Silence smothered the deck.
In the eyes of servants and sailors, Young Master Yogg was still a child who hadn't grown up. As the eldest son of the current Speaker, he had joined the fleet on his first voyage at the age of seven.
Yogg wasn't arrogant. He could always mingle with them easily. Everyone had a good impression of him.
But they'd always thought that compared to becoming a councilman, he was better suited to being an adventurer sailing freely across the sea.
This was the first time they'd heard him judge another nation's internal affairs—and it was the kind of judgment that left no room to retreat.
The Empire is going to erupt into civil war.
They could already imagine how violently the Council would react to such a report.
They only felt that the young master didn't yet understand what the title of "ambassador" truly meant.
When this voyage ended, every sentence he spoke back at the Council could shape future policy in ways that lasted decades.
The captain hurried to respond, "N-no, Young Master—this kind of joke can't be made. How could the Empire possibly fall into civil war?"
"Within a year of His Majesty Henry's death," Yogg said calmly. "At the latest."
He rested his chin on his left hand and continued, "Lily—when the Lofic Consortium and the Pope met with us, they asked the exact same question."
"Between the Consortium and the Church, who does the Deep Sea Council prefer as a long-term partner?"
"That's normal, Young Master," Lily said. "Years ago, both expressed their desire to establish chambers and churches in our coastal cities. Once sea routes opened, civilizations grew closer."
"As far as I know," Yogg said, "Imperial succession laws differ from the Council's. They value bloodline. The next heir to the throne will be chosen from His Majesty Henry's descendants."
"Yet not once did they mention any of those heirs."
"The Imperial throne has always been fought over like this," the captain said. "Even His Majesty Henry rose to power because of his dragon-slaying valor, gaining the Nasiriel Sanctum's support. No matter what, any chaos will be temporary."
"True," Yogg agreed. "But chaos creates opportunities for others. Times have changed. In this era, with weapons produced by Imperial military industry, even ordinary people can kill trained Kingdom soldiers."
He remained seated, facing down the captain and Lily—still not a single sailor joined his "side."
Because the claim sounded absurd.
Lily shook her head bitterly. "At most, such a rebellion wouldn't last three days. Once the Empire deploys a Saint, the rebels have no chance."
The Empire itself had proposed the ranking system for transcendents. Once a human stepped into the third tier, they became something beyond common understanding.
And above the third tier, there were two higher ranks still.
No matter the Path, once someone reached the fifth tier, they were granted the title—
Saint.
A god walking among mortals.
That was how people described them.
Though the Empire had been gravely weakened by the Winter Witch war, even setting aside the dying Henry IV, it still maintained close ties with at least three Saints.
Lily's eyes dimmed as she lowered her gaze.
"Before a Saint… a mortal's struggle is meaningless."
Even if the young master's prediction became reality, she could already see the end of that glorious resistance—
Crushed like insects.
Beheaded, their heads hung from city walls as warnings.
Their names written into history as unforgivable criminals, nailed forever to the pillar of shame.
Yogg noticed Lily's mood and shifted the topic.
"By the way… when Father last visited the Empire, the Containment Bureau didn't exist yet, right?"
The captain caught the cue with practiced ease.
"Oh, I've heard of them. An organization dedicated to handling the Empire's abnormal cases. Established only in recent years. Their former Director was an extraordinary figure—earned a fourth-tier Scholar title from the Enlightenment Society before thirty. A pity he met with an accident. Otherwise, in a few years the Empire might've gained a new Saint."
"Rather than 'handling abnormal cases,' I think 'dealing with heretic cultists' is more accurate," Yogg said. "Most of their cases are caused by heretic cultists. It's a naming strategy game."
"A naming strategy?" the captain asked.
"Remove the words 'heretic god' from the name, and things feel less severe." Yogg's tone was calm. "Don't you find it strange? Since the Fourth Epoch, the heretic gods' followers never truly disappeared."
"So why would the Empire suddenly create a special department solely to deal with this kind of incident?"
He paused deliberately. He saw the captain's expression—hesitant, as if he already knew the answer but didn't dare say it.
"That means there are more and more heretic cultists within the Empire," Yogg said quietly. "So many that the Empire had no choice but to establish a special department to respond."
"Do heretic cultists grow out of the ground?"
Yogg pulled a sheepskin book from the inside of his coat. The cover read: Get to Know 100 Types of Dark Creatures.
"I bought this in an Imperial bookshop. The author is an experienced old hunter. While reading it, one question kept bothering me."
"The old hunter says heretic faith twists human body and soul, turning them into monsters. They lose their minds. They develop grotesque cravings—blood, flesh, even cannibalism. Even their closest loved ones fear them."
"They're hunted by the Empire. They live in terror. No matter where they run, they're no different from rats in a gutter."
No normal person would want a life like that.
And yet in the Empire, more and more people were falling.
There had even been an unprecedented case of a Saint's corruption.
When Yogg toured Imperial military factories and saw the workers' eyes as they looked at them, the question buried in his heart finally found an answer.
The Empire's propaganda against heretic gods had always been thorough. Even commoners in remote towns knew the dangers:
"Believe in a heretic god, and you'll become a monster. Your family will be destroyed. You'll fall into the abyss…"
But Yogg believed the heretic gods had never denied that to their followers.
They promised only one thing—
If you abandoned everything, you would gain power.
It was the unbearable weight of life.
The most tragic fate Yogg could imagine.
Until he realized that, for some people…
It wasn't a price.
Because—
"Many of them are already there."
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