In the luxurious Imperial Palace, a Royal Steward wearing a wig walked solemnly down the corridor leading to the Emperor’s chamber.
Behind him followed so people, equally stern-faced, with a murderous aura etched on every unsmiling face.
The soldiers in the corridor wanted to stop the Royal Steward but were silenced by just a glance from him.
In Gafura, the Royal Steward holds a high status; he cannot ddle in political matters, but concerning the internal affairs of the palace, he wields power second only to the Emperor.
This was a lesson learned from years of rule by the Gafura Imperial Family. In the past, there was a ti when a few emperors were essentially usurped by the Royal Steward, leading to scandals where the Empress was pregnant with the steward’s child, and the throne was almost usurped by a bastard.
There were many instances of internal and external collusion, prompting the restoration of imperial power, after which so rules were modified. The potential of the Royal Steward was restricted to the minimum. To prevent any irreversible consequences from arising unexpectedly, all candidates for Royal Steward must be chosen from among the mbers of the Imperial Family.
In other words, the Royal Steward would usually be the Emperor’s uncle or brother or so relative, ensuring that the throne and power wouldn’t fall into outsiders’ hands, even in extre circumstances.
Simultaneously, the Emperor would have more trust in a steward he personally appointed, fostering a better and more stable relationship.
At the end of the corridor, the Royal Steward pushed open the door to the Emperor’s chamber. In the vast room, the Emperor was asleep on a velvet-covered bed, the room warm and cozy.
To provide the Emperor with a comfortable environnt, the walls and floors of the room were installed with many pure copper pipes, through which high-temperature steam constantly flowed, making the room warm like spring.
The Emperor lay under a thin quilt, his chest rising and falling slowly and rhythmically, indicating that he was still deeply asleep.
The soldiers outside the door wanted to say sothing, but they were rendered speechless by the steward standing by the door, eventually falling into silence.
The steward slowly closed the chamber door, the heavy and soundproof door completely isolating the chamber from the outside world. The soldiers outside exchanged glances, sighed silently, knowing what was about to happen.
Since the war ended, voices of dissatisfaction with the Emperor had erged within the Imperial Family. They spent too much wealth during the war but did not gain adequate returns, with many Imperial Family mbers and noble ministers having their family fortunes almost depleted.
Coupled with the post-war adjustnt of the national developnt direction, Alia beca a rapidly developing region, and dostic developnt slowed, causing discontent among those whose interests were primarily dostic, including noble ministers.
They believed that the Emperor’s aims to develop Alia, an overseas enclave, weren’t to resolve Gafura’s "Island Dilemma"—a theory proposed by dostic scholars suggesting Gafura’s primary issue is being an isolated island vulnerable to destruction if a war were to reach ho soil.
When the war reached such a stage, it already showed that Gafura was outmatched, and only annihilation awaited them.
Yet, so believed these decisions were made by the Emperor for so ulterior motive, not genuinely intended.
All the dissatisfaction unexpectedly subsided after the naval defeat against the Federation, not because these individuals began empathizing with the Emperor’s previous thoughts and actions, but because the contradictions evolved and accumulated from simpler grievances. So began to think the challenges Gafura is facing stem from the Emperor’s arrogance.
This sharp contradiction wouldn’t be overtly displayed, but everyone could feel its presence. This year, the Emperor would roar at the ministers in the Ruler’s Hall frequently, whereas a few years ago, he barely did so even a few tis a year.
He was anxious, yet solutions were nowhere to be found, with all troubles unresolved.
Sotis people do not care about the extent of your actions, only whether you acted, and in the eyes of the people now, the Emperor seed to have done nothing!
In the room, the steward walked to the bedside, the Emperor still deeply asleep, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
The steward picked up a cup from the nightstand, which had so unfinished liquor in it. He sniffed at the rim—strong alcohol—next to it was a bottle of pills for aiding sleep.
It seed evident that the Emperor of Gafura was struggling with insomnia... perhaps severely.
As those who ca in with the steward placed their belongings on the table, one of them laid out a waterproof cloth on the floor, and another took a foot-long tube from a portable box, attaching it to a larger machine, and pressed a few levers.
After completing all preparations, the steward wore a satisfied and pleased smile, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch.
It was 4:45 AM, the quietest ti in the Gafura Imperial Capital, when even the girls selling joy on the streets were mostly at rest.
And it was the darkest mont of the day, but the steward believed that once it passed, dawn would soon arrive.
"Begin!" he ordered, stepping aside to avoid getting anything on his clothes, which were not cheap and he liked very much.
A man in his thirties, with an ordinary appearance, entered the Emperor’s bedroom following the Chief Steward, raised the object in his hand and aid it at the still sleeping Emperor. A dark, long tube seed to hide sothing terrifying.
The next second, an absolutely unexpected and inappropriate sound filled the room—llisca’s Fourth Symphony, a passage called "Struggle".
The music was filled with the fervent struggles and cries against oppression, anger, and defiance against fate. The rhythm was fast and powerful!
As soon as the sound began, the Emperor’s chest started to heave violently. The Chief Steward watched with a certain smug smile on his face, knowing the Emperor was already awake but pretending to sleep, so he gestured for the band to play even harder.
Eventually, the Emperor couldn’t take it anymore. Playing such a symphony in a place much larger than an average bedroom but countless tis smaller than an opera hall was anything but pleasant.
He simply could not pretend to sleep!
He was furious and irritable, being abruptly woken up from his sweet dreams before dawn. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine by his bed and threw it fiercely toward the source of the sound.
Fortunately, the Chief Steward was prepared, and two of the musicians, quick and agile, caught the bottle.
The wine inside the dropped bottle flowed freely, but there was no need to worry; a waterproof sheet had been laid down earlier, so the carpet wouldn’t suffer.
"I’ll kill you!" the Emperor sprang up, clutching his hair and roaring, "Damn it, it’s not even five o’clock yet!"
He had a bit of a hysterical wake-up anger, pounding at the air around him, but the band kept playing. They were indeed a bit apprehensive at first, but now they were numb, knowing it was just talk.
Ironically, because the Emperor said he would kill them, they played even harder!
"Aaaaah...could you...let sleep a little longer?" Seeing that being tough didn’t work, the Emperor tried to be soft, "Half an hour, dear brother, just half an hour!"
The Chief Steward shook his head. He was the Emperor’s elder brother, and he had known from the beginning that he wasn’t cut out to be Emperor, which he didn’t mind at all. At least he wouldn’t end up like the other siblings, most of whom were slain by this younger brother himself.
At least he still had a decent job and could earn people’s respect.
Perhaps making the Emperor’s life difficult was one of his pleasures too.
"No way, Your Majesty!"
"You must head to the gym before five o’clock for a thirty-minute workout, then handle so docunts sent late last night. At six twenty in the morning, you need to wake the Prince, Princess, and Empress. At six forty-five, you all have to have breakfast together in the dining room. At seven thirty, the Minister of Foreign Affairs will discuss work matters with you. At eight thirty, you are expected at the Imperial Palace wall to greet the visiting common people..."
Sitting dazed on the bed, the Emperor sighed. He resigned himself to his fate.
The Chief Steward, seeing this, knew the wake-up call was over. He gestured for a stop, the band ceased playing, then dismantled their instrunts to leave soon after.
The Emperor, still sitting on the bed, began to adapt. He muttered, "Why didn’t I choose to be a foolish Emperor back then?" He looked at his brother, "Or a tyrant, at least then you wouldn’t wake up at the damn four forty-five!"
The steward walked to another door, pressed a button, and then looked at the Emperor, "You could do that, but would you?"
The next second, the door opened, and two... well, at least two-hundred-pound maids squeezed out, holding brushes in their hands, grinning at the Emperor, "Your Majesty, ti for your bath!"
This was definitely not a morning anyone could like. The Emperor felt like a small boat ready to capsize in a storm.
When he first ascended to the throne, in order not to beco a foolish or tyrant Emperor, he replaced all the beautiful maids in the palace with these large-tonnage ones.
For this, the subjects of the entire nation praised him as the most outstanding wise emperor in history, but now, thinking about it, he thought he really was a damn fool, troubling no one but himself.
While he was pondering over these thoughts, one of the maids smiled at him, "Your Majesty, do you need the bird’s nest cleaned?"
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