiled. "Order a large quantity of charcoal and crushed limestone."
"Excuse me? Charcoal and limestone?" Count Globin asked, taken aback. Though surprised, he quickly instructed his butler to fulfill Moraine's request. "Pardon me for asking, Your Grace, but what purpose do these materials serve? I mean, there's no issue obtaining them since both are abundant and inexpensive, but..."
"Well, let's just say it's for the makeover of Southern Vernize," Moraine replied with a light laugh. "Kana, send a letter to the Magic Tower. Keep it brief."
YOU ARE READING
Judge of Cosmos
Fantasy"Divorce? You think this sacred bond can be torn apart by your petty whims, Moraine? Our marriage is the will of the gods themselves! A soul-stamped covenant, sealed under the watchful eyes of the Deity of Promise-unbreakable, eternal." Moraine's ga...
