Chapter 312 : Chapter 312

Chapter 312. Dorg: Astrelia Will Usher In Its True Glory!

On ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍the ninth day, late at night.

The ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍rain in the Royal Capital grew colder and more biting.

Less ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍than a day remained before the Privy Council that would decide the kingdom’s fate.

Yet ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍at this moment, Redleaf Manor was brightly lit, as luminous as daylight.

Inside ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍the manor, the fireplace burned fiercely, roasting expensive spices until they released a rich, warm fragrance.

However, ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍even this warmth, enough to dispel the bitter cold, could not melt the nearly solidified anxiety and madness in the air.

This was no longer a secret meeting.

It had become a powder keg, a powder keg piled high with every stake held by the kingdom’s old forces, waiting only for a single match to blow the Royal Capital sky-high.

Nearly a hundred counts and marquises who normally looked down on everyone else now crowded into the luxurious reception hall like gamblers driven into a corner. On each pampered face hung a ferocity born of having lost until their eyes had gone red.

“Those damned Eastern Territory pirates of the August Family! Utter traitors!”

A marquis suddenly smashed a crystal goblet against the floor. The priceless vessel shattered in an instant. His eyes were bloodshot, and he irritably yanked loose his silk cravat. Even his voice was trembling.

“To hoard supplies, I mortgaged the last three manors of my family to an underground bank! Now the usurious interest is snowballing every day!”

“Money? Money is worth shit! Our lives are about to be gone!”

Another count sucked fiercely on his cigar, but the fingers holding it were shaking violently. Ash fell in a steady patter.

“Have you all forgotten how the Tarassa Family of White Harbor disappeared from the map? That madwoman Sylvia did not even leave them a dog!”

He lowered his voice, and fear seeped deep into his bones. “Tomorrow, as long as she puts on that crown, every single deathsworn warrior we brought here today will end up becoming the people who collect our corpses!”

“Then we must act tonight!” a thin count said in a sinister voice.

“I brought the only Fifth-Tier Mage in my territory here! Together with the trump cards all of you have kept hidden, it will be enough even if we storm the Golden Rose Palace by force!”

His voice abruptly rose, filled with a pathological excitement.

“As long as His Highness ascends the throne, we will take back what we lost a hundredfold! The merchant ships of the Eastern Territory and the magitech factories of the Northern Territory will all become our spoils!”

“Silence.”

Old Grand Duke Grahaed, who had been resting with his eyes closed all this time, finally opened them.

He leaned back in his velvet armchair and raised his withered palm, stopping the clamor.

“Panic and curses will not change anything.” Grahaed’s voice carried an unquestionable authority. His gaze swept across the long table like a griffon’s.

“We gathered here tonight not to complain. Remember, the foundation of Astrelia is us. It is everyone seated here! As long as we act ahead of time tonight, tomorrow, Sylvia will not even touch the steps of the throne!”

The nobles glanced at one another, and their frenzied emotions finally settled slightly.

Yes, they still had their final hope—First Prince Dorg.

A prince terminally ill, with one foot already in the grave.

He was simply the most perfect puppet bestowed by the God of Holy Light.

Everyone present had a perfectly clear account book in their hearts.

Step one: push Dorg onto the throne, restore all the privileges of the old nobles, and then pounce like hyenas to carve up the vast industries of the Northern Territory, the Eastern Territory, and the Southern Territory.

Step two: choose the most docile and beautiful girl from among the great families and send her into the queen’s bedchamber.

Step three: as long as Dorg left behind an heir, that broken body of his could go meet his Father-King at any time.

At that point, the young new king would ascend the throne, and supreme authority would naturally fall into the hands of the council that assisted with the affairs of state.

In other words, it would fall into the hands of the people in this room.

“I heard His Highness coughed blood more times today than yesterday.”

Someone lowered his voice, unable to hide the expectation and secret delight in it any longer.

Grahaed lifted his brandy, the corner of his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible sneer.

What a pack of fools, greedy beyond saving.

However, he himself was one of them.

Just then, the heavy oak doors were slowly pushed open.

CREAK—

Everyone’s gaze instantly focused on them.

First Prince Dorg walked in with the support of captain of the guards Nevira.

He wore a loose silk sleeping robe, and his entire body was so thin that only a skeleton seemed to remain, as though a gust of wind could knock him down.

With every step he took, a heavy rasp like broken bellows sounded from his chest, filling all the listeners present with joy.

He walked to the main seat and slowly sat down.

“Cough... cough, cough, cough...”

A violent, heart-rending fit of coughing erupted without warning. Dorg immediately took out a snow-white handkerchief and covered his mouth with it. His gaunt shoulders shook violently.

When he lowered the handkerchief, the glaring crimson made the hearts of every noble present skip a beat, only for them to be drowned in enormous ecstasy a moment later.

The nobles immediately put on faces full of grief and concern, and voices asking after his health rose one after another.

Dorg weakly waved his hand, carefully folded the bloodstained handkerchief, and slipped it into his sleeve.

He raised his eyes, his calm gaze sweeping across the entire room. There was no emotion in those eyes, only a cold indifference that had seen through life and death.

“Everyone.” Dorg spoke. His voice was hoarse and weak, but every word was exceptionally clear.

“What we are about to do tonight is enough to invite the condemnation of the entire realm. Are you... afraid?”

A suppressed commotion rose in the reception hall.

Grahaed abruptly stood up, placed his right hand over his chest, and bowed.

“Your Highness, we have long since had no path of retreat! Every family present today has brought its sharpest swords and most powerful staffs to your manor.”

“As long as you give the order, tonight, we will let the Royal Capital change masters!”

A pale smile tugged at the corner of Dorg’s mouth.

“Very good.” He leaned back against the chair, as though he had exhausted all the strength in his body.

“I guarantee you that tonight will have only one outcome—Astrelia will usher in its true glory.”

The nobles’ breathing instantly quickened.

“Your Highness, do you have absolute confidence?” the marquis who had mortgaged his manors asked urgently.

Dorg nodded lightly.

“The commander of the Royal Capital Garrison is my man.” He calmly revealed his first trump card.

“The defensive array control hub of the Golden Rose Palace has also long since been in my hands.” This was the second.

“Tonight, as long as we act, the Royal Capital will have only one voice!”

A sharp gleam instantly lit up Grahaed’s murky eyes.

He knew that Dorg had been operating in secret all these years, but he had never imagined that his infiltration had already reached such a terrifying extent.

“Your Highness is wise!”

“Long live Your Highness!”

The nobles praised him in unison, and their fanatical voices nearly overturned the roof.

“However,” Dorg said, his tone shifting as his voice suddenly turned cold.

“Before that, we need to confirm one another’s absolute loyalty. Tonight’s operation cannot tolerate the slightest mistake. If anyone is thinking of hedging his bets and leaks even the smallest hint of this, all of us will die.”