In Hersalem, capital of the Polant Empire.
Inside the grand hall of the Parliament Building, members of parliament whispered among themselves in their seats, their faces a mixture of tension, doubt, and curiosity.
The light was dim, as though only the motes of dust drifting between shadow and brilliance could be seen.
When the new Prime Minister entered the hall, the tension within reached its peak.
His figure was resolute and decisive. Clad in an immaculate, formal black suit, he parted the crowd and walked toward the rostrum, every step heavy with purpose.
As he stood behind the podium, a low hum of chatter rolled across the assembly.
Prime Minister Wilfort looked around, drew a deep breath, and began his address.
His voice was firm and powerful, brimming with passion and resolve. He spoke of the challenges confronting the Polant Empire, his stance, and his faith in the future—not merely laying out the present situation, but stirring the spirits of the nation.
Reporters diligently recorded his every word. The parliamentarians reacted in vastly different ways, some looking astonished, others remaining skeptical.
Originally one of the conservatives, he had now displayed a remarkably aggressive stance, leaving everyone bewildered as to where he truly stood.
Yet it was undeniable that in this critical hour, the new Prime Minister commanded an extraordinary aura of unshakeable poise in the face of crisis.
His speech was not merely a report to parliament, but a declaration to the entire Polant Empire and the wider world.
"Victory. What we want is victory."
"Victory at all costs."
"Victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be."
"For without victory, there is no survival!"
This was his first national address since taking office.
Lanqi's voice was impassioned and stirring.
Yet it moved the conservatives not one bit.
In fact, the members of the conservative faction could not fathom why Lanqi Wilfort had turned his back on them the moment he assumed power.
More than half the seats in the parliamentary chamber remained eerily silent.
From time to time, their eyes drifted toward Duke Moretti, the true wielder of power and leader of the conservatives. Only if he drew from his breast pocket the handkerchief signaling approval would the others follow suit. Even as the new Prime Minister, Lanqi Wilfort could hardly change that reality.
Soon, as the Prime Minister's inaugural speech drew to a close, the crowd began to disperse.
Those whose presence was no longer required departed, while those scheduled for further deliberations made their way to the House of Lords chamber on another floor.
Passing through corridors and taking leave of various officials, Lanqi arrived at a small, austere meeting room paneled in dark wood.
The ceiling hung low, pressing down with a suffocating weight.
Heavy drapes lent the space a somber air of tradition and authority. A long conference table occupied the center of the room, set neatly with documents and pens.
Lanqi sat at one end of the table. His posture was upright and steady, his hair combed neatly, but his eyes betrayed a hint of exhaustion.
He appeared to have had little rest over the past two days, racing against the clock in relentless work.
And so Lanqi closed his eyes for a moment to rest his mind.
Before long, amid a chorus of footsteps, Duke Moretti and his entourage entered the meeting room.
Duke Moretti carried himself with ease and composure. Dressed in a sharply tailored dark overcoat, he chatted and chuckled softly with those beside him. Unlike the other conservatives who cast Lanqi skeptical, troubled glances the moment they walked in, the duke showed little outward hostility.
At last.
"Mr. Wilfort, I believe we have waited quite long enough for you, and everyone's time here is precious."
Duke Moretti took his seat at the table and leaned back against his chair, addressing Lanqi across from him.
The atmosphere in the room turned tense; none of the other members dared utter a word.
No one could be certain whether Duke Moretti's placid demeanor concealed a dagger behind a smile. The conservatives only knew that in the grand hall, the duke had listened to Lanqi's speech with an expressionless face, never once making a move toward the handkerchief of approval.
"My apologies, but I made my position abundantly clear in this morning's speech. This meeting itself is a waste of everyone's time," Lanqi replied, opening his eyes and looking straight at him.
"Prime Minister—"
Duke Moretti chuckled softly, seemingly unbothered by the overbearing manner the new Prime Minister displayed before his seat was even warm.
"The Horning Empire's military might surpasses ours in every respect, and they have the backing of the Blood Clan. Once our neighbor, the Kingdom of Bliss, falls, we will be forced into an all-out war."
Leaning slightly forward, Duke Moretti addressed Lanqi and the gathered assembly.
"I believe the coming month is our final opportunity to secure peace talks."
He lowered his voice to remind Lanqi, his tone laced with a subtle hint of warning.
That was the chief purpose of today's meeting.
As Minister of Foreign Affairs, he understood the latest developments far better than Lanqi.
"We must not lose our nerve before the enemy has even reached our doorstep," Lanqi answered calmly.
His gaze did not yield an inch.
The room fell dead silent. No one responded to Lanqi's reaffirmation of his stance; instead, most eyes turned toward Duke Moretti.
"Prime Minister, I must reserve my judgment on that," Duke Moretti continued.
"Who doesn't have reservations?" Lanqi raised an eyebrow.
"In my view, your approach will only lead to a great deal of needless sacrifice. It is not as if we have no alternative."
Duke Moretti smiled, unfazed by Lanqi's stubbornness.
"What other choice?"
Lanqi's tone held no true curiosity, as if he had already prejudged whatever answer Duke Moretti might offer.
"I will request the diplomatic envoy from the southern Pruno Empire to mediate and secure negotiations with the Horning Empire on our behalf. As long as the freedom and independence of the Polant Empire are guaranteed, we will entertain any proposal to avert this unnecessary war with Horning," Duke Moretti answered, then added, "Because doing so benefits them as well. They have no reason to seek mutual destruction with us."
Most of the eyes in the room followed Duke Moretti's gaze to Lanqi.
Since ancient times, Horning, the hegemon of the south, had never had reason to clash with the Polant Empire of the northern continent. The two nations harbored no ancestral feud. Now that the flames of war were spreading north, the leadership of the Polant Empire found themselves facing an unexpected crisis; naturally, if war could be avoided, they wished to avoid it.
"Do you know who our true enemy is?" Lanqi asked without a moment's hesitation.
"Evidently the Horning Empire, and the Blood Clan," Duke Moretti said flatly, as though Lanqi had asked a pointless question.
"Then have you ever considered that the true enemy is the Blood Clan, not simply the Horning Empire? The Blood Clan's ambitions have been common knowledge since antiquity, and right now their momentum is unstoppable. Do you truly believe that higher beings who feed on us humans would ever grant us freedom and independence?"
Lanqi tapped his fingers against the table, the sound echoing through the room, his demeanor unyielding.
This prompted a few parliamentarians in the room to exchange meaningful glances.
Rumors indeed circulated that the Blood Clan had taken complete control of the Horning Empire.
While Blood Clan figures had unquestionably emerged in Horning's war effort, the claim that they completely controlled the empire was far from confirmed, and no conclusive proof had ever substantiated it.
The crucial question was whether the masters of the Horning Empire were ultimately the Blood Clan or humanity.
If the Polant Empire's true adversary was not a coalition of humans and the Blood Clan, but the Blood Clan through and through, that was terrifying indeed. Regardless of any peace talks, the ultimate goal of the Blood Clan would likely be nothing less than farming humanity like livestock.
Yet the parliamentarians could not fathom why the Prime Minister was so stubbornly inclined to believe that "the Blood Clan completely controlled the Horning Empire"—a terrifying piece of intelligence that seemed far more like psychological warfare from the south meant to shake their resolve.
For a supreme wartime leader, failing to make accurate assessments in an intelligence war would spell an unmitigated disaster for the entire Polant Empire.
Chapter 536