I am the Hidden Power Behind the British Empire Chapter 117 117: The Storm Caused by a Butterfly (2)

Westminster, London — A Whig townhouse

The Whig mbers of Parliant, who usually gathered here to debate party affairs with endless energy, were unusually quiet today.

Several newspapers lay scattered across the table.

Their headlines were impossible to ignore.

"The Truth Finally Revealed! The Astonishing Birth Secret of Asia's Prince, Killian Gore!""A Shocking Revelation About the Foreign Secretary! What Will This an for British Diplomacy?""How Are Asian Royals Different From European Nobility? Experts Explain the Mysteries of the East."

So articles simply listed facts.

Others were wild speculation.

A few were barely disguised works of fiction.

Watching the other MPs silently flip through the papers, William Ewart Gladstone felt increasingly frustrated.

"We must act first," William Gladstone finally said. "The Conservatives are just as confused by this sudden situation as we are. If we move now, we can seize the narrative before they do."

"In principle, that is correct," soone replied calmly. "But what exactly do you propose we do?"

After the retirent of William Lamb, leadership within the Whig Party had largely fallen to Henry John Temple.

Beside him sat John Russell, another rising figure within the party—though for so reason Russell seed unusually cautious today.

Even Palrston himself looked slightly unsettled.

"Lord Palrston," William Gladstone continued, "the first step is to unify the party's position. Should we treat this matter as a major political issue, or rely a minor curiosity? Until we decide that, the rest of the party cannot speak with one voice."

"That is reasonable," Palrston admitted. "Then perhaps you could tell us your own opinion, Mr. Gladstone."

Gladstone had already beco one of the central figures in the Whig Party.

His recent defection from the Conservatives had helped the Whigs considerably in the election, and his long experience among the Tories ant he understood their thinking well.

For that reason, even senior Whig leaders listened closely when he spoke.

"My opinion," William Gladstone said carefully, "is that we should wait for the follow-up reports. There is still a nonzero chance that the information from Shanghai was misunderstood."

"Hm… Would they really forward sothing this important without verifying it two or three tis?"

"Even with careful investigation, there are limits to what can be confird from such a distance," William Gladstone replied. "Perhaps that is why the Conservatives remain silent. Have you noticed how strangely quiet they are?"

Indeed, the Conservative Party—led by Charles Wellesley—was famous for moving faster than the Whigs in any political controversy.

Yet this ti they had issued no statent at all.

No reaction.

Nothing.

They simply watched.

Is it because Killian is currently in Canada?

But the leader of the Conservative faction—and Pri Minister—was not Killian Gore.

It was Charles Wellesley.

…Unless my suspicion was correct.

William Gladstone had spent many years inside the Conservative Party.

And during that ti, he had occasionally wondered whether the true power behind the party might not be Wellesley at all—

—but Killian himself.

Of course, he had no evidence.

Only intuition.

Yet whenever he spoke with them, that suspicion would quietly return.

However, whenever William Gladstone voiced that theory among the Whigs, it was imdiately dismissed.

Most passionately by John Russell.

Russell—normally a quiet man—beca strangely animated whenever Wellesley's na appeared.

"Do not underestimate them!" Russell suddenly declared. "The center of the Conservative Party is none other than Pri Minister Wellesley! I guarantee he has already laid two or three traps for us!"

There it was again.

Russell's universal theory:

Everything is Wellesley's conspiracy.

Why he was so obsessed with the idea remained a mystery.

No matter the topic, Russell always repeated the sa warning.

"Do not be fooled! This is the Pri Minister's trap!"

William Gladstone sighed inwardly.

"Mr. Russell," he said, "do you truly believe the pri minister has prepared so elaborate sche? From my perspective, it seems far more likely they are simply waiting for further reports."

"That cannot be the case," Russell insisted. "You served in the Conservative Party for years. Do you not understand how dangerous that man is?"

"I'm afraid not," Gladstone replied calmly. "The pri minister I spoke with was a cheerful and agreeable politician. Not so sinister mastermind."

Russell stared at him in disbelief.

"Exactly! Even mbers of his own party were deceived. That is precisely why I warned you. He is a man so skilled at hiding himself that even those closest to him cannot see his true nature!"

…What am I supposed to say to that?

If Wellesley was quiet, Russell called it frightening.

If he acted, Russell called it even more frightening.

"Then what do you propose we do?" William Gladstone asked. "If the pri minister is so terrifying, should we simply do nothing and wait?"

"Yes," Russell replied without hesitation. "For now, that is the best course. Do nothing. Watch what he does, and respond afterward."

William Gladstone rubbed his temple.

"I still do not understand why you fear him so much. At least give us a reason we can relate to."

"There are… circumstances," Russell said vaguely. "Did not Lord lbourne repeatedly warn us to be cautious of the pri minister before stepping down?"

If both lbourne and Russell were so insistent, then surely there was so hidden story behind it.

Unfortunately, no one in the room actually knew what that story was.

And in party politics, authority mattered.

Russell's voice carried more weight than Gladstone's.

In the end, William Gladstone had little choice but to compromise.

"Very well," he said. "Then let us follow Mr. Russell's advice for now and observe the situation. But once the Conservatives make their move, allow to devise our response."

"…You're confident?" Palrston asked.

"Not confident," William Gladstone admitted.

"But I am certain of the direction we must take."

Better to focus on Killian—the one whose ability they had already witnessed firsthand—than remain paralyzed by fear of an invisible conspiracy.

Especially now that Killian's only major weakness—

his obscure birth—

appeared to have vanished.

Is there so way…

so clever move…

to separate Killian from the Conservatives?

Sowing discord? Impossible.

Conspiracy theories? That would only backfire.

No.

It would require sothing completely unexpected.

A move no one would anticipate.

While the other Whigs worried about the pri minister, Gladstone's entire attention was fixed on one man alone.

Killian.

anwhile…

The world was vast.

And Asia seed to be filled with lunatics.

At first Killian had assud the rumors were just empty nonsense.

But who could have imagined they would go so far as to fabricate an entire genealogy and submit it as official docuntation?

Japan was one thing.

They had always been prone to bizarre sches.

But why on earth had Joseon joined the madness?

Had their rivalry with Japan completely destroyed their sense of reason?

Even so, Killian had absolutely no idea how to interpret the ridiculous genealogy now sitting before him.

"Are you sure Britain didn't accidentally send forged docunts?" he asked.

"No," Jas replied. "Our office in London has already confird it. The matter is considered settled. You are currently the greatest piece of gossip in the capital."

Jas laid several freshly printed newspapers on the table.

Killian felt faint.

"So let get this straight," he muttered. "According to these docunts, I am the descendant of a Joseon royal family implicated in treason, a distant relative of the Tokugawa shoguns, and the son of an Irish nobleman?"

"That summarizes it perfectly," Jas said. "At least on paper."

Killian buried his face in his hands.

What was he now?

So kind of mythical chira?

A Joseon royal.

A Tokugawa bloodline.

An Irish aristocrat.

A British nobleman.

Normally this sort of ridiculous mixed heritage only appeared in fantasy novels where the protagonist received every possible special ability.

"Jas," Killian groaned. "You were the one who ca to Joseon to bring here. You know this is all nonsense, right? When I was living like a beggar they treated like trash—now suddenly I have noble blood?"

"They included an apology," Jas said carefully.

"Who asked them to apologize like this?!"

Killian slamd the newspaper onto the table.

"What kind of lunatic ca up with this idea? I'd love to dissect his brain."

At first Killian tried to analyze the political purpose behind the incident.

Eventually he gave up.

There was no rational explanation.

Still, he could guess one thing.

At the beginning, soone probably had a clear objective.

But by the ti events spiraled this far, the entire affair had clearly been driven by national pride.

Once that kind of rivalry ignited between nations, absurdity often followed.

"So what will you do?" Jas asked. "You'll need to return to London, won't you?"

"Yes," Killian said. "Charles asked to co as soon as possible. But before that…"

He smiled faintly.

"…there are a few things we must finish first."

Throughout history, it had been common for families to falsify genealogies to connect themselves with famous figures.

But those cases usually involved attaching themselves to historical figures of the past.

Declaring that a living person belonged to your lineage—

that was sothing else entirely.

Still, the chaos in London ant he had no choice.

Before boarding the ship back to Britain, Killian needed to calculate every possible consequence.

Once he sailed for London, there would be no turning back.

"Jas," he said quietly, "I need to et the governor and give a few instructions. Listen carefully and complete the work as quickly as possible."

His voice had grown noticeably calr.

More serious.

"This may be the most important turning point of my life."

Jas imdiately nodded.

"I will handle it at once and return to Britain with you."

Good.

Killian intended to et the governor quickly and quietly.

Give his instructions.

Leave without causing any unnecessary commotion.

Unfortunately—

Governor Bagot had very different plans.

The mont Killian arrived in Kingston, a thunderous roar erupted from the streets.

"THE MINISTER HAS RETURNED!"

"LONG LIVE THE MINISTER!"

"ASIA PRINCE! ASIA PRINCE!"

Governor Bagot had organized an enormous welco celebration for Killian's successful diplomatic mission in Arica.

People had flooded into Kingston from every region of Canada.

The crowd roared like a festival.

"ASIA PRINCE! ASIA PRINCE!"

"MINISTER KILLIAN, RULER OF ASIA!"

"ASIA PRINCE!"

Killian wanted to disappear into the ground.

Please stop.

Please just stop.

Who had invented the painfully embarrassing title "Asia Prince"?

Even if he really were a royal relative—

a royal relative was not a prince.

"ASIA PRINCE! ASIA PRINCE!"

Killian lowered his head.

He couldn't even correct them.

The sha alone might kill him.

Was the governor secretly a French assassin sent to eliminate through humiliation?

If so—

the plan had almost succeeded.

Still…

If the public support was truly this overwhelming, then even the worst political scenario back in London would not destroy him.

That much was certain.

Good.

Embarrassnt was temporary.

Political security was not.

Yes.

He could endure this.

Probably.

"WE LOVE YOU, ASIA PRINCE!"

Killian clenched his teeth.

…Actually enduring the overwhelming sha was proving far more difficult than expected.