Whether they were from Gephra, the Federation, or any other country—especially the ordinary people at the bottom of society—they all shared a similar question: those officials know nothing, so how did they get their positions?
Take, for example, members of the Federal Congress in Baylor. Many of them had never worked in any legal field, and some hadn’t even majored in law during college.
They barely understood the law—so how were they qualified to decide whether a bill should pass or be amended?
Put simply, why were a bunch of amateurs doing things even experts couldn’t manage?
Many people had this question. Just like Lynch—someone who had never proven himself on a football field—how could he become the chairman of a professional football club? Based on what?
When this question popped into people’s minds, it usually came with a wave of anger. Maybe they themselves were facing such unfairness, or someone close to them, or someone in society.
That’s why they asked: why are politicians, often outsiders in so many industries, able to do jobs that only insiders should be able to do?
The truth is, people have been looking at the issue from the wrong perspective. Because for politicians, their expertise is politics. Their profession is politics. The power and influence that come with it? That’s just a bonus.
As long as they know how to scheme, compromise when necessary, and lower their shame and moral standards just enough—then in politics, they are professionals.
And because they are professionals, that’s why they become officials.
The Prime Minister of Gephra was one of them. Despite his seemingly limited power, he was an experienced political operator. Once he made up his mind, it meant a storm was coming.
On the same night the protests outside the Finance Minister’s residence were broken up, all the major news channels reported on it.
Some took a neutral stance, while others clearly sided with the Prime Minister.
According to the more opinionated anchors, the Finance Minister had used imperial police to crack down on victims—labeling them as rioters.
Whether or not he actually ordered it, the public believed it.
After all, right on the heels of a bribery scandal involving finance officials, the Finance Minister was now embroiled in another controversy. To the public, it all lined up. And really—who else would take such a risk to mobilize the police unless it came from him?
“But this isn’t enough.”
The Prime Minister sat by the fireplace. Late October had brought a noticeable chill to Gephra.
The biggest difference between island nations and inland countries is humidity. Gephra’s air was damp. For the elderly—especially those who hadn’t taken good care of themselves in youth—autumn brought joint pain, making it hard to be away from blankets and fire.
He poked at the fire with tongs, loosening the logs a bit to let the flames die down.
Further from the fire, a few nobles had gathered—staunch supporters of the Prime Minister.
Their families had long been allies, from the feudal era to now.
The noble class never truly disappears. When royal power is strong, they lie low. But the moment it shows signs of weakness, the nobles quickly resurface.
These men stood or sat quietly, listening to the Prime Minister.
“I know what kind of person the Finance Minister is—cunning, despicable, shameless, vile, disgraceful.”
“I’m ashamed to call him a colleague,” he added with a chuckle.
After years of frustration, this sudden opportunity couldn’t be wasted. He was in good spirits, so while cursing his rival, he allowed himself a little joke.
“This blow alone won’t break him. His Majesty has demanded that he restore the financial index. As long as he succeeds, no matter what happens next, His Majesty won’t abandon him.”
He hung the tongs on a small wooden hook by the fireplace and looked around the room.
“At the very least, he’ll pretend he’s standing firmly behind the Finance Minister.”
“I know him. I’ve known him for over forty years. I know exactly what kind of man he is. Which is why our first battlefield is the financial index.”
The Prime Minister had known the Emperor since he was a child. They were more than ten years apart in age, and at the time, the Emperor had been far from a favorite for the throne.
There had been other princes and princesses with far more prestigious bloodlines.
The current Emperor was an accidental birth. Some even called him a bastard behind closed doors, hoping to push him out of the line of succession.
But they failed.
The Emperor may not be the smartest or most noble by blood—but he was the most ruthless.
Everyone who defied or refused to bow to him was eliminated—by the very bastard they’d mocked. And that bastard took the throne.
He was a ruthless man with the makings of a tyrant. Once he drew a line, no one could cross it.
If the Prime Minister and the Emperor didn’t want a full-blown civil war, a life-or-death battle, they would need to fight within the “rules of the game.”
The Emperor had set the stage: the financial index.
So their first task was to crash it.
“If the Finance Minister fails His Majesty’s mission, His Majesty won’t protect him any longer. And then, his defeat will be inevitable.”
The Prime Minister smiled calmly.
“Only then will we sit across from His Majesty at the table.”
No one in the room was concerned about the national consequences of a financial crash. In Gephra, power—not economics—was the true foundation.
In the Federation, capital ruled everything. In Gephra, power ruled all.
Different systems, different values. If a Federal President tanked the industrial index for personal gain, there would be immediate calls for impeachment—Congress would intervene.
But not here. Here, no one cared about such trivial matters. Only one thing mattered—what could they gain from it?
Besides, these noble backers knew full well that this was the perfect time to short the index. If the money was going to evaporate anyway, it might as well evaporate into their own pockets.
“I need you to push the index down. And we’re going to prepare a gift for our dear Finance Minister.”
The nobles nodded one after another. Though they remained reserved on the surface, their eyes gleamed with excitement.
If the Prime Minister seized power, their golden age would begin. They would take over major departments, and at least until the next world war, they’d wield real authority.
After a moment of quiet reflection, someone asked,
“What do you all think of Lynch?”
The speaker was in his fifties, with graying hair, seated in an ornate high-backed chair. One leg was crossed over the other, and the glossy surface of his boots reflected the flickering firelight.
The man was somewhat thin, with high cheekbones and narrow, slightly sinister-looking eyes.
One sentence from him drew everyone’s attention: “Lynch is holding a group of minor nobles. There are quite a few of them, and that counts as a force in itself.”
“He doesn’t get along well with His Majesty. Maybe we can win him and his people over.”
At the mention of Lynch, everyone’s expressions shifted. Lynch had reshaped their understanding of the world.
He had only been to Gephra three times, spending less than two months in total, yet he managed to form his own noble faction, with himself as the sole core. That level of ability was terrifying.
If he had been born in the feudal era, the royal family might not even exist today.
“Lesser nobles are of no use to us,” said a gentle-looking noble in his forties, rejecting the idea outright.
Non-hereditary nobles and counts of lower rank were considered lesser nobility. These titles were often temporary strokes of luck and would soon lose their privileges and prestige. In the eyes of traditional high nobility, such titles wouldn’t last three generations and were no different from commoners.
The eerie-looking noble gave a slight smile. “Even a small force is still a force. And they’ve made a lot of money recently—they’re among the main players shorting the index.”
The Prime Minister grew thoughtful. Lynch had been the first to short Gephra’s financial index. He had once suspected Lynch was behind everything.
But he had dismissed the idea. It all felt too coincidental—so coincidental that it might really just be a coincidence.
Lynch didn’t have the power to upend a noble structure that had remained unchanged for decades. He was likely just a piece in the larger puzzle, a trigger within the greater shift.
As with every change in power, there was always an epic feel—each person both a small figure in history and the one writing it.
“I’ll talk to Lynch. Right now, every bit of strength is worth fighting for.”
