While the leader of the Nagaryll Youth Party in Magulana Province struggled to master the complex driving skills on a dilapidated car sold to Nagaryll over a decade ago, a major event was unfolding.
In Nagaryll’s royal capital, governors from all provinces across the country gathered. Even the Federation was curious about what changes their meeting might bring and sent ers to gather information.
Sometimes ers were more useful than spies—at least they didn’t cause disturbances.
Inside a magnificent hall, Nagaryll’s most distinguished figures assembled. These governors, including the king, did not resemble the tyrants and dictators imagined by ordinary Federation citizens.
Each appeared quite refined—a quality difficult to translate directly but unmistakable in meaning.
They were not fierce or domineering; instead, they were gentle, reflecting Nagaryll’s religious culture.
In a devout nation, overt tyrants rarely ruled. Even if one appeared young and harsh, religion often tempered him. Nagaryll’s religious powers had long been the government’s greatest adversaries.
Facing a foe skilled at self-presentation, governors had to master the art themselves to avoid appearing as villains from myth, ensuring smoother rule over the people.
“The last time we met must have been at your coming-of-age ceremony,” Nagaryll’s king said to Governor Drag with a sigh. “Thirty years have passed so fast, but you look well.”
The king was an elderly man of about sixty, kind and slow-spoken, his gentle voice leading many to blame his weakness for Nagaryll’s de facto division.
Only those governors present knew he was a veteran actor: after killing his siblings and driving his lowly mother to suicide, everyone wanted to keep their distance.
Rumors linked him to the deaths of two other governors. He was a smiling-faced, malicious, and highly skilled political actor—what the Federation might call a
master actor
.
Governor Drag bowed slightly, kissed the back of the king’s hand. The king withdrew it, wet his finger with saliva, and traced an invisible horizontal mark on Drag’s forehead.
This religious gesture meant misfortune would halt upon seeing the mark, though Drag found it somewhat disgusting.
Whether the old king neglected dental hygiene or not, his saliva smelled bad—and likely would for some time—annoying Drag but unable to provoke him.
Drag studied the king’s face carefully, finally smiling with a hint of provocation, perhaps even schadenfreude. “Yes, you were young then, not like now…” His ambiguous grin conveyed an unspoken taunt. “…Aging. You’re old.”
Though meant to lament the passage of time, Drag’s words felt like “You deserve it.” The king’s expression remained unchanged.
“Time spares no one, just as it will not spare you. It is fair to all,” the king said, his cloudy eyes reflecting something resembling wisdom.
Drag disagreed. “Did you know foreigners have investigated our life expectancy? They say most of us only live to sixty.”
“But we know some live longer. Time is less fair in the face of power. Nothing is absolutely fair.”
“Maybe I’ll live longer than you. What do you say?”
He clearly meant he might outlast the king. The old king showed no anger. Previously, he could disguise himself until the last moment; now, with Federation eyes on him, he was even less concerned.
His heavy eyelids blinked slowly, as if barely able to open. Looking at Drag, he shook his head gently. “You may be right. Or perhaps I will live longer…”
That was enough said. They exchanged faint smiles, parted ways. Drag glanced back at the king with a mocking expression.
For years, the old king had worked to consolidate power from the governors. His military reforms revealed his desire to unify Nagaryll.
But this was doomed to fail. He faced the entire ruling class alone, unsupported, and now the Federation was involved.
The Federation would never let the old king complete his plans, nor allow Nagaryll true unification. After a lifetime of effort, it would all end in vain. Drag could only smile.
As time passed, all governors—rarely seen together—arrived, and the meeting began.
Everyone knew the Federation’s strong influence made this gathering possible.
After the meeting started, unrelated persons were expelled. The old king opened, “The Federation wants us to show we take this seriously, so I see you all here. I must say, the Federation is remarkable. They have done what we all thought impossible!”
Those present were no small players. They immediately detected the king’s sarcasm.
Without Federation support guaranteeing their safety, none would dare approach the capital, let alone sit here.
But with Federation backing, their boldness grew. Tragically, the king had no way to oppose the Federation—this was why they met.
Someone rudely interrupted, “Stop the nonsense. What about the Federation’s demands? What does everyone think?”
Silence returned. The king, interrupted, was unfazed, quietly watching his
subjects
.
No one dared speak first—doing so meant
traitor
, unless the opinion directly opposed the Federation.
But how likely was that?
It was known some
patriots
here were actually traitors, collecting intel on fellow
patriots
to sell to their Federation masters, who were far crueler than the king and willing to act when needed.
The eerie silence lasted over ten minutes. Everyone secretly studied each other’s expressions and movements, searching for clues.
The old king’s lips curved slightly as he sighed, “I hear some of you used to curse me daily. Look at you now—you don’t dare say a word.”
“Yes, you’re young. You can’t bear the cost of speaking wrongly. I’m old. I can.”
“I don’t know why the Federation insists we raise Valier’s exchange rate, but it must be for their own agenda. From my perspective, I won’t agree.”
“But…” He smiled. “If I refuse, some of you will try to persuade me, sway those who oppose.”
“That will cause conflict among us and make us look ridiculous.”
“Everyone, we face unprecedented challenges. The Federation is quietly seizing our power, and we are powerless.”
“I know some of you already serve the Federation, but I’m not afraid to tell you this—the Federation doesn’t value you personally. They value your position here.”
“One day, when the Federation no longer needs you to conceal their ambitions and serve them, they will take back what they gave you.”
“Don’t think you are safe. Sheep raised by wolves never find true safety.”
He smiled as he reached to adjust the incense burner beside him, then looked at the thoughtful governors. “I know the appreciation of Valier is inevitable, and I don’t mind agreeing to it. At the same time, I want to offer you, those who have found new directions, some gifts.”
“You can tell those behind you that you used every possible method here to persuade me and all the opponents. We will make that public as well.”
“Our sole purpose in doing this is to ensure you always have value—that the Federation won’t discard you when you’re done, and that we can keep Nagaryll under our control, leaving open the chance to break free from the Federation in the future.”
He raised his teacup, took a sip, then wiped the residue from his mouth with a cloud-white handkerchief trimmed in gold thread. “This benefits you and us alike—no harm at all.”
No one expected the old king to say something like this at such a time and place; it was almost unbelievable.
Admitting failure is difficult for rulers, but the old king not only admitted it—he discarded even the last shred of pretense.
His words were deeply insulting to the governors, yet they matched their needs perfectly. Once again, the room fell silent.
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