Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 383 The Chaotic Dragon Throne Meeting (Part 2)
At this moment, the fourth prince, Rhine, finally gently closed the file.

This is a signal; it's his turn to make a move.

The head of the Censorate, Mays, stood up almost immediately: "The reason for your debate is simply because the emperor has disappeared and the imperial power is in vain."

He then uttered a statement that ignited the entire audience: "I propose restoring the system of electing emperors and marquises, with the eight great families jointly electing the guardian of imperial power."

Mays's voice was steady, yet it seemed to freeze the air in the Imperial Hall for a moment.

Mays's gaze swept over every noble representative and prince in the hall, his tone unchanged: "This system maintained the balance of power during the empire's most perilous years."

Alternatively, while the emperor is absent and the regent is in poor health, a guardian jointly elected by the eight families could be appointed to temporarily exercise imperial power, stabilize the various states, coordinate all regions, and ensure that the empire does not disintegrate.

His speech was slow, yet it struck the hearts of everyone present like a hammer blow.

This passage appears to be very mild on the surface, as if it were a rational suggestion of a middle ground.

But everyone in the Imperial Hall could understand it.

This is not a temporary regency, but rather a pre-establishment of a legitimate alternative in case the emperor does not return.

It wasn't about mediating factions, but about bringing the eight great families back to the core of imperial power.

This is not a stopgap measure, but a systemic restart.

This was a very offensive thing to do, but the reason why Mays dared to stand up at this moment was not because of his position, but because he had already held enough leverage.

Before the meeting, Rhine offered him benefits that were extremely difficult to refuse: the future independent review power of the Censorate over imperial officials, the preliminary ruling power over provincial autonomy cases, and a secret fund allocated from the secondary treasury books.

But these were just superficial bargaining chips. What truly made him agree was another part of his family's future, which Rhine promised in a low voice.

Mays was nearing the end of his life, and his body had long since failed to support long journeys and extended periods of government service. He knew better than anyone else present that he wouldn't last many more years.

What he sought was no longer power and position themselves, but a guarantee that his family would not be swallowed up in the next round of power reshuffling in the capital.

Rhine gave him this promise, guaranteeing that the Mays family's title would be preserved in future institutional restructuring, and that his descendants would be allowed into the core of the Overwatch Council.

In the potential reshaping of the civil service system in the future of the empire, two inheritable positions are reserved for the Mace family.

These promises were carefully crafted to remain unnoticed by any faction, yet were sufficient to ensure that a family could still stand on the steps of the capital after the chaos.

For a man nearing the end of his life, this is the last legacy he can leave behind.

That is why he was willing to propose a motion at this moment that could shake the very foundations of the empire.

The air inside the hall seemed to freeze, and every pair of eyes in the room waited.

They weren't waiting for Mays to say anything more, but rather for everyone else to express their opinions.

The first sounds were the nobles approaching each other and exchanging tentative whispers.

This sound was not one of panic, but rather a tactic commonly used by seasoned nobles when facing major upheavals.

They weren't arguing; they were quickly assessing the risks.
"Restoring the old system...does that mean we'll be controlled by the eight major families again?"

"If the imperial power is jointly promoted by the eight families, how much say will our province have?"

"Is this a scheme orchestrated in advance by the eight parties?"

They were not afraid of the redistribution of imperial power, but rather of the rapid loss of the autonomy that the provinces had painstakingly gained over the past century once the old system was restored.

The negotiating power of emerging territories will be minimized, and the balance of power will shift back towards the eight great families.

This fear stems from a clear assessment of future benefits.

The silence of the eight major families was not hesitation, but rather the most typical "wait-and-see suppression" by the power class.

Any statement made by one of their families will be interpreted by the other families as a declaration of their interests.

Therefore, they must remain calm and cautious, making their stance clear through the smallest of actions.

Eleanor maintained a vague smile, neither supporting nor opposing, keeping herself within the safe boundaries of all options.

The exchange of glances between Remont's representative and Simmons' representative was a signal of "interest".

Diaz and Carradi remained silent, maintaining a diplomatic stance.

Representatives Holden and Beres frowned, the old aristocracy instinctively resisting a rewriting of the system.

As for the Edmund family representative, he was dozing off, and the old man had not received any instructions from Louis, so he could not express his opinion.

Their silence itself is the heaviest pressure on the capital.

As these silent attitudes accumulate, they are enough to cause the balance of the entire Imperial Hall to begin to tilt.

The tension in the air isn't just an emotion, but the sound of interest structures beginning to crumble.

Just as this pressure reached the very end of the noble seats, someone finally couldn't resist testing the limits.

The representative from the Western Frontier stood up, his tone still polite, but he precisely steered the question to its core: "Lord Mace, does this mean that the major provinces will once again be under the control of the eight great families?"

This is not anger, but a test of boundaries to see if the eight families will try to make a comeback under the old system.

Then the Third Army Corps Commander added insult to injury: "If the old system is revived, will the military expenses and grain taxes of the local provinces still be decided by the eight authorities?"

This is the second attempt, sharper and closer to the pain point.

These two questions, put together, truly began to shift the focus of the Imperial Hall.

Finally, a nobleman from the western border couldn't hold back any longer and slammed his hand on the stone table: "The era of the eight great families is over!"

That slam of the table was the real breaking point in the Imperial Hall.

The sound waves rolled out under the dome, the echoes shattering into a jumbled mess; it wasn't a roar, but a shared nightmare for the entire provincial system.

This sentence reminded every local noble of one thing: if the old system were to return, they would be transformed from negotiable territorial rulers back into vital components of the eight great families' system.

This is a death knell for their own interests; they know that if they don't speak up now, it won't be their turn to speak next time.

As a result, nobles outside the eight great families began to speak out.

The newly rich from the southern border half-stood up, his voice rising: "The local provinces can't support the games played by your capital!"

The border marquis's voice immediately rose: "Anyone who dares to touch the northern frontier's military spending, we'll declare ourselves autonomous first!"

The local nobles no longer whispered, but stood up in rows: "The provinces are not vassals of the Eight Families!" "We demand genuine autonomy!" "Don't let the old system crush the emerging territories!"

Order began to crumble, and the Imperial Hall seemed to be torn apart from the inside by immense force.

The fear of the newly rich then joined the chaos, beginning with trembling voices: "The old order is coming back...we must all die..."

Then came the shouts that tore down the formalities: "Your era is over!" "The empire needs reform, not regression!"

Almost everyone stood up, their faces etched with genuine, naked fear.

The eternal flames swayed in the dome, and blue light danced on their faces, illuminating a group of shadows waiting to see how the empire would crumble.

The noise became a chaotic roar of shattering, colliding, and oppressive sounds, as if the entire empire had prematurely stepped onto the edge of an abyss at this moment.

Just then, a movement caused all the sounds to suddenly fall silent.

The second prince stood up, his voice not loud but like an anvil hitting the ground: "Imperial power is borne by the royal family."

Without rhetoric, without explanation, without contention, this single sentence directly shattered the foundation of the electoral system.

The civil officials understood; this was a warning that imperial power was not a tool.

The old nobles understood: the Ministry of Military Affairs and the legions would not allow the eight families to covet the throne. The eight great families also understood: that was a dividing line.

He then added, even more coldly, "The emperor's disappearance doesn't mean you're entitled to a share of the spoils."

When those words landed, the Imperial Hall felt as if it had been crushed by a giant boulder.

The local nobles choked, the newly rich fell silent, and even the eight great families paused for a moment.

There was no anger, but there was plenty of pressure. However, it couldn't be suppressed. After a brief silence, the argument resumed.

Lin Ze tried to regain control of the situation, shouting, "Silence—!"

The sound exploded in the reverberation array, like a deep bell striking a stone wall.

But this time no one paid any attention. The local nobles continued to shout, the new nobles tore down etiquette, and the old nobles also lost their sense of propriety.

This is the first time since the emperor's disappearance that even the surface order has been lost.

"Quiet down." A weak voice came from that moment.

Before the Obsidian Throne, Arens leaned on the armrest, the noise making it hard for him to breathe.

He moved slowly, but he still managed to stand up.

The light from the constant fire shone on his face, making him look like a candle that might go out at any moment, yet still stubbornly burning.

It was this figure that silenced the entire hall.

That moment of stillness was a lingering shadow of imperial power.

Arens spoke, his voice not loud, but amplified clearly by the array: "The Emperor... is not dead."

The hall seemed to be held down abruptly; some people gasped, while others froze.

He looked up, his eyes shining brightly because of the spirit fruit: "Imperial power is still in the succession sequence. If the emperor has not died, any emperor chosen... would be usurping power."

Mays' proposal has now gone from an "option" to a taboo.

Arens's voice was weak, but no one dared to ignore it: "The Empire... will not tolerate today's chaos, will not tolerate the eight families vying for power, will not tolerate the military becoming independent, will not tolerate the provinces overstepping their boundaries, and will not tolerate the new elites going mad."

Every word was like a knife, piercing the heart of the faction that had just shouted the loudest.

His voice trembled, yet remained steady: "The empire must not be divided before I die."

This was likely the last time in the Regent's life that he held the reins, as the dying lion let out its final roar.

Arens slowly sat back on the throne, steadying his breathing with the armrest in hand: "Today's discussion is to be postponed. The next agenda item will be convened by me at a later date."

No one objected.

The Imperial Hall was not silent because of order or the dignity that nobles should have, but because of the deathly silence suppressed by the lingering shadow of imperial power.

The door to the Imperial Hall was pushed open, but the deathly silence was not violently shattered; it was only gently pushed open a crack by the cool breeze outside.

Footsteps followed into the outer corridor, yet remained suppressed and restrained; everyone was trying to keep their emotions within the boundaries permitted by etiquette.

The chaos didn't dissipate, but it took a different form, shifting from open arguments to covert probing.

Kalen walked at the front, his steps still steady.

His aura was even thinner than when he entered, yet he concealed it extremely well, like a general who had just dismounted from the front lines, suppressing his fatigue, injuries, and anger beneath his armor, not letting outsiders see a trace of it.

At this moment, Karen had already thoroughly analyzed the situation in his mind. Rhine had begun its strategic planning, with the Mayes and the eight great families acting as the driving force. The electoral system had become a clear trend, and the civil officials were pressuring him.

If the Ministry of Military Affairs does not tighten its grip, he will have no chance of turning the tide.

Before the next meeting, control of the Ministry of Military Affairs must be regained.

We must deploy it faster, harder, and more directly.

His paranoia wasn't irritability, but rather a chilling contraction, like the feeling of realizing on the battlefield that the supply line has been cut off.

On the other side, the civil servants quietly dispersed.

Rhine walked out surrounded by attendants, his steps steady, showing neither joy nor frustration.

He exchanged a few quiet words with the civil servant beside him, as if he were simply finishing up the afternoon's routine government affairs.

Although no results were achieved today, the old system was successfully brought into the negotiable range.

With imperial power still in vain, the divisions among the eight major families deepened, the provinces tested the central government, and the new elites began to feel uneasy, pushing forward all the stalemates they needed.

Chaos must not be allowed to spiral out of control, but it must be prolonged until no one can straighten things out again.

This is the battlefield of the Rhine.

He doesn't need to raise his voice; as long as he keeps the situation in a position where no one can win, he will be the ultimate controller.

Lampard was the last to leave the field.

His gait was as natural as a stroll, and his demeanor was incredibly quiet; even the servants didn't pay him any special attention.

But three crucial lines were drawn in his mind: the central government's prestige had collapsed, the provinces were beginning to break away, and the eight fissures were enough for religious forces to intervene.

His next move will not be in the Imperial Palace, but among the local nobles.

The empire's fragmentation will naturally emerge during the next period of chaos, rather than being forced apart today.

There was no commotion when the eight major families left the Imperial Hall.

These families never express their power through shouting, but through their next move.

When other nobles left the Imperial Hall, they maintained the same etiquette, but their tone was even lower, and the anxiety in their words could no longer be concealed.
“If the old system is reinstated, the provinces’ bargaining power will be diminished.”

"The capital's finances cannot support a protracted war."

“Connectivity between provinces must be established first.”

This is the first time that the reality of the central government's potential dysfunction has been discussed publicly from the perspective of an aristocrat.

The rudiments of a local self-governing alliance took shape at this moment, through the natural convergence of consensus.

The newly rich did not flee in disarray, but they all knew in their hearts that if the old system were reinstated, the newly rich would be the first to be eliminated.

Eleanor stood on the outer corridor, quietly observing everything: hushed discussions, rapid probing, cautious actions, and forced retreat.

There was no yelling, no arguing, and no loss of control.

But the very fact that everyone was acting in the same direction with this restraint indicated that the empire was beginning to crack.

Eleanor had already begun to formulate the opening line of a sentence in her mind: "The situation in the capital needs to be reassessed."

The remnants of imperial power still linger, the provinces are beginning to loosen their grip, the silence of the eight powerful families is turning in different directions, the newly rich are retreating ahead of schedule, and the Ministry of Military Affairs could get out of control at any time.

The old fox, Duke Calvin, was most adept at discerning ten steps ahead from the very first sentence.

She only needs to organize these clues into material that allows the other party to make a judgment, rather than giving a conclusion.

She would write the real letter again at the Iris Tower mansion, and then the family would decide how to proceed.

Today’s meeting is just the beginning of chaos, and the Southeast Calvin family must prepare for the impending breakdown by changing the winds.

The first crack in the empire could no longer be closed.

(End of this chapter)