Dissing the Poor and Favoring the Rich

Black’s eyes narrowed.

The more he listened to the accusations,the more familiar they sounded—like echoes from a script he’d read before.

A cold dread coiled in his gut.

He snapped his head up—and read the tavern’s sign:

Tulip Tavern.

Tulip Tavern?!

“Oh, you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”

This was exactly the first incident of Chapter 1: “City of the Dragon’s Temptation”!

He’d walked straight into the plot!

The Knight Patrol cleared a path through the mob,their captain bellowing:

“Knight Patrol! Silence, all of you!”

The crowd hushed, though a few hotheads glared—until a knight’s icy stare shut them up.

A Dragonheart Academy girl stepped forward, eyes red:

“Captain, please!

Saintess Kristine was saving a poisoned child—how is that ‘choosing the rich’?!”

The captain’s gaze swept the scene—

and froze.

Two children lay side by side.

One—a boy in silk robes—breathed weakly on a chair,attended by wealthy, tearful parents.

The other—covered by a white shroud,only mud-caked cloth shoes visible beneath.

A coarse-dressed woman wailed over the body,her grief raw, animalistic.

“What happened?” the captain demanded.

His eyes fell on Kristine—pale, trembling,her saintly grace shattered.

Impossible, he thought.

The “Perfect Saintess”… biased?

Irena took a steadying breath, and explained:

Their volunteer team had been passing by when two kids collapsed— lips purple, bodies convulsing—acute poisoning.

Only Kristine knew High-Tier Antidote Art—a spell that could save only one at a time,requiring absolute focus—interruption meant death for both.

In the chaos, Kristine rushed to the nearest child—the silk-robed boy,just two steps away.

“It was our son, Ah Ming!” the rich mother choked out,tears streaming.

“She saved him with shaking hands—she tried her best!”

But by the time Kristine reached the second child—he was already gone.

“She DID her best!” Irena insisted.

“But this woman blames her for ‘choosing the rich’!”

The widow lunged, howling:

“BEST?! THEN WHERE’S MY SON?!”

“Was his life worth less because we’re POOR?!”

“You fake saint! You think we’re DIRTY?!”

Her words ignited the crowd—mostly slum-dwellers,already bitter toward the rich.

Murmurs spread like wildfire:

“She probably took a bribe…”

“Saintess? More like sell-ess!”

“But she gave us free bread!”

“Pfft—only your slum! Did she ever come to ours?!”

Kristine stood frozen,lips quivering,tears spilling silently.

The widow screamed, veins bulging:

“MY SON WOULD BE ALIVE IF SHE’D SAVED HIM FIRST!”

“SHE’S A MURDERER!”

Across the street,a black carriage idled in shadow—its frame gilded with intricate sigils,clearly noble-owned.

A breeze lifted the curtain—revealing Pascal,Second Chair of the Dragon-Slaying Guard,bowing his head to someone inside.

“My Lord… shall I intervene?”

“Her reputation won’t survive this.”

A woman’s voice—calm, melodic—replied:

“Patience. Let’s see how far this actress will go.”

Black listened, heart sinking.

Of course.

This was no accident.

It was the first move in Demeter’s grand scheme—a carefully staged trap to shatter Kristine’s faith.

In the original plot, this incident exploded nationwide—half the Empire defending her,half condemning her as a hypocrite.

And the real killer?

That “grieving mother”—an agent of the Dragon Cult,planting doubt like a poison seed.

Kristine—already burdened by secrets—would crumble under this weight,making her ripe for possession.

Black’s fists clenched.

He couldn’t let history repeat.

But how?

He was chained, powerless,surrounded by knights who saw him as a murderer.

Yet…his eyes locked onto Jianye—cool, observant,already scanning the widow’s face like a hawk.

She knows something’s off.

And Irena—fiercely loyal,fighting for Kristine even now.

Maybe…he didn’t need to act alone.

He leaned toward a knight, voice low but urgent:

“Listen. That ‘mother’? She’s lying.

Check the dead kid’s mouth—you’ll find traces of bitterroot,not the tavern’s wine.This was planned.”

The knight froze,then whispered to the captain.

Within seconds—

knights surrounded the widow,prying open the corpse’s jaw.

The captain’s face darkened as he sniffed the boy’s lips.

“Bitterroot…” he growled.

“This wasn’t tavern-poisoning.

This was murder—and you’re the killer.”

The widow’s sobs turned to snarls—

but it was too late.

The crowd staggered back, horrified.

Kristine stared, disbelief breaking into dawning hope.

And from the shadows—the carriage curtain fell shut.

Somewhere, a Dragon King smiled.

But the first thread of its web…had just been cut.