A small, incredibly abrupt, out-of-place, and flickering point of light abruptly seized his gaze.
It ca from the cold, stone handrail beside him, carved with ancient motifs.
On that rough, icy stone surface, a small tal coin was spinning rrily.
Like a mischievous sprite, it continuously caught and refracted the light projected from the distant "Dawn Device" in its twirls. Capturing his attention.
It was a Coin of Trickery.
And beside it, a roll of pristine, snow-white gauze, neatly folded, and a small jar of ointnt with a simple label, emitting a faint, cool dicinal scent, lay quietly.
They were placed perfectly—not easily blown away by the wind, yet positioned to be seen at a glance by anyone passing by.
"Huh—"
A very soft, yet utterly genuine chuckle escaped involuntarily from Phaethon’s tightly pressed lips.
That smile was like the first warm current of early spring breaking through the ice, instantly lting the frost gathered in his eyes and the heavy frown locked between his brows.
An indescribable, warm yet aching feeling welled up in his heart.
He walked over without hesitation. Extending his right hand, he carefully picked up the Coin of Trickery, which had stopped spinning, then took the roll of gauze and the ointnt, moving into the shadow of a massive nearby pillar.
A mont later.
When Phaethon’s figure finally pushed open the heavy doors of the Council of Elders and stepped into that vast hall reeking of power struggles and the dust of history, the palm of his left hand was already neatly wrapped in that pristine white gauze.
...
Phaethon looked down at the cowering, ugly remnants called Council Elders below.
His gaze swept the room. No one dared et his eyes. "Since we share the sa goal—the stability of the Holy City and the greatness of Okhema—then from this mont on, we must ’work together in unity’ to weather this difficult ti."
He paused, the smile on his face deepening, yet utterly devoid of warmth.
"Lady Aglaea has toiled for the Holy City for many years, her spirit and strength exhausted. As the new Council Elder, I feel the weight of responsibility deeply."
"Therefore, I have decided that effective imdiately, all routine Council administrative affairs, trivial matters of civil livelihood, departntal budget reviews, personnel assignnts, dispute arbitration... essentially, all matters not impacting major Holy City policy decisions..."
"Shall be handled personally, by all of you esteed Elders present. Under the supervision of Lady Aglaea."
As these words fell, the Elders’ faces instantly turned from pale to ashen.
"P-personally... handle?" a portly Elder cried out involuntarily. He hadn’t even touched his own quill in his entire life.
"Correct." Phaethon nodded, his tone matter-of-fact. "The Holy City is in turbulent tis. The poison of Caenis is not yet purged, the issue of the Chrysos Heirs remains unresolved, and external threats loom. In such a critical period, how can we delegate to others?"
"Only by the personal handling of you, the Elders, can we ensure smooth governance and prevent any possible... delays or corruption."
He took two deliberate steps forward, placing the sword with which he had beheaded Caenis and cut through the Council the previous night on the table.
"I know you are accustod to issuing orders, to fine wine and delicacies, to discussing philosophy in the gardens. But now, the tis have changed."
His voice suddenly turned icy. "Starting at dawn tomorrow, the Council will implent a new work system."
He raised one finger, his tone brooking no argunt:
"First, all positions of Elder Attendants, Secretaries, and Scribes are abolished."
"All drafting, copying, distributing, and archiving of docunts will be done personally by each Elder."
"Every docunt must bear the handling Elder’s personal signature, accompanied by a detailed report of the processing steps."
"I will establish a dedicated ’Efficiency Oversight Group.’ Any docunt with illegible handwriting, unclear logic, or delayed submission will result in... severe accountability for the responsible party."
Several elderly Elders were already beginning to sway. Handling mountains of scrolls? And writing by hand?
"Second, working hours are adjusted from 5 AM daily to 11 PM."
"All banquets, hunts, theater viewings, and other recreational activities are canceled."
"The Council Chamber shall serve as both your workplace and... temporary residence."
"No one may leave without my personal approval."
Phaethon’s gaze swept over faces accustod to nightly revelry, seeing the light instantly die in their eyes.
"Third, establish ’Public Petition Days.’"
"Three days a week, all citizens of the Holy City, regardless of status, may co to the Council Plaza to directly present their grievances and appeals to the Elder on duty that day."
"Each Elder on duty must personally receive petitioners, record details ticulously, and before the day’s end, submit a complete resolution proposal and follow-up tracking plan report."
Phaethon looked at several aristocratic Elders who normally viewed commoners as insects. Their faces had turned green.
Imagine them sitting in the plaza, enduring commoners’ sweat, pleas, even curses, and having to "record details ticulously"? It was sheer torture!
"Fourth," Phaethon’s voice held a hint of mockery, "To ensure the ’fairness and justice’ and ’collective wisdom’ of administrative handling, all decisions made by the Council must undergo collective deliberation by all Council mbers."
"For every proposal, every Elder must express a clear opinion, state their reasoning, and have it recorded."
"Any abstention or perfunctory remarks will be considered dereliction of duty."
This ant endless etings, argunts, mutual bla-shifting and buck-passing. Every decision would beco a long, painful tug-of-war. No one could stand aside.
"Fifth," Phaethon added finally, his tone casual yet falling like a sledgehamr, "All administrative results will be regularly compiled into reports and posted in the Holy City Plaza for public supervision and review."
"Citizen satisfaction ratings will be directly incorporated as a core tric into the monthly performance evaluations of each Elder, and will be linked to their families’ monthly... asset review, ahem... I an ’tax’ relief quotas."
Dead silence.
Absolute dead silence.
Only labored breathing and the uncontrollable chattering of teeth.
The scent of blood from last night seed to waft from the sword before Phaethon, intertwining with the despair now rising in the Elders’ hearts.
*Personally handle mountains of paperwork? Work eighteen hours a day? Sleep in the frigid Council Chamber? Endure commoners’ spittle? Get stuck in endless eting argunts? And have their "achievents" laid bare for the rabble to critique, even affecting family wealth?*
This wasn’t collaboration! This was political dismbernt draped in administrative robes!
It was death by a thousand cuts! Torture designed to drain the last ounce of their energy, dignity, and pleasure!
This was a hundred tis more painful than execution! Caenis, beheaded by a single sword stroke, had found the swiftest release!
Phaethon savored the expressions of terror and despair on their faces—far worse than the fear of execution—his own heart cold and satisfied.
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