Winston slowly raised his head, his eyes falling upon the young emperor standing before him.
Though His Majesty still looked physically frail, his gaze had grown sharp—sharp as a hawk's.
In his hand, the Emperor's Scepter glinted coldly under the light, its weight adding a sovereign gravitas to the boy who once knew neither strength nor pride.
Winston, a seasoned veteran of court politics and a man who had seen generations rise and fall, felt a quiet shock in his chest.
What had happened to the emperor during those two years of unconsciousness?
He sensed something profoundly different—a pressure he had never felt from the emperor before.
But he was too wise to voice his curiosity. Instead, he gave a low, steady report:
"Your Majesty, the state of the empire… is far from ideal.
Especially within the capital, where criminal gangs run rampant. The people suffer more with each passing day."
"The Minister of Police has requested large amounts of funding, but the results have been… negligible.
As for the rest of the empire, little has changed since the day you fell into a coma."
Napoleon nodded. That much matched what he'd expected.
Until the very last drop of wealth was squeezed from the French Empire, the Ordon Theocracy wouldn't allow rival forces to dismantle it.
It was their puppet, their bleeding cow.
Still… maintaining the empire under such pressure must have cost Winston greatly.
Napoleon turned to examine the old man more carefully.
Winston was a shadow of the figure preserved in the previous emperor's memories. Once broad-shouldered and commanding, he was now slightly hunched.
Much of his hair had turned white.
He had once reached Expert Rank, a level envied by many. But from what Napoleon could now perceive, Winston's strength hadn't progressed in years.
In fact, the Elemental Assassins he summoned—mere Elite Rank units—gave off stronger auras than Winston did.
It was obvious. Winston had sacrificed his cultivation for the sake of holding the empire together.
Napoleon let out a silent sigh.
After a moment of contemplation, he finally spoke:
"Winston, you've carried a heavy burden all these years. Thank you."
His tone was sincere, startling Winston into stillness.
"Now tell me," Napoleon continued, "of the ministers currently in Parliament—how many can I actually trust?"
At that, Winston's expression changed slightly. His voice sharpened with concern:
"Your Majesty, our House Winston has always stood alongside the royal family. You have our full loyalty—now and forever."
Napoleon raised a hand, gesturing calmly.
"William, relax. I am well aware of your house's loyalty."
He turned, holding the scepter with one hand as he pointed to a grand map of the empire hanging on the wall.
"William, the French Empire is crumbling. We must begin making changes. Urgently."
He turned back, his gaze piercing.
"Tell me—aside from House Winston, who else can I trust?
I refuse to be remembered as the last emperor of the French Empire."
Winston stood stunned for a long moment, a flicker of disbelief flashing through his eyes.
His Majesty had already seen through the dire situation of the empire.
And more than that—he wanted to change it?
Winston's chest tightened.
His throat grew dry, and his eyes—once dry and weathered by years of despair—began to glisten.
For years, he had dreamed of restoring the empire to its former glory.
But reality had beaten that dream into the ground.
Just maintaining the status quo took everything he had.
Change? That was a dream long since buried.
Water spilled from a broken pot could never be recovered.
The French Empire had already entered its twilight.
In truth, Winston had already made peace with the idea. He intended to spend his last years maintaining stability, writing a dignified end to the empire's story.
He would perish alongside the sinking ship—his house's honor preserved even in death.
And it wasn't just him.
Many members of the Royalist Party had long since given up.
They had resigned themselves to the inevitable collapse, merely hoping to fade with dignity and pride.
Winston wanted to tell Napoleon all of this. To temper the young man's dreams with hard truths.
But in the end, he swallowed the words.
Instead, he asked quietly:
"Your Majesty… what do you plan to do?"
Napoleon turned, eyes cold as frost and sharp as a sword.
"You'll see for yourself in time."
"For now, I need to know who I can trust. Who still stands with House Bonaparte?"
After a moment of contemplation, Winston began listing names.
"Besides House Winston, there is House Smith, Senator Heimerdinger, Commander Gaia of the Imperial Guard, and a few others…"
He detailed the current factional divisions within the parliament:
The Royalist Party, led by House Winston and House Smith.The Judicial Faction, spearheaded by the Minister of Police and the Chief Justice.The Military Authority Bloc, dominated by the Grand Marshal.And finally, the Clerical Order, heavily influenced by the Ordon Theocracy.
The current face of the Clerical Order was Cardinal Austin, a man with enormous authority.
In fact, he was the highest-ranking bishop of the Ordon Theocracy stationed within the French Empire.
After listening in silence, Napoleon sank into deep thought.
"William, I have a task for you," he said at last.
"I want you to pacify them. Keep them calm. Make sure they stay patient and don't act rashly."
"Also… begin grooming new officials within Parliament. Young ones. Clean backgrounds. Loyal."
…
Winston furrowed his brow. He didn't understand.
Why would the emperor take such a risky move?
Was he simply trying to strengthen the Royalist Party?
If only it were that simple.
With Winston's years of experience in political warfare, he knew that even such a small action would immediately draw the attention—and wrath—of the other factions.
The result?
A likely backlash. And worse, the risk of further division.
If they pushed too hard, it might trigger civil conflict. The consequences would be catastrophic.
"Your Majesty," Winston said carefully, "is this a warning you're trying to send?
These factions… they're strong. If we push them too hard, we could trigger a crisis far worse than what we already face."
Napoleon chuckled coldly to himself.
He was a history student, after all.
He'd read enough about political backstabbing, civil wars, collapsing empires.
And now, he had something they didn't. A system.
Even someone like Cardinal Austin, with his Master Rank strength, didn't scare him.
Sooner or later, he would show the world just how meaningless a "Master Rank" title really was.
All he needed was time.
He spoke firmly:
"Winston, you don't need to worry about the broader consequences for now.
Just do as I've instructed. That will be enough."
Winston hesitated, about to argue—
But when he met Napoleon's gaze, something within him froze.
It wasn't the look of a child playing emperor.
It was the gaze of a king.
Winston, unconsciously, stepped back and bowed.
What… what just happened?
Before he could gather his thoughts, Napoleon's voice rang out once again, calm yet powerful:
"William Winston…
Give me a little time."
"The great French Empire—will shine again."