Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 79

Mazarine knew that victory required sacrifice. To bring the world back into order, lives had to be spent in the process. That was why she gave herself so wholly to Fleur-De-Lys, without hesitation—because they were the ones with a real plan to restore pride to their Kingdom. The way to make Vale rise again would be bloody, but it would all be worth it.

It was worth it. She absolutely believed that.

But...

The television set in the background showed Valeans crowding in front of Royal and Imperial offices, their frenzy undeniable. An Imperial representative stood at the forefront, hands outstretched, crying, “We have yet to receive the sentries! We have none in stock! Com- ”

His cries were drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

“First Minister,” a voice cut through. It was steely, lordly, and brimming with quiet fury. Francis Winchester was the embodiment of old Valean virtues—imposing, regal, with eyes that could cut through anyone's soul. The Duke of Winchester had gone directly to the Palace upon hearing about the Royal and Imperial sentry guns, wishing to speak with the First Minister. And who was the First Minister to refuse his king, uncrowned though he was?

“Do tell, what is your plan to deal with…this?” Francis asked, gesturing to the television.

Minister Rouge replied simply, “We must stop it. High-powered weapons and missiles are unwelcome inside the walls of Vale.”

Francis Winchester leaned in, his eyes fixed on the Minister. “And deny our people security?” he asked calmly.

“The Police, the Army, and the Sentine—”

Wood creaked. It took all of Mazarine’s discipline not to flinch at the quiet fury burning in Francis Winchester's eyes.

“All who have failed in their duties to stop the dust robberies, the humiliation of our Vacuan visitors, and Red Fang skulking in our midst,” Francis Winchester’s voice was level, but it could well have been a thunderstorm. He did not shout or scream as a lesser man might. Crowned or uncrowned, he modeled himself as a king, and a king he would act as. “And all your men have done is cry panic, ringing alarm bells.”

The First Minister did not waver under Francis’s gaze. He was older, established—not a young man with little renown to his name. “Let us not forget, my lord, that you agreed to this plan. Whip the people into a frenzy, so they may demand your restoration to protect them, and do away with the last vestiges of the Color Revolution.”

“Yet they are not,” Francis Winchester replied, sarcasm brimming like a lighthouse in the mist. “They gather at Royal and Imperial, begging for their death machines to protect their families.”

“And such machines shall,” Rouge replied deftly. “For we will release our own machines. I have been assured that the National Factory has drawn up designs to soothe the people. Better than the Imperials and readily accessible as well.”

Francis Winchester glared at the First Minister, but Rouge looked unconcerned, as if his liege weren’t on the verge of cutting his head off. “We need other solutions,” Francis rumbled. “Active ones that will make our people feel safe. The more they are afraid, the more we risk a Grimm invasion. I already have men outside reporting to me that Grimm activity has spiked.”

“Sacking the police chief is a solution, and replacing him with someone else,” the Minister offered. “I can nominate you as a replacement, and you can take an active fight against our enemies.”

“Let it be so,” Francis seethed. He stood, making Mazarine stand even straighter. He gave the First Minister one last furious look. “Control your men. From this point on, no more talk of the end. No more fear-mongering. If we keep this up, the people will lose confidence in the Fleur. Other Kingdoms might even demand moving the Vytal Festival elsewhere due to our unrest. Am I understood, First Minister?”

First Minister Rouge stood, his flowing robes following his movements. He bowed his head in obeisance. “As my King commands,” he vowed, as if he had been chastised. Francis Winchester glared at him one last time, a furious reminder of his place, before turning on his heels and marching out. His boot-steps echoed through the First Minister's office, then the door slammed shut with a fury.

Rouge kept his head lowered until the furious pretender left. Then, he stood back up, his face impassive.

Mazarine, for her part, stayed silent. Unlike the First Minister, she had been outside, in the streets. She had seen the panic on families’ faces, the hesitation of children unwilling to play outside. A part of her recoiled at how easily they were willing to offer lien to purchase Solitan machinery—but that disgust was muted by something else, something Mazarine thought she had killed when she swore body and soul to the Flowered Lily.

Guilt and shame.

It would have been easier for her to let disgust run free if this was happening naturally as in, this was a true threat. But they were the ones doing this. They were the ones who plotted and schemed, making their own countrymen afraid. Was this really how Vale was going to rise? On the tears of their children?

Rouge’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp like a knife. “We must ensure that Royal and Imperial never sells its machines. Cite the laws restricting weaponry to licensed individuals. Call the other Councillors, and have them require oversight for anyone owning such machines.”

“The people will decry such things, Minister. They need protection,” Mazarine pointed out.

“And they will,” Rouge replied coolly. “Our lord and master will be swift in rooting out the Red Fang and the criminals. They will calm in no time, and the Fleur will be beloved.”

He leaned back in his chair and turned to her. “It’s been a while since your last report on Alexander Wayland, Mazarine.”

She resisted the urge to let out an exasperated sigh. “Because, my Lord, there’s nothing to report,” Mazarine bit her lip in frustration. She turned to him, her face full of it. “He keeps no documents, no hidden plans in his home. It’s all mundane and domestic. All he does in his apartment is eat, sleep, bathe, and indulge in video games!”

It tore at Mazarine that she was spending time stalking a billionaire when there were better uses for her talents.

“You have watched him bathe?” the First Minister asked, raising a gray eyebrow.

“I was tasked to spy on him. I did my duty,” Mazarine replied hotly, pushing down the blush rising in her cheeks.

“As you did, commendably,” Rouge said, leaning back in his chair. He hummed, then nodded. “...We’ve gained nothing from this espionage save invading his privacy.”

Mazarine thanked the Brother Gods for that.

“I will send you instead to work actively with our Lord and Master. He will need a capable lieutenant to hunt down the savages. Can you do this?”

“All for One, One for All,” the Musketeer vowed.

“Then go,” Rouge said simply. Mazarine saluted, turned on her heels, and marched off. She had her orders, but the path ahead felt colder than ever. Mazarine could no longer ignore the growing distance between her loyalties and her conscience.

As she vacated his office, Rouge turned to his drawers, where a scroll sat. He pulled it out slowly, taking his time. There was no need to hurry. Turning it on, he contacted the lone number listed there. Rouge waited patiently until finally, a gruff voice spoke up.

“Yes, Minister?”

“The plan your mistress has set in motion is becoming difficult to maintain,” Minister Rouge did not yell, but the slight raising of his voice was enough to convey his frustration. “My people are getting too scared. I am dialing back on parts of the plan. Make the Red Fang easier to access so I can deal with them.”

“It will not be so simple, Cardinal.”

“I don’t care,” Rouge seethed. “I’m willing to play along, but fear has its limits. The constant troubles are getting out of hand. Dial it down, or the people will grow too unruly, and the Fleur will be overthrown.”

Silence greeted him. Then finally, the gruff voice acquiesced. “Very well. I shall bring your concerns up.”

“Good,” Rouge said simply before he clicked off the scroll and returned it to its drawer. He let out a sigh, glancing up at the banner of Vale flying high above his office. As he gazed at it, his body suddenly felt very tired. And he, so very, very old.

+++

A/N: Maybe you shouldn't have agreed to work with spooky people, Rouge.