Chapter 304 : Chapter 304

Chapter 304. How Do You See Them, Then?

By ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍contrast, the Elven Royal Court of the Southern Continent chose its usual elegant silence.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍elven ambassador stationed in Astrelia’s Royal Capital did not appear at any public occasion. The embassy’s gate, wrapped in ancient vines, remained tightly shut.

They ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍merely posted an exquisitely worded notice written in Old Elven at the entrance.

“The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍Royal Court expresses its deepest regret for the misfortune suffered by the Astrelia royal family and will continue to monitor subsequent developments. May the radiance of the World Tree guide lost souls.”

For ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍the long-lived Natural Elves, the rise and fall of human dynasties was nothing more than a fleeting moment.

In ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍their tactful diplomatic language, “continue to monitor” translated into plain human speech as:

“I have already prepared my snacks and bench. Keep making a mess of things, you short-lived species. Do not stop.”

However, amid this carnival of international public opinion, the Demi-Human Empire was unusually quiet.

This fanatical empire, which normally loved manufacturing friction on the border and clamoring about tearing apart the human defensive line, did not even make a sound this time.

Wind and sand swept across the wasteland, faintly carrying an unsettling sense of oppression. It was as if some even more terrifying monster had just crossed that national border.

...

Newspapers in every country exploded at the same time in the next morning’s editions.

The front-page headline of the Valeria Empire’s Imperial Morning News—

《Astrelia’s Twilight: The Omen of an Ancient Kingdom’s Collapse?》

The Strait Herald of the Kingdom of Tyrenia—

《Puppets and Traitors: Who Is Manipulating Astrelia’s Throne?》

The Wind of Freedom of the Meriga Confederation—

《A Turning Point in History: Has Hereditary Monarchy Reached Its End?》

The Elven Royal Court’s Verdant Leaf Monthly—

《The Farce of the Short-Lived: The Curtain Falls on Another Human Dynasty》

Meanwhile, the situation inside the Royal Capital grew even tenser.

By the evening of the second day, visiting cards had piled up outside both Dorg’s Redleaf Manor and Sylvia’s temporary palace.

The visiting cards on Dorg’s side were so numerous that they nearly blocked the gate.

Carriages inlaid with gold and silver formed a long line. Their wheels crushed over the flagstone road with dull rumbles. The nobles held expensive gift boxes in their arms, rubbing their hands in the cold wind as they whispered to one another.

The reason was simple. These Royal Capital nobles had all done the calculations in their hearts.

Dorg was the eldest son. He ranked first in the order of succession. More importantly, he had always shown sufficient “respect” for the interests of the old nobles.

If they followed Dorg, at the very least, their own fiefs, titles, and tax-exemption privileges could be preserved.

Princess Sylvia, on the other hand?

The things she had done in the Northern Territory had long since spread through the entire noble circle by every possible channel—

Confiscating properties and exterminating families, abolishing the nobles’ judicial immunity, forcefully implementing the Prefecture-County System... Which one of those was not cutting flesh from the bodies of the nobles with a knife?

Would any of them still have good days ahead if she ascended the throne?

Even their toes could figure out which side they should choose.

Even the Holy Church chose “sacred” neutrality. At noon on the second day, Pope Gregory VII issued a public statement, and it was written so flawlessly that not a drop could leak through.

The Holy Church sternly condemned the evil act of regicide, would fully support the royal family in restoring order, and would hold a requiem mass of the highest standard for the late His Majesty the King.

But as for the question everyone cared about most—who would inherit the throne—the statement did not mention a single word.

...

The Royal Capital, Silverglow City.

The collapse of order began with grain prices.

The news of the king’s death and the prime minister’s defection was like a drop of ink falling into clear water, rapidly staining the nerve endings of the entire city black.

Early the next morning, several large grain shops in Silverglow City’s Inner Ring were the first to hang up new price boards. The shopkeepers’ expressions looked even uglier than the prices on the boards—not because they wanted to raise prices, but because the upstream grain merchants had directly cut off the supply.

Their reason was very sufficient: the decree-signing channels had been paralyzed, the validity of the Autumn Grain Requisition Order was in doubt, and no one dared to sign the transfer documents for granaries across the land.

The grain merchants did not know whom they should sell the grain to, at what price they should sell it, or whether they would be held accountable by the new government after selling it.

So they chose the safest option.

Do not sell.

Hoard.

Wait.

See who sat on that chair first, then decide with whom to do business.

Several of the largest grain merchant families jointly closed their warehouses and declared that their “stock was running low.”

After that came cloth, salt, and the coal used to feed furnace fires.

The shadow of hoarding and profiteering shrouded every street. Prices soared wildly, and the people’s panic was magnified without limit.

On the third day, the first large-scale looting broke out in the civilian district of the Western District. Several citizens smashed open the door of a bakery.

When the Municipal Patrol arrived, faced with the dark mass of people, they could only wave their batons in vain before ultimately being swallowed by the furious tide.

Chaos, like a plague, was corroding the body of this ancient kingdom.

And all the pressure eventually gathered in the throne hall of the Golden Rose Palace.

Over the past few days, this place had never been so “lively.”

Beneath the vacant throne, two clearly divided factions had almost trampled an invisible chasm into the marble floor.

On the left was Sylvia’s faction, led by Treasurer Grayson and Judicial Officer Cicero.

Most of them were practical officials born as commoners, or young military officers Sylvia had promoted from the margins.

They wore well-tailored dark uniforms without unnecessary ornaments. Their posture was straight, and their eyes carried a sharp vigor.

On the right was the old noble faction that supported First Prince Dorg.

Led by the Grand Duke of the Western Territory and several marquises of the Royal Capital, each of them wore gorgeous ceremonial attire covered in gold thread and family crests. The air was filled with the strange mixed scent of expensive spices and decay.

They looked agitated. Some beat their chests and stamped their feet, while others were filled with righteous indignation. Their mouths kept repeating phrases like “the laws of the ancestors” and “the dignity of the royal family,” as though the kingdom’s crisis was merely the stage backdrop for their performance of loyalty.

Sylvia sat on the silver-backed chair that belonged to her, her cold gaze sweeping over those affected faces. The disgust in her eyes was almost undisguised.

Her gaze finally passed over those flamboyant peacocks and landed on First Prince Dorg, who was surrounded at the center.

Her elder brother still looked as sickly as ever. He wore a plain white robe, and his face was pale. From time to time, he lowered his head and coughed softly.

He sat there quietly, as if he could not hear the clamor around him. No one knew what he was thinking.

Sylvia suddenly recalled the conversation at Redleaf Manor that night.

—“Sylvia, how do you see those... old nobles?”

Brother, then how do you see them?

And what are you thinking right now?

“Your Highness! Your Highness the Princess! Your Highness the First Prince!”

An old marquis with white hair and beard knelt in the center, tears and snot streaming down his face. “A country cannot go a single day without a ruler! If this continues, Astrelia will fall! I beg Your Highnesses to establish the new king as soon as possible, appease the people, and stabilize the state!”

His cries seemed to act as a signal. The old nobles on the right immediately knelt in a large group, tearfully repeating the same words.

“Please ascend the throne, Your Highness the First Prince!”

“The eldest son inheriting the throne is the rule set down by our ancestors!”