While Archaon led his army to the heart of the Chaos Wastes to prepare for his coronation as the Everchosen, diplomatic activities in Bretonnia continued.
Inside the Château de Fontainebleau, the high nobles of Nulr and Bretonnia were engaged in lively conversations.
On the Bretonnian side, Duke Bohemond and Duke François, along with other military nobles—especially those who had been granted the title of Marshal—were proudly sharing their views and their seemingly endless string of victories.
The Nulr delegation had a higher proportion of merchants and engineers, but it was still the military nobles who took center stage. Leading them were Grand Marshal von Eilhart, Grand Judge Theodore Bruckner, and a group of Nulr generals. With most of Nulr's military command system present in Bretonnia, it raised questions about whether the officers left behind in Nulr could handle any emergencies.
As one of Ryan's trusted lieutenants and the chief political commissar of the First Lancer Guard Regiment, Belial Gulag was not particularly welcome at the banquet. On one hand, his demeanor was too sinister and intimidating. On the other, his Kislevite heritage from the north naturally earned him disdain from the Nulr delegation. While the knightly nobles respected Belial, they rarely engaged with him.
This suited Belial just fine. He stood alone in a corner, observing everything, quietly eating and pondering his next moves. With matters in Kislev largely settled, Belial's presence was gradually fading.
As a bureaucrat, Belial knew his value to Ryan lay in his ability to avoid trouble but also to create opportunities. Only by creating opportunities could he ensure Ryan's reliance on him and continue his ascent.
But what exactly should he do?
As Belial pondered, the elegantly dressed high elf Talleyrand, with his neatly parted hair, fine attire, and cane, finished mingling with a circle of nobles. The limping elf had clearly had a few drinks and approached Belial with ease. "May I rest here for a moment, Chief Commissar?"
"Suit yourself," Belial replied, using tongs to scoop a large portion of macaroni onto his plate, dousing it with black pepper sauce. He then grabbed a glass of orange juice and a hefty sirloin steak. Belial had no particular fondness or dislike for Talleyrand. He enjoyed conversing with high elves but detested their penchant for hoarding wealth and accepting bribes. Deep down, Belial envied Talleyrand's social finesse and universal popularity. "I just thought you'd prefer that kind of environment, Talleyrand."
"No one enjoys the same environment forever, Belial," Talleyrand said, eyeing Belial's lake-green military uniform and the array of medals he had deliberately adorned himself with. The high elf glanced at his own collection of medals, found a seat, and elegantly carved a leg off a roasted goose with a silver knife. "Even the most social of us get tired. Besides, I wanted to chat with you."
"What can we talk about?" Belial wasn't sure what Talleyrand was after, but the Ungol was ready for the challenge.
"Oh, by Asuryan, there's so much we can discuss, isn't there?" Talleyrand's gaze shifted to the center of the banquet, where King Ryan, Queen Sulia, and Countess Emmanuelle were engaged in conversation. "Like them, they always have endless topics to talk about."
Both Belial and Talleyrand were close advisors to Ryan, and while they often disagreed in front of the king, they had a decent private rapport. Belial set down his orange juice. "The Nulr delegation is indeed large. As many worry, if something happens in Wissenland or Nulr, can Nulr handle it on its own?"
"What could happen? What's there to worry about?" Talleyrand thought for a moment and shook his head. "Belial, you're used to strongman politics. You might not realize that Nulr and Wissenland have highly autonomous city councils and local militias. They don't necessarily need a supreme leader. Nulr is bordered by Reikland to the north, Solland to the south, Averland to the east, and the Grey Mountains to the west. There's nothing particularly concerning."
"Is that so?" Belial didn't intend to argue this point. The Ungol continued, "I still believe that this council and autonomy system isn't conducive to uniting the nation's strength."
"Yes, you're right," Talleyrand drawled, his expression unreadable. "But my dear Belial, don't you understand? Dictatorship determines the ceiling, while feudalism determines the floor. Allowing councils and local autonomy might not fix everything, but it won't make things too bad. Besides, think about it. Nulr functioned smoothly for nearly two decades without its duke, until Countess Emmanuelle returned. And what about Bretonnia? If King Ryan… and Queen Sulia were both away, how long could the kingdom function smoothly? A year at most, no more."
"But he succeeded," Belial muttered.
"Yes, His Majesty succeeded. His Majesty is the greatest," Talleyrand shrugged indifferently. "But don't you realize? His Majesty's greatness lies in the fact that he is His Majesty. Try replacing him? Just look at John I and John II. No one can do what he does. No one."
Belial frowned at Talleyrand's words. It seemed the high elf wasn't particularly impressed with King Ryan's achievements?
This was a tricky topic. Belial thought carefully before replying solemnly, "For me, there is only one sun in the sky, and that is His Majesty! I will always remain loyal to His Majesty. Other matters are beyond my consideration."
Talleyrand sighed deeply. The high elf scrutinized Belial from head to toe, then gave a half-smile, the corners of his mouth curling to their limit. "You see, that's the reason, Belial. As I said, as long as His Majesty is here, the kingdom will remain united and stable."
Belial suddenly understood, but before he could say more, Talleyrand continued, "His Majesty's prestige is astonishing, and his abilities are unparalleled. This is the foundation for many of his successful policies. But too many things rely on him personally. For example, the abolition of noble privileges, the governor system—these are all enforced by His Majesty's will. If His Majesty… you know, the old nobles and the descendants of those who lost their privileges will launch a fierce counterattack. Policies like losing noble titles if no knight is produced within three generations, controlling judicial power through local巡回 courts, and the governor system will all be overturned, even retaliatorily destroyed."
"But he is His Majesty," Belial insisted. "He is our king. He can do it."
"Yes, precisely because he is our king, His Majesty, that I, Talleyrand, willingly follow him," Talleyrand smiled. He watched as Ryan playfully dripped lemon juice into Sulia's wine glass, eliciting a mock scolding from the queen. The limping elf laughed heartily. "I'm just a courtier. A courtier's duty is to remind the king that he is not omnipotent, that he is not as powerful as he imagines. No reign lasts forever. When His Majesty is blinded by vanity and pride, I remind him. You, on the other hand, are a loyalist. The good news is, His Majesty seems unlikely to be blinded by arrogance, and his life is almost endless."
Talleyrand's words eased Belial's frown. Though reluctant to admit it, the Ungol knew Talleyrand spoke the truth.
"What about in Ulthuan?" Belial set down his silver cutlery, trying not to appear too curious. "Does the Phoenix King not need courtiers?"
"No, the Phoenix King doesn't need courtiers. On the contrary, Tyrion the Defender needs them, but he cannot tolerate them. That's why I, Talleyrand, could never rise in Ulthuan," Talleyrand nodded slowly, sighing. "The princes of Ulthuan fill the entire administrative center. They resist change, resist the forces of reform. Rigidity and conservatism permeate the Phoenix Court. Any slight change provokes fierce opposition. It's not that no one has foresight or wants to address the ongoing decline, but the answer is—the proposals never pass."
"Heh, as soon as the interests of the noble families and the princes are threatened, all factions unite in opposition. Everyone only cares about immediate gains. Many can't achieve anything, but they can ensure the Phoenix King or the Defender can't either. This means any policy must be negotiated, married into, bribed, or even threatened into existence."
"Any policy has a time limit. Proposals that take decades to pass are already outdated," Talleyrand sneered. "With these insects, how can politics be done well?"
"So this is the flaw of feudalism and republicanism. While it might not lead to total disaster, the overall decline is slow but steady," Belial mused. "Dictatorship can either bring a nation to its peak or plunge it into the abyss?"
"Unfortunately, Tyrion the Defender can neither bring Ulthuan to its peak nor plunge it into the abyss," Talleyrand said meaningfully. "That's why I came to the Old World."
"You seem to have overlooked the Phoenix King?"
"Finubar is in the Phoenix Court."
The two fell silent for a moment before Belial spoke. "I think we need to do something, Talleyrand. I have a proposal."
"Go on, I'll consider it," Talleyrand nodded.
"I heard the young Everqueen is coming to the Old World to negotiate with the dwarfs?" Belial's eyes burned with ambition.
"What are you suggesting?" Talleyrand's eyes lit up.
"How about you make the introductions, and I'll handle the arrangements?"
"Deal!"
On the other side of the banquet, Queen Sulia, dressed in a stunning black court gown adorned with floral patterns, her golden hair elegantly pinned up, her long legs sheathed in glossy black tights, and her feet in pearl-adorned white high heels, leaned on Ryan's arm. She smiled at her husband. "Look, Belial and Talleyrand are sitting together. They're probably plotting something!"
"I know them. They're just looking for opportunities," Ryan said dismissively, confident in his ability to manage his close advisors. He shook his head with a wry smile. "My dear, it seems the Emmanuelle-class land cruiser won't be combat-ready without solving the power issue."
"Nulr has reached its limit," Emmanuelle, wearing a golden floral-embroidered classical dress, her legs in sheer patterned tights, clung to Ryan's other arm. The Countess's face was flushed with an unnatural blush. She whispered in Ryan's ear, "But you have a solution, don't you? I remember you do."
"Ryan can't guarantee a solution either, Emmanuelle," Sulia giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. The knightess's sea-blue eyes sparkled as she teased the younger woman. "If Nulr couldn't meet the conditions, you shouldn't have promised so easily."
"It's all because Ryan's requirements were too high!" Emmanuelle felt her legs weaken as she breathed in Ryan's scent. The young Countess couldn't help but recall the previous night when Ryan had lifted her from behind, her tongue sticking out and her hands forming a "V" sign as she faced the endless starry sky, declaring her complete victory.
Of course, there was also the awkward moment the next morning when Frederick kept asking if she had slept well with his father. Emmanuelle, both embarrassed and annoyed, had spanked her son, only to find that the sturdy boy felt no pain, while her own hand ached. In frustration, she had kicked him away.
Frederick, however, seemed to understand his mother. The boy had been careful not to disturb Emmanuelle and Ryan's private time, spending his days hunting and organizing tournaments with the sons of knightly and military nobles. He had even taken a purebred elven steed from Ryan's royal stables, insisting it was a gift from his father. Ryan had no choice but to oblige.
The three of them found a quiet sitting room. Ryan embraced the petite Emmanuelle from behind, letting her sit on his lap while he playfully caressed her sacred, silk-clad legs. He turned to Sulia, who was leaning against his shoulder. "What has the Lady been up to lately? She hasn't appeared for quite some time."
"The Lady has been busy using her divine power and your psychic energy to establish a large barrier to protect Bretonnia's lands," Sulia said softly, kicking off her high heels and curling her legs up, offering her delicate feet to Ryan. The queen was always relaxed in private moments with her husband. "She's almost finished."
Emmanuelle had already melted into a puddle in Ryan's arms, her only response being to grip his large hand tightly, her nose humming with contentment.
"I see," Ryan turned his gaze eastward. He could sense significant changes in the east, but the Great Vortex and the Lady's barrier limited his perception. In the end, he let it go.
"It's daytime in Lustria now, right?" Sulia looked out at the night sky, watching the limp Emmanuelle in Ryan's arms with a smile. "Since you've decided, let's not waste time."
"Right!" Ryan closed his eyes.
A surge of psychic energy, powerful as a tidal wave, tore a rift between the mortal world and the Warp, establishing a psychic communication over tens of thousands of kilometers.
"Wei, Brother Fulgrim, zaima?"
In the distant, humid lands of Lustria, in the capital of the Ashen Legion, Konstantinye.
Fulgrim, the Primarch of the Emperor's Children, the Legion Master of the Ashen Legion, the Purple Phoenix, felt a vein throb on his forehead. He gently set down the leg of the wood elf princess Carolna, her firm, long legs clad in flesh-toned stockings, and placed her on a soft couch, signaling her to rest for a while. He straightened his clothes and answered the psychic call.
Fulgrim's tone was clearly annoyed.
"Buzai, cmn!"
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