Chapter 931: Taking the Initiative

The parliamentary hall of Aldernan was crowned with three magnificent spires. The tallest spire rose from the very top of the building, symbolizing the imperial authority that shelters and guides the entire empire. The middle spire represented the nobility under the crown, often called the “Pillars of the Empire.” The lowest and broadest spire directly covered the parliamentary chamber itself, symbolizing the empire’s proud citizens—the very “foundation of the empire.”

This bold, pioneering symbolism was a microcosm of Rosetta’s decades-long reform efforts. Yet in reality, the number of “citizen representatives” beneath these spires was less than half that of the noble representatives, and those with real influence were even fewer. So much so that when people spoke of Aldernan’s parliament, they almost instinctively thought only of the upper chamber—the old “Noble Assembly”—while subconsciously ignoring the other half of the parliament.

Rosetta Augustus had been working tirelessly to change this, and in the past two years, significant progress had indeed been made.

The thunderous roar of machines and the sudden rise of large corporations overnight had quickly bolstered the citizen representatives’ voice in parliament—more precisely, the merchants’ representatives.

For the first time, Mathilda realized that some forces were even more effective than royal decrees and guidance.

Seated in the golden high-backed chair that symbolized the royal family, she looked down calmly at the rectangular hall below. The magical crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling bathed the chamber in clear, vivid light, illuminating the faces of those who wielded the greatest power beneath the crown in Typhon’s social structure. They were passionately debating a plan that could change an entire era. Those qualified to speak in the front rows did their utmost to display persuasiveness and charisma, hoping to win the support of ordinary members—and more importantly, to sway Princess Mathilda, the royal’s representative.

In Typhon’s unique parliamentary system, the will of the crown carried great weight. Unless a proposal garnered overwhelming consensus among the members, it was necessary to secure the support of the crown’s spokesperson.

“I still oppose such a radical overhaul and restructuring plan,” a middle-aged nobleman in a dark blue coat stood up, his voice booming like a bell. He turned to address the members behind him. “Though I acknowledge the advantages of new technology and have always welcomed the bright future it promises, we must also recognize the scale of the existing communication tower network, along with the costs and benefits involved. Rebuilding the entire communication network would render decades of investment meaningless—it hasn’t even paid for itself yet. And whether the new network will function reliably remains unknown…”

“This isn’t just a matter of cost and benefit, Count,” another voice rose. “It’s a technical issue. Are you not aware of the limitations of the communication towers? Their technology is outdated. Given the existence of magical network communication, continuing to invest in and maintain the tower network is actually a waste—a waste of the empire’s wealth.”

“And what about those who maintain the towers? Those who rely on them for their livelihood? We can’t solve this problem with only a merchant’s mindset—we also have a responsibility to sustain the people!”

“That responsibility is more reflected in the seventeen towers you personally profit from, isn’t it?”

“Please don’t bring personal interests into such a solemn occasion. If we allow private gain here, I’m afraid none of us would have the right to speak, sir!”

The debate below grew more heated, yet the speakers, though passionate, maintained order perfectly. They followed parliamentary procedure, each expressing their views without overstepping or disturbing the crown’s authority. Mathilda sat silently in her chair, expressionless, watching it all unfold.

This round of debate was far from over.

They had already argued for hours yesterday.

What seemed chaotic and disorderly to outsiders was, to Mathilda, crystal clear. She could see that the old noble families had long since reached a consensus. Yet the minor nobles, who traditionally stood with the aristocracy, were now subtly aligning with the merchants—a union that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago. Since last year, such alliances had occurred repeatedly.

The reason was simple: factories and emerging companies were amassing more and more wealth and influence. The “new faction” among the minor and middle-ranking nobles were the main investors in these industries. Their interests were now tied to those of the merchants. Meanwhile, the upper nobility still controlled vast traditional industries and wealth, as well as much of the infrastructure. Though slower to react to the new investment boom, they remained a formidable force.

These two factions had clearly divided and staked out their territories, each watching the other’s every move, guarding their own pockets fiercely, unwilling to let a single coin slip to the other side.

The distribution of interests was more real than any political alignment.

Friction between these factions had been increasing since last year, but because their spheres of influence rarely overlapped, the conflicts remained low in intensity—until recently, when new technologies suddenly disrupted the established “rules.” Merchants and noble investors now had opportunities to stake claims in infrastructure, provoking fierce reactions from the old owners.

Mathilda wanted to yawn but held herself back.

Today’s debate would yield no immediate result, but she already foresaw the outcome in a few days: a compromise would emerge. The traditional communication towers would be preserved, albeit transformed into carriers of new technology. The costly facilities would be upgraded, and merchants and noble investors would be offered shares. Yet overall, the entire communication network would remain firmly in the hands of the old noble families and the Mage Association.

She was even certain that the investment opportunities in the tower renovation project would be deliberately released by the old families and the Mage Association. It would appear as if they were sharing the network’s profits, but in reality, it would fracture the fragile alliance between the noble investors and merchants. Once a certain dividend was offered as “consolation,” moderate members within the emerging interest groups would emerge, willing to abandon the radical plan to completely rebuild the network in exchange for safer, steadier returns. This was exactly what the Mage Association and the great nobles behind it wanted.

After all, the Mage Association was no fool, and neither were the great nobles. They understood the benefits of a brand-new communication network—they just didn’t want anyone else to control it first.

…

The gravity of the situation exceeded Duke Pedinan’s expectations. This unprecedented crisis caused the battle-hardened old duke to furrow his brow deeply.

“This is the situation, my old friend,” Rosetta Augustus said calmly from her high-backed chair, her gaze fixed on the duke standing before her. “As I told you before, the gods are not reliable protectors. Whether or not they have always sheltered mortals, I have always been wary of these transcendent, powerful, and unknowable beings who stand completely above us.”

“…I never understood your concerns about the gods, but now I must admit you were right,” Pedinan Wendel said gravely. “I just never imagined we would face such things in our lifetime…”

He frowned again. “Regarding the intelligence High Lord Cecil revealed in his letter—should we verify it further? I still find it hard to believe… that the ruler of Cecil would be so candid and benevolent in warning us.”

“He is a formidable opponent, but in this matter, he is our friend,” Rosetta shook her head. “In the book Mathilda brought, High Lord Cecil mentioned more than once that mortal fate must advance and retreat in step with the forces of nature and the gods. I once thought that was mere propaganda and rhetoric, but now I’m inclined to believe his sincerity.”

“…We all live on this land,” Pedinan’s voice was low.

“Yes, we all live on this land,” Rosetta said softly. “That is why I summoned you today—to prepare for the disaster that may befall this land.”

“…Can we really face a threat from the gods?” Pedinan couldn’t help but doubt. “Of course, the Cecilians seem to have successfully resisted the ‘divine calamity,’ but they weren’t facing true gods, and luck played a large part…”

“We won’t be facing true gods either,” Rosetta shook her head. “Or rather, I don’t believe the gods will directly ‘attack’ the mortal world.”

“Gods won’t directly ‘attack’ the mortal world…” Pedinan repeated instinctively, his expression puzzled.

“Gods need ‘mediators.’ They don’t descend so easily, do they?”

Pedinan frowned, looking at the monarch he had sworn loyalty to for decades. For some reason, he suddenly saw a trace of unfamiliarity on her face. “You mean…”

Rosetta was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly said something seemingly unrelated: “You know, I’ve started to envy our neighbors lately…”

…

After Duke Pedinan left, Rosetta remained seated quietly in her study. She leaned back in the massive chair that could engulf a person, as if lost in deep thought. After several minutes of silence and stillness, she suddenly raised her hand and used a small magical trick to extinguish the study’s lights.

Outside, night had already fallen thick and heavy. Only starlight shimmered on the obsidian palace’s towers. As the study darkened, shadows spread swiftly, while the starlight filtered through the crystal window, scattering across the room.

Everything in the study was bathed in the indifferent night.

Rosetta tapped rhythmically on the armrest. In the steady tapping, it seemed she was patiently waiting for something.

After dozens of taps, a faint yellow glow abruptly appeared on the desk, quickly spreading to cover the table, bookshelves, floor, and walls. Within seconds, the entire study was illuminated by this murky light, which also filled the nearby window, painting a scene of Orlandell two centuries ago.

Dusk had suddenly fallen.

Rosetta lifted her head as the familiar surroundings rapidly transformed. Ancient, decayed illusions long vanished from history overlaid the familiar furnishings. Whispering voices and faint laughter echoed from all around, as if a banquet was taking place next door. The sounds of guests’ merriment drifted through the walls and a nearby balcony. It even seemed as if some guests had passed through the walls and entered the room, whispering secrets into Rosetta’s ear.

Rosetta completely ignored those illusory voices, quietly fixating her gaze on the direction of the study door. Then, in the next moment, the laughter and whispers abruptly ceased.

Outside the tightly shut study door, somewhere down the corridor, the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps—like something dragging a weight—suddenly echoed after the whispers faded, gradually drawing closer.

Moments later, a knock came from the study door.

Rosetta didn’t respond. The knocking continued patiently.

It went on for a long time—so long that time itself seemed to freeze in this eternal twilight—until Rosetta finally broke the silence. “You can keep knocking all you want. Or are you hoping to break this door down by sheer persistence?”

The knocking stopped abruptly. After a few seconds of deathly silence, a deep voice, as if layered with countless tones blended into one, spoke from outside the door: “Your strength of will is truly astonishing… I’ve lost count of how many times I thought you’d break, yet here you are, still yourself…”

“Astonishing?” Rosetta shook her head. “But you’re not human.”

“That’s a meaningless detail,” the voice outside said. “I don’t care for details. Let’s get to the point… Why did you willingly enter this dream? That’s quite rare.”

“I suddenly became curious about certain things,” Rosetta replied. “But in the mortal world, I couldn’t find the answers—perhaps you’re willing to provide some?”

No sooner had she spoken than an unusual atmosphere filled the dreamscape. It was a strange mix of surprise and delight, yet countless prying gazes seemed to converge from all directions. Deep within this dream, among ancient corridors, halls, and courtyards of memory, countless “guests” had their eyes drawn here, coldly watching the spot where Rosetta Augustus stood.

Inside the study before her, the walls that once held ordinary decorative oil paintings rippled like water. The paintings were swallowed by the walls, then spat back out—only now the images had changed to those of Marjorie Augustus.

“Ah, my dear son, you’ve finally decided to return to our family?”

Then Marjorie’s image shifted into George Augustus. “This truly is a day worth celebrating!”

“You’re celebrating a bit prematurely,” Rosetta said coldly, casting a glance at the painting. “Stay quiet.”

The figures in the painting blurred and swayed. Outside the study door, the deep, layered voice chuckled softly. “Such confidence. But seeking knowledge from the divine isn’t so simple… Still, I’m quite willing.

“Ask your questions. I’m happy to answer anything—if you dare to listen.”

(End of chapter)