Chapter Forty-Nine: The Decision

As the Hermit concluded his presentation, it was time for the Council of Seven’s debate, the second favorite activity of the Other Side.

During this segment, one could witness those usually high and mighty dignitaries arguing until they were red in the face over a single issue, sometimes even losing their composure to resort to personal attacks.

"The Chamber of Commerce has reaped so much profit in the Empire over the years; are you now shrinking back when it is your turn to shoulder responsibility? What a bunch of genuine parasites."

The first to launch a personal attack was the Regent, representing the aristocracy of the Imperial Capital. Most of these titles dated back to the First King; as the original members of the Council of Seven succumbed to age and death, their successors inherited their monikers simultaneously.

The Other Side propped her cheek lazily on her palm, listening to this fierce debate with rapt interest.

As for her own moniker, she had chosen it herself. It originated from a flower she had seen while participating in an expedition to the Eastern Continent when she was still a Second-Tier Knight of the Sanctuary. The flower had been breathtaking, leaving a deep impression on her.

When His Majesty Henry bestowed her title, she insisted on keeping her own chosen designation.

The affirmative camp, led by the Pope, argued that the elemental evoker was an uncontrollable variable for the Empire. Even more unforgivable was his intertwined connection with the Winter Witch; therefore, they must spare no effort to uncover the man's true identity and drag him before the Inquisition to be baptized by imperial law.

Until then, the Rofik Consortium should fully cooperate with their operations.

This was, of course, mercilessly rejected by the representative of the Rofik Consortium. Protecting the privacy of every guest was the chamber's pledge to everyone, and to merchants, credibility could not be violated.

"That is likely difficult to accomplish."

The Astrologers' Scholar maintained her harmless, amiable smile, explaining gently, "I participated in the construction of Hearthwood Bay. Teleportation magic can only record the coordinates of two locations at a time; even a Grand Magus of the Astrologers cannot teleport Heisenberg from Hearthwood Bay to the Imperial Capital."

"Then arrest him, interrogate him with torture to extract his identity, and deploy the Golden Fleet if necessary! We must nip this threat in the bud!"

The Inquisitorial Speaker of the Iron Hand was as radical as ever, even preparing to throw the Empire's undefeated Golden Fleet into war.

Yet, in truth, the Inquisition possessed no authority to mobilize the Golden Fleet. This war machine, the pride of the Empire, had always been controlled by the royal family—so typical of the high nobility, effortlessly issuing commands and leaving countless others to clean up their messes.

The Other Side silently muttered a complaint in her heart.

The Hermit, who had remained silent all this while, spoke calmly, "We are currently unable to make an accurate assessment of Heisenberg; acting rashly will only produce the opposite result. The Empire today can no longer endure another War of Corruption."

This blow struck straight to the heart of the matter, plunging the meeting into a deadlock.

They all knew that although the Empire was the victor of the War of Corruption, it had paid a heavy price in that conflict. Ever since, the King had been bedridden, and the Empire had drifted toward decline. Worse still, the propaganda of victory had failed to stem the ravages of the evil god's cultists; instead, fanatical evil-doers had sprouted everywhere like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.

The Hermit stared directly at the Pope with his turbid eyes. "The last thing the Empire should do right now is let the news of Heisenberg's existence spread. Regardless of what connection he shares with... that person, and regardless of his own stance, he will replace that person and become the savior in the eyes of the evil god's fanatics."

Thus, the vote predictably arrived at a 3:3 tie, and all gazes shifted to the Other Side, who had never participated in the discussions.

Her vote was of paramount importance and would directly influence the future of the Empire.

"I feel Mr. Hermit's words make a lot of sense. I vote against the affirmative."

Her reply was crisp and decisive, leaving no room for the Pope's faction to lobby for votes.

Unsurprisingly, she earned a freezing glare from the Pope—this was already the third consecutive time she had stood in opposition to the Holy See.

Yet the Other Side had to clarify that she harbored no personal animosity toward the Pope; it was simply that the series of radical policies promoted by the Holy See in recent years did not align with her ideals.

Ever since the King fell ill, she felt the Pope had grown increasingly obsessed with power.

At the same time, the Holy See's assessment of certain aspects of the Rofik Consortium was quite accurate: a cluster of parasites born for profit, constantly scheming to amass wealth while remaining utterly indifferent to the future of the Empire.

Consequently, casting her vote often became agonizingly difficult.

Regardless, with the vote settling at 3:4, any further words were pale and powerless. This was the system of the Council of Seven; every individual must ultimately submit to the outcome of the vote.

"Then, according to the voting results, Mr. Horn shall be responsible for contacting Heisenberg."

The representative of the Rofik Consortium cast a deep look at the Inquisitorial representative of the Iron Hand. "Probe his attitude through peaceful and prudent means. I believe there is a possibility he can be recruited by the Empire, and I do not wish to see anyone ignite a war in Hearthwood Bay."

The Inquisition over the years could well be described as notoriously infamous; it had evidently transformed into the Pope's tool for purging dissidents.

The Iron Hand merely let out a cold snort and averted his gaze elsewhere.

This long and tedious debate finally drew to a close. No matter how many times she had attended, the Other Side could never truly adapt to the atmosphere of these meetings.

Although every councilor wrapped themselves in the banner of the Empire's future, the agenda of the meetings was forever about securing more benefits for their own faction. In truth, she felt that ever since the concept of "factions" emerged, the kingdom had begun to fracture.

And now, another grand expedition awaited her.

Imperial intelligence operatives had captured the traces of the Dream Blight. Shortly before, they had murdered a former Containment Bureau Grade-A Investigator in Hearthwood Bay, along with an Imperial Monetary Reserve Executive.

This might be the Royal Army's first true engagement with these fanatics of the evil god.

Seeing the Other Side stand up to leave, the Pope suddenly approached and intercepted her.

"I wish you a triumphant victory."

He stared fixedly at the Other Side, a smile not quite reaching his eyes as he spoke.

The political stance of the Royal Army was once again... disappointing. Fortunately, it would not be long before the Council of Seven welcomed a new, wiser decision-maker.

The Other Side did not reply; she merely nodded at the Pope out of courtesy, then walked straight out of the chapel without looking back.

Compared to enduring the Pope's sullen expression, she greatly preferred that giant ice bird—it made her palms itch with eager anticipation.

No knight could ever refuse a mount with such a dashing appearance.

This was a meeting concerning Heisenberg, yet unlike these politicians, if she were to meet Heisenberg, she would have only one request.

Let her ride that giant ice bird and take a spin in the skies.

Please, she would do anything!

Meanwhile, far away in Creekwood Town, Mr. Heisenberg pushed open the half-ajar door of the guest bedroom, stepping inside with stealthy footsteps.

The light emanating through the door gap had caught his attention.

This was Miss Chloe's room.

When he beheld the scene within the bedroom, a bolt of lightning flashed across his mind—Miss Chloe was leaning against the bedside, having ignited a gas lamp procured from goodness knows where, with an open parchment book spread out on the floor before her and an array of diverse herbs surrounding her.

What on earth had happened over the past few days?

Since when had Miss Chloe learned how to read books?