Mr. Herbes’ interview location was not far from Gephra’s palace. Through the window, the palace’s golden dome gleamed in the sunlight.

Gephra’s emperors had spent most of their wealth making their palace look magnificent. Among the people, there was a saying: the royal family would never go bankrupt.

If one day the royal family ran out of money, they could just tear off a rooftop to sustain themselves for a long time. It was said the palace roofs were made of pure gold, symbolizing the royalty’s wealth and dignity.

Seeing the glittering palace, Mr. Herbes immediately thought of his own country, where his brother wore clothes costing less than five Sol, ate meals under ten, and lived in a shabby place far worse than some ministers’ palaces.

Compared to Gephra’s emperor, it was a completely different world.

As he admired the true emperor of Gephra, that very emperor—envied and resented by Mr. Herbes, his brother, and many other kings and emperors—was himself troubled.

The situation in the Amellian region had deteriorated completely. The rebel groups—or rather, the anti-government militias—had retreated from the cities to the vast wilderness.

Originally, their resistance was within the city: occasional assassinations of patrols, sabotage of facilities, even targeted killings of officers or politicians.

Such tactics were foolish. Whenever an assassination occurred, the entire city launched massive manhunts, making it hard for assassins to escape.

Not only did they fail to escape, but their families were often arrested too. This was why the rebels struggled to effectively resist Gephra—they were always at a disadvantage operating in Gephra-controlled cities.

But now it was different. They had withdrawn to the wilderness for a prolonged, drawn-out conflict.

They destroyed power lines, pipelines, railways—anything they could sabotage, they did.

By the time damage was discovered, the saboteurs had long vanished without a trace.

This forced Gephra to divert substantial resources from city control to the countryside. They engaged in constant firefights with the militias there, but if they relaxed control in the city, the militias would raid military warehouses.

It was endless. Adding to the problem, beyond the reasons the emperor could admit, there was one he could not admit: Gephra’s army was utterly ineffective.

They couldn’t even defeat a ragtag group of newly armed commoners. In the wilderness, the militias routed them, forcing the army to rely on fortifications or armed trains on fixed routes.

For over two years, Gephra had gained no meaningful progress in Amellia. Instead, they had only wasted time, effort, and wealth.

This was the source of the emperor’s recent headaches. People resented shifting the development focus to Amellia without seeing positive returns at home.

Grassroots groups began questioning the emperor’s decisions, brewing dangerous unrest.

In any monarchy, once royal authority is questioned, things start spiraling out of control.

To avoid potential civil war or internal royal struggles, the emperor had to resolve the Amellia problem quickly.

Either abandon it entirely and let chaos reign—no one would benefit.

Or send troops to wage a real war and crush the militias.

The former was unacceptable—the investment was too great, and it was too late to quit.

The latter lacked confidence—they couldn’t win. With foreign support, the militias had become a structured force, making matters worse.

The only good news was the Federation’s willingness to help stabilize Amellia—not at Gephra’s request, but the Federation’s own initiative.

The price was allowing the Federation fair participation in reconstruction and new projects.

“This is the Federation’s diplomatic mission list?” The emperor, frequently taking medication for his rising blood pressure, tried to avoid thinking about stressors but couldn’t escape.

The list was sent before the delegation’s visit, to save face and allow the removal of any unwanted individuals in advance—both sides did this.

The foreign minister confirmed, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The emperor and his ministers had no rigid hierarchy or standing protocol. Discussions were relaxed, like an afternoon tea salon.

“Who is Lynch? I’ve heard the name but don’t recall much,” the emperor asked, pointing to a name.

The foreign minister explained, “Lynch is a young entrepreneur recently famous in the Federation. He’s innovative and successful in business, with good personal ties to Federation leaders, especially Truman. Our experts believe he can influence Truman and the president’s decisions to some extent.”

The emperor nodded, “So his presence on this list is normal. Is he connected to Truman or other politicians?”

He grew curious, “The file says he’s from an ordinary family. Have our intelligence agents been bribed?”

The army minister stood quickly, “Your Majesty, intelligence confirms Lynch’s background is as stated. Two years ago, he was an unemployed man…”

Everyone else could answer the emperor seated calmly, but the army minister couldn’t, due to the army’s poor performance.

The army’s failure in the previous world war was somewhat understandable given Gephra’s limited territory and lack of strong forces. But now, they couldn’t defeat poorly trained commoners—a huge disappointment.

Thankfully, the intelligence department was under the army, and if the army minister hadn’t achieved something there, he would have been dismissed long ago.

Yet even in intelligence, the emperor was dissatisfied. “I think you’re lying. Someone with no background suddenly amassing tens of millions of Federation Sols in two years?”

“Do you think this is some third-rate story? Such illogical fantasy is more ridiculous than cheap novels!”

“Don’t make excuses for your incompetence!” the emperor roared. Other ministers sipped coffee and ate palace-made tea pastries, ignoring the outburst.

The army minister, thick-skinned, remained unfazed. Others also felt dissatisfaction but held back out of camaraderie.

After the emperor’s venting, he calmed down and the army minister sat back as if nothing had happened.

The foreign minister then asked, “Your Majesty, should we remove Lynch from the delegation?”

The emperor hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “We don’t know who he represents. Removing him hastily might disrupt our plans. Let him come.”

The finance minister was lost in thought. If Mr. Herbes hadn’t hidden his true intentions and kept the finance minister in the dark, a single word from him now could change the emperor’s mind.

The empire’s finances and the finance minister’s role were extremely important. Often, this position was held by the prime minister. Even if not formally the prime minister now, he was, as people said, the shadow prime minister.

Whatever the prime minister wanted to do required financial support. Without it, no progress could be made.

Yet the person who could change everything didn’t even realize the significance of Lynch’s name. The minister was still mulling over the thank-you letters from Herbes and the foreigners.

These international bankers were generous; even someone used to numbers like him could feel their generosity.

Of course, his dealings with Herbes and others weren’t for their thanks—it was simply because he enjoyed making friends. Making friends was his greatest passion.