CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER: 117 THE CONFERENCE.[1]

Vivian’s voice had barely finished echoing when every gaze in the hall locked onto him.

High-ranking nobles, old officials, young advisors, no matter who they were, they all stared at him now.

Their eyes held different emotions.

Some were curious. Some were worried. A few looked annoyed.

But none of them looked away.

Vivian slowly pulled in a breath.

He let the weight of those stares settle on his shoulders.

Then, steadying himself, he spoke again.

"The reason for this conference is simple."

His voice was calm, but it rang clearly in the huge hall.

He let his eyes move across the faces in front of him, checking their reactions.

"Our empire is in danger."

For a heartbeat, the room froze.

Aside from a handful of people, his father Duke Zenithara, his grandfather Duke Sant, the emperor and empress, and Sir Vikram von Indrath, every other person in the hall reacted with open shock.

Some leaned forward.

Others whispered.

A few even stood halfway out of their seats before catching themselves.

They had expected an issue. A new law. Maybe even new policies.

But they hadn’t expected Vivian to open with danger hanging over the whole empire.

But even those heavy words weren’t enough to keep everyone quiet.

A man in his late forties suddenly stood up from the second ring of seats.

His hair was touched with grey, his skin pale like he rarely stepped outside, and his expression was calm but sharp.

"I am Count Paper," he announced, his voice steady.

"If I may ask, on what basis do you speak such heavy words, sir?"

Vivian turned toward him and gave a small nod.

He let the question settle for a moment, thinking about the right way to answer without starting chaos too early.

"Of course," Vivian said.

"My words alone aren’t enough. I understand that. I have evidence as well."

"I will explain everything clearly, Count Paper, just give me the chance."

His tone stayed polite, but the message was clear enough.

The conference had barely begun.

He hadn’t even finished his opening statement, yet people were already interrupting.

This was his way of asking Count Paper to sit down and let him finish properly.

Count Paper understood at once.

He nodded quickly, still keeping a calm face.

"Of course, sir," he replied, and quietly took his seat again.

The hall fell silent once more, and the weight of expectation returned to Vivian like a cloak being placed on his shoulders.

Vivian let his eyes sweep across the hall again.

"So... where were we? Ah, right. The empire is in danger."

His voice stayed calm, steady.

"And as Count Paper asked, on what basis am I saying something so heavy that it could cause an uproar, correct?"

The room stayed completely silent.

Every face was turned toward him, waiting. Vivian glanced toward his father.

Vined gave him a small smile and a gentle nod, the kind that said: go on.

Vivian drew a quiet breath and continued.

"To explain this problem, I need to tell you how I first learned about it."

He paused for a heartbeat, letting the hall settle again.

"A few months ago, when I enrolled in Akron Academy, I had a spar with Kafrik Tramplin. During that fight... I cut off his hand."

His face didn’t show any anger or pride.

It was simply a statement of fact, delivered with calm clarity.

But the officials were nowhere near as calm.

Aside from the few who already knew, the rest of the hall erupted with noise.

Chairs scraped. People whispered. Some leaned toward their neighbours with wide eyes.

"He cut off Kafrik’s hand?" a man in the third row blurted out.

"Isn’t he the youngest son of Duke Tramplin?"

He didn’t stay loud for long.

Another official beside him grabbed his sleeve.

"Shh! Don’t speak so casually. This is linked to House Tramplin. Just listen."

A hush spread again, though now the air buzzed with tension.

Vivian could feel all of it, shock, curiosity, fear, pressing in from every direction as the hall waited for him to continue.

"You might wonder why something like that, a fight between students, has anything to do with the empire being in danger."

Vivian let the question hang in the air as he looked around the hall.

Then he spoke again, steady and clear.

"At the time, I felt a little guilty, so I went to his dorm to apologise."

It was a lie, of course.

He had never gone there out of guilt, not before his regression and not after.

But he needed a simple reason to guide the officials toward the real point without exposing things they were not supposed to hear.

So he kept going.

"When I reached his room, I found that Kafrik had completely broken down."

"His room was a mess. Everything was thrown around, things were smashed, and he looked... lost."

Vivian let that image settle in their minds.

"Seeing him in that state, I didn’t enter. I was about to walk away when..."

He paused again, feeling dozens of curious gazes lock onto him, waiting.

"I heard him saying something. Something about killing me."

A ripple went through the hall.

Some of the officials sat up straighter.

Others drew in sharp breaths.

The hall didn’t erupt this time, it tightened.

The silence grew sharper, heavier.

It wasn’t disbelief now. It was the beginning of fear.

"To try and kill the heir of one of the ducal houses..."

Vivian let the weight of those words sink into the hall.

"That alone could be seen as treason against the empire."

And the officials knew he wasn’t exaggerating.

Vivian wasn’t just any heir.

His status stood almost level with the princes.

He was the eldest son of Duke Vined Zenithara, a man whose influence reached every corner of the empire.

His maternal grandfather was Duke Sant, holder of one of the oldest noble lineages.

And then there was the most delicate part, Vivian was the fiancé of the empire’s only princess.

The emperor hadn’t made a public announcement yet, but everyone in the noble circles knew it was only a matter of time.

The bond between the Zenithara house and the imperial family had already taken shape.

Trying to kill him wasn’t a simple crime.

It wasn’t a small grudge or some childish anger.

It was enough reason to call House Tramplin a traitor.

The officials understood this.

Many of them stiffened in their seats, their eyes flicking toward the emperor, then toward Vivian, then toward the nobles sitting in the first ring.

They knew what Vivian’s words meant, and what direction this conference was slowly turning toward.

Now that Vivian had openly revealed such a serious matter, the entire atmosphere shifted.

The conference was no longer just a policy meeting.

It had become something far heavier.

It was now tied directly to Duke Tramplin, and the danger surrounding him.

Vivian didn’t let the tension rise too fast.

He kept his voice level, almost gentle.

"He planned to kill me. Still, that alone isn’t enough to say the empire itself is in danger... correct?"

Not a single official dared to interrupt.

The silence was tight.

They knew Vivian was leading them somewhere, and none of them wanted to get in the way.

"So when I heard that," Vivian went on, "I assumed he was simply angry. But I didn’t lower my guard."

Everything he was saying was a lie, of course.

He couldn’t tell them the truth, that he and Charlotte had seen the future through regression.

These officials were powerful, but even they wouldn’t believe something that strange.

So he had to build a bridge made of simple lies that gently delivered the truth.

"I started keeping an eye on him. And soon, I noticed something strange. He was sending and receiving secret letters from his house."

A wave of confusion moved through the hall.

Several officials frowned.

Exchanging letters with one’s family was normal. Expected, even.

A few men straightened in irritation, clearly ready to stand up and challenge that point.

Vivian didn’t let them.

"Before any of you speak," he said, raising one hand slightly, "let me ask you something. Would you send letters to your own house... through a third party?"

He looked around slowly.

The room went still.

Then he answered for them, calm and clear.

"The answer is no."

Vivian was just about to continue when someone suddenly stood up from the second row, a young man in his early twenties.

His hair was neat, his clothes expensive, and his smile a little too bright.

"I am the heir of House Kitten. It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Vivian!"

He announced loudly, chest puffed out with pride.

Half the hall frowned at once.

Important figures from the first ring turned their heads with clear annoyance.

Even the emperor’s eyebrow twitched.

The young man froze for a second, realizing he had just made a fool of himself.

He cleared his throat and rushed to correct his mistake.

"A–anyway! Sir Vivian, did you, um... try to get the letters? Like, did you try to snatch them yourself?"

Vivian’s eyes lit up.

Inside, he silently thanked this blabbermouth stranger.

That question was perfect.

"Of course," Vivian said.

With that, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

A soft ripple of mana spread around him, and several folded letters slipped out of his subspace, landing neatly between his fingers.

He held them up for everyone to see.

Gasps echoed through the hall.

Even the officials who had been doubting him leaned forward in their seats, their eyes fixed on the letters.

The hall had gone quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t confusion.

It was the quiet that came when people sensed something truly dangerous was about to be revealed.