CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER24-THE ATTITUDES OF ALL PARTIES

After a long and heated discussion, the members of the Royalist Party still failed to arrive at a clear conclusion.

Yet in the end, they had already reached a consensus of a different sort—whether or not this matter truly had anything to do with His Majesty, for the Royalist Party, it was a boon.

No matter the truth, they could seize this chance to strengthen themselves.

And so, their preparations were made accordingly.

To be cautious, however, William laid out further instructions:

"Regarding His Majesty’s actual situation, I will personally investigate it together with Heimerdinger. As for the Grand Marshal and the Minister of Police, you must assign people to watch them closely."

His expression grew heavy as he continued,

"This time His Majesty’s methods were anything but gentle. I worry that they might harbor dangerous thoughts of their own."

Rumors Among the People

The incident concerning the Minister of War, Nock, spread like a wild gust of wind, quickly blowing through every household.

Even the ordinary citizens of Eryndor began to hear the news.

And their reactions were filled with shock.

After all, by long-established reputation, Emperor Aurek’s timidity and weakness had already become deeply ingrained in the hearts of the people.

But now? This same emperor had resorted to such forceful measures.

Whispers filled the streets:

"It seems the political situation in the capital will soon become turbulent."

"The empire has long since grown old. Its so-called prosperity is but a façade. Perhaps it won’t be long before the Crossbridge Empire is consigned to history."

"And maybe, perhaps, a change of dynasty isn’t such a bad thing after all..."

Even the commoners, in their own crude way, could see through the surface. They knew well the empire’s condition.

Outside of Eryndor—the capital that alone clung to a semblance of stability—most of the provinces had already fallen into chaos.

Countless factions, great and small, fought like sharks in bloody waters. No one cared in the slightest what decrees Aurek sent forth from his palace.

For the Crossbridge Empire, only Eryndor still bore the gilded mask of imperial prosperity.

And now, even that mask seemed ready to crack.

Clover Auction House

In the southern quarter of Eryndor, within the most luxurious private chamber of the Clover Auction House, two figures sat together over afternoon tea:

Kafka, president of the Auction House.

Snow, patriarch of the powerful Kazek family.

Behind them, several young men and women of the new generation stood in respectful silence, attending their elders.

Snow finally broke the silence, his tone edged with unease:

"President Kafka, how do you view this matter?"

Kafka calmly lifted his teacup, taking a small sip before replying with deliberate leisure:

"This matter changes nothing."

Snow’s brows furrowed.

"What do you mean...?"

Kafka set his cup down and answered evenly:

"The empire is beyond saving. You, of all people, should know that better than I. Though this emperor’s actions are surprising, they cannot alter the inevitable."

Snow’s frown deepened, lines creasing his forehead.

"Then do you think the emperor is attempting to bring change? To rescue this empire that stands upon its final twilight?"

Kafka chuckled lightly.

"What else could his motives be? If not to save the empire, then why stir up all this noise with meaningless acts?"

Another sip of tea. He continued with mild detachment:

"Still, I must admit, he is more clear-headed than those who came before him. Had he been born two centuries earlier, perhaps—just perhaps—he might have reversed the tide and rewritten destiny itself."

He sighed.

"But alas, he came into the world too late. The trend is set, the end inevitable. No emperor’s resolve can now turn back the flood. To persist is meaningless."

Kafka’s eyes glimmered as he added,

"I suspect His Majesty himself already sees this truth. Likely his only wish now is to ensure the empire does not collapse in his hands, and that history does not curse his name as the monarch who ruined Crossbridge."

The Younger Generation’s Voices

At these words, the young girl standing nearby could no longer hide her dissatisfaction.

Her eyes shone with youthful stubbornness.

"Uncle, must it really be so? From what you’ve said, this young emperor seems remarkable to me. He knows the end is written, yet he refuses to surrender!"

Beside her, her elder brother spoke, his tone cool and disdainful:

"My sister, you are being naïve. In such a colossal situation, even a master-rank powerhouse could not turn the tide. What can one emperor do?"

His eyes hardened as he explained:

"The Ordon Theocracy is nothing less than a leech clinging to the Crossbridge Empire, draining away its last drops of blood. After so many years, how much lifeblood remains? Destruction is only a matter of time."

"If not for the Theocracy’s involvement, the empire would already have been carved apart by enemies within and without. Tell me, in such a climate, what change can an emperor truly bring?"

The girl fell silent, though the admiration in her gaze did not dim.

Everyone with eyes could see: the Crossbridge Empire was terminally ill.

Unless the gods themselves descended, salvation was impossible.

The girl muttered softly:

"Then doesn’t that make this young emperor a tragic soul? He is my age, yet dares to defy fate itself, to fight even knowing death awaits him. I find that... admirable."

Her brother scoffed openly.

"Admirable? Perhaps. But what use is admiration against destiny? The empire’s fall is fated, and that is his destiny as emperor—to shepherd it into decline."

The weight of inevitability silenced even youthful hope.

Snow turned once more toward Kafka, respect flickering in his eyes.

"Clover Auction House truly harbors extraordinary minds. Tell me, do you intend to leave Eryndor?"

Kafka gave a soft laugh, shaking his head.

"For the Clover Auction House, the rise and fall of empires are but passing seasons. Our trade will continue, no matter which banner flies above the city walls."

Sapphire Bank

Meanwhile, in the glittering heart of Eryndor stood the Sapphire Bank.

On its top floor, within a chamber more lavish than many royal halls, sat its branch manager, Josephine.

Reclining lazily on a velvet sofa, she sipped her tea with practiced grace, her posture both indulgent and seductive.

Through half-lidded eyes she gazed toward the sky, then at the silhouette of Valoria Palace in the distance.

Her voice was a murmur to herself:

"If the Crossbridge Empire collapses now, that would be... troublesome."

Yet she knew the outcome was not for her to decide. Much would depend upon the will of Cardinal Austin, the crimson-robed hierarch whose shadow loomed behind the empire’s fate.

With a thoughtful smile, Josephine reached across her desk, took up a feathered quill, and scrawled a few casual lines on a sheet of fine paper.

Then she tapped the surface of her ornate desk, summoning an attendant.

A clerk hurried in and bowed deeply.

"Manager Josephine, what are your orders?"

She answered with calm authority:

"There may be trouble ahead. Tell the staff to be careful in all dealings. And as for our business with the imperial government—suspend it for now. I will wait and see where the wind blows before deciding further."

The clerk bowed again.

"Understood, Manager Josephine."

And so, while His Majesty’s sudden show of strength shook the capital, every faction—from nobles to merchants, from bankers to common folk—watched closely, waiting to see whether the flicker of imperial resolve could truly alter the fate of a dying empire.