She stepped slowly into her seat, glancing at those familiar insignias, feeling not awe but irony.
After all, nowadays, most of these so-called symbols of order, the descendants of nobility, have their knives concealed within their sleeves.
Not even the eternal fla can suppress these restless ambitions anymore.
Moreover, the throne is absent.
To be precise, the "Black Obsidian Throne" carved from a whole piece of obsidian is still there, standing atop the hall’s highest step, overlooking the mundane like a divine being.
But ever since Emperor Ernst August’s disappearance, no one dares to sit there.
The Grand Prince, the nominal Regent of the Empire, now only sits in the high chair at the center of the long table, his face pale, his breath weak, his gaze barely focused.
Eleanor glanced at him, and a recent piece of intelligence flashed in her mind: "Soone attempted to poison the Regent King, unsuccessfully. Details are unclear."
Seeing his current state... it seems likely to be true.
In just half a year, soone couldn’t resist, progressing faster than she imagined.
In the hall, the fragrance of dragon’s blood no longer perates, that solemn and noble, deterrent scent seems to have completely dissipated.
In its place is the invisible moldy sll of power, the damp atmosphere brewed by various factions.
Eleanor walked past the long table and sat at the Calvin Clan’s seat.
She did not imdiately peruse the docunts in front of her nor nod to any acquaintances, just gently placed her hand on the white gloves, her gaze sweeping from left to right, passing over the attendees.
She was observing and reminiscing.
Half a year ago, Eleanor also sat at this table, even in the sa position.
The Emperor was still present, and everyone was a hundred tis more cautious than now.
But now?
Those who once dared only to bow their heads, repeating words like parrots in the Emperor’s presence, are now sitting straighter, speaking louder.
Especially those noble representatives from the Empire’s west and Southern Territory, whose realms are distant from the center.
Once cautious and careful, now their eyes are sharp and their smiles complacent.
Conversely, the originally imposing civil servant group representatives now mostly appear haggard, with sunken eye bags.
i Si, from the supervisory institute, is an exception, still sitting upright like an ice sculpture, nailed to his seat.
"Civil servants are depleting, while local powers are expanding." This was Eleanor’s clearest conclusion at the mont.
With the Emperor absent, the Imperial Hall is no longer a stage of majesty but a long table for carving up interests.
So are eager to try, so remain inactive, so feign calm...
Eleanor’s gaze briefly passed over the Regent King’s seat, that frail figure still trying to maintain posture, as silent as ever, yet still as... aningless.
"This isn’t a Dragon Throne eting, it’s a hunting ground of power."
She took a sip from the warm teacup.
After all, she’s a hunter too.
Then a faint sound of footsteps erged in the silence, breaking the nobles’ tense breaths.
The Empire’s internal affairs administrator, Lin Ze, erged slowly from the shadows.
His face was slender and calm, his steps silent yet impossible to ignore.
Even half a year after the Emperor’s disappearance, this old man still dutifully carries out the duties of the Empire’s will representative.
Eleanor slightly bowed her head, her gaze calm; she’s not close to this administrator, yet cannot help but respect him.
This is a head of the security council who hasn’t been replaced under three emperors, rumored to be nearly two hundred years old.
Even now with the Dragon Throne vacant, the imperial tier without a master, once Lin Ze unfurled that scroll of secret silver paper.
The Imperial Hall remained silent until he began to read:
"Agenda item one. Concerning the Governor of the North, Duke Edmund, confird deceased due to a battle injury at the ’Grave Canyon Campaign’.
His achievents during his lifeti, stabilize governance under his command, and contributions to resisting the Barbarian Race disasters at the Empire’s borders, are granted with imperial comndation level.
However, following his death, the Northern Territory’s military and political vacuum, the province has yet to have a successor, and subsequent arrangents need to be discussed."
Beside the nobles’ long table, a silent rustle arose as so nobles gently flipped through their docunts or tried to conceal their stirred expressions.
"Agenda item two." Lin Ze continued reading without waiting for the echo:
"Regarding ’Northern Territory Barbarian Disaster’ battle achievents and rewards, joint review submitted by the Imperial Capital’s comndation office, military departnt, and supervisory institute.
Will evaluate comndation levels based on battle achievents, stability, and logistical contributions.
Among them, the Northern Territory independent noble knight order and Imperial Knight Order units perford outstandingly, included in the reward deliberation list."
Lin Ze’s tone was neither high nor low, as if rely dissecting a frozen body and reciting its history.
Finally, he slowly rolled up the secret silver paper.
The eting officially began.
At the start of the eting, several border counts successively proposed so trivial suggestions:
Such as rebuilding the Northern Territory’s post road system, engraving a monunt for those fallen in the Northern Territory, providing limited tax exemptions for the Northern Territory, etc.
So were quickly passed, while others were shelved due to "need further assessnt".
The noble representatives behaved politely, their tone respectful, as if this was still an Empire with stable order.
The whole eting proceeded in a calm atmosphere, no one taking the initiative to ntion the Northern Governor vacancy or post-war power ownership.
This was the expected "lukewarm stage".
Eleanor Calvin sat quietly at the corner of the long table, lowering her eyelids, her posture so calm it almost rged with the table’s carved decorations.
Suddenly, a asured yet well-placed voice broke the silence: "Louis’s achievents and post-war contributions are evident to all, should they be awarded with dals and noble rank comndation?"
Everyone turned their gaze toward the speaker, Marquis Ashville, a gentle old noble from the southwest province, seemingly unrelated to the Calvin Clan.
Yet now, he was speaking for her.
Eleanor’s eyes flashed with a barely detectable glimr.
Days ago, she secretly visited him, trading Southeast port tax for today’s opening statent.
That was precisely her first goal for this trip.
To secure the Empire’s count rank for Louis, avoiding a struggle for power.
After all, her nephew Louis is too young, just over twenty, of pioneer nobility origin, rising from an unknown baron in just four years to now the Northern Territory’s de facto ruler.
If further paired with the title of Empire’s Governor, it would only expose him to everyone’s envy-filled eyes.
Not ntioning "Governor" as a taboo, focusing solely on war achievents and noble rank elevation as the entry point.
In the Empire’s current chaotic power structure, it’s already the furthest step possible.
As long as this proposal isn’t rejected, even without anyone seconding it, her task has already half succeeded.
Above the imperial tier, the Regent Grand Prince leaned against the ebony armrest, his face pale, eyes lined with green.
He is not one who can make decisions, at least not now.
He slightly tilted his head, quietly asking his side’s "Royal Attendant" Lin Ge a few questions.
Lin Ge leaned closer, speaking into his ear; nobody knew what he actually said.
A few breaths later, the Regent King grasped the table edge and tried to stand, his voice weak but still keeping royal poise: "Louis Calvin... for his valor in the Northern Territory campaign, awarded the count rank."
The hall fell silent.
Then faint applause arose from several people, not enthusiastic, but also without opposition.
Yet many nobles showed cold expressions, with contempt hidden in their eyes.
"Count? Promoted again?"
"Only four years, the pioneer nobility’s shortcut is quick indeed."
"Tsk, just guarding a Barbarian Race fortress can earn a noble rank... Seems that tumultuous tis are indeed favorable for rising."
"Yet, the Northern Territory, that cold and freezing place isn’t worth much. Being a baron in the South may be more comfortable."
They sneered inwardly.
Not directly opposing Louis’s promotion, but using a hundred ways to express scorn, as they have always looked down upon the Northern Territory’s nobility.
Eleanor saw clearly yet maintained the posture of a neutral observer, rely nodding slightly, as if expressing gratitude for the Emperor’s "favor."
But she slowly released a breath internally.
Target achieved.
Count rank may not be Governor, but rising from province nobility to Empire confernt.
ans Louis legally gains transferable rights outside the province and military establishnt qualifications.
Calvin Clan has placed this piece in the new ga.
And just as she was preparing to leisurely drink a sip of wine, celebrating this phased victory.
A sudden voice interrupted her emotion.
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