At times, His Majesty the Emperor of Gephra resented his father, grandfather, and those so-called ancestors.

They had the chance to turn the country into a plaything of the royal family, yet they chose the most foolish method to rule it.

They distributed power to the nobles, allowing them to check the monarchy. On the surface, this seemed like a balanced approach.

The nobles’ power wouldn’t grow unchecked, and the emperor’s authority wouldn’t go unbridled through autocracy. But as the emperor, he was deeply displeased.

The Minister of Defense had made a reasonable request—national finance was a matter of utmost importance, and the position of Finance Minister remained vacant. Currently, all decisions were made through group deliberation.

At first glance, this approach seemed ideal—collective decisions would likely avoid favoritism, and most people felt it was appropriate.

In practice, however, this method seriously disrupted the normal operation of financial affairs. Without appointing a new Finance Minister, no one could be properly assigned within the finance department.

If the eventual appointee clashed with the current setup, those placed now could be removed later, leading to awkwardness and loss of face. For now, only deputies managed affairs.

A formal process needed to be established to appoint a new Finance Minister swiftly, to prevent minor issues from stalling due to irrelevant factors like personal positions or political alignment.

The problem was that raising the issue here, at this moment, didn’t feel like discussion—it felt like pressure. They were forcing His Majesty to make a decision, good or bad, without giving him time to prepare.

After a moment of silence, the Emperor said, “Do any of you have good suggestions for the new Finance Minister?”

Using a new minister to stabilize the court, he handed over the power of nomination to the ministers. His intentions were clear—he wanted the Finance Minister to remain relatively neutral. For now, he didn’t want to fall out with them.

The Navy Minister remained silent, gazing at the ring on his finger, seemingly lost in thought.

From his perspective, no matter who became Finance Minister, the navy’s budget wouldn’t be touched. The navy was Gephra’s strongest and only presentable military force.

Cutting funding would be like stabbing themselves in the heart. Whoever became Finance Minister would, as before, maintain a cordial relationship with him.

The Army Minister stared up at the colorful paintings on the ceiling, like a scholar immersed in art.

Strengthening the army had been a collective decision. With the strategic shift, the navy’s presence in the Amellian region had become almost irrelevant.

They couldn’t shell their own cities—naval deterrence meant little. The army was now the most critical force.

With the Great Continental State plan underway, the army’s importance was growing. He wasn’t worried anyone would dare cut their funding. That would be suicidal.

Most of the other ministers either shifted uneasily or remained silent. Few showed interest in who should become Finance Minister.

Some turned to look at the Prime Minister. He, too, stayed silent, as if everyone had lost the ability to speak.

After what felt like two or three minutes—or longer—the Prime Minister finally broke the silence.

“It seems no one has a suitable candidate. Perhaps I should temporarily take over the role. Once someone appropriate is found, we can redistribute the workload.”

He spoke without hesitation, locking eyes with the Emperor across the hall.

The Emperor looked down from his throne; the Prime Minister looked up. Their eyes met.

The Prime Minister’s gaze was warm, unthreatening, tinged with a faint smile—an expression of deference and charm.

The Emperor’s stare was sharper, almost accusatory, as if questioning the Prime Minister’s audacity.

Neither backed down. After a brief standoff, the Emperor shook his head. “You’re already overworked, and you haven’t been looking well lately. If you take on the Finance Ministry too, I don’t want… your wife calling me to accuse me of exploiting her husband.”

The woman he referred to was the Prime Minister’s wife—a noblewoman with a trace of royal blood.

Her father’s aunt was the granddaughter of the Emperor’s grandfather’s grandfather—effectively, one of the Emperor’s grandmothers.

Technically, the Prime Minister was considered the Emperor’s brother. But in the royal court, when it came to power, even blood ties meant little.

They could discard anything—except power.

Just like the capitalists of the Federation, who could abandon everything deemed precious, but would never let others touch their wealth.

The logic was the same. Power—or wealth—was everything. Everything else was a fleeting illusion, a mere embellishment to their otherwise dull lives.

The Emperor’s evasive reply sparked thoughts in the Prime Minister. He sensed the Emperor was avoiding direct confrontation. Normally, he would’ve stepped back—but not this time.

“Your Majesty, some matters can be delayed. But not this. The sooner we resolve it, the more responsible we are—to ourselves, the nation, and the people.”

He looked directly at the Emperor and said what he had to say. “If Your Majesty also lacks a suitable candidate, perhaps the Privy Council nobles could discuss it together…”

It was an old tradition—when ministers and the Emperor disagreed, the Privy Council could intervene.

Perhaps the founding Emperor envisioned a triad of powers—royalty, ministers, and the noble class—balancing and supporting one another.

But over time, the Privy Council and the nobles, who were supposed to be like federal lawmakers, had become passive observers.

Now, the Prime Minister’s suggestion to involve the Privy Council was legally sound, but his intent was obvious.

The Emperor hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Very well, let the Privy Council discuss it.”

The Emperor had retreated a step, and so had the Prime Minister. They had shifted the battlefield from the throne room to the Privy Council.

Now, both sides would vie for noble support.

From the Emperor’s perspective, he held the upper hand.

Not because he was emperor, but because the Finance Minister was a person.

If the Prime Minister took the role, he would pack the ministry with his people, and reduce the number of potential power brokers.

But if someone else were appointed, more nobles in the Privy Council could gain power—and someone might even rise to become the next major power figure.

That prospect was far more enticing than letting the Prime Minister take the post himself.The two of them broke eye contact, and the discussion shifted to other matters—such as the aftermath of the Harmony Capital scandal.

With billions in funds and hundreds of millions lost to a financial black hole, the world was watching. Both the Emperor and his ministers found it a major headache.

If mishandled, it would become an international embarrassment—something no one wanted to bear.

“Your Majesty, the issue of the bonds is relatively easy to resolve…” The Prime Minister, now fully in work mode, showed a stark change in attitude—serious and responsible.

He adjusted his posture. The morning meetings between Gephra’s Emperor and his ministers often resembled a somewhat tense tea session.

“We’ll refund according to different bond batches, at different redemption ratios. The bond itself is the only valid proof. Many people had already destroyed their bonds in anger, which conveniently reduces our payout burden…”

After Harmony Capital was officially deemed fraudulent, its bonds instantly became worthless. What was once a sought-after financial product suddenly turned into trash.

Many tore up their bonds out of frustration. With the Prime Minister’s refund strategy and these destroyed bonds, although a portion of the funds had been secretly moved by Richard and couldn’t be recovered, the overall loss from bond refunds wasn’t unmanageable.

Everyone would lose a bit, but as long as it wasn’t everything, the public could accept it.

“The real trouble lies in Harmony Capital’s stock. That’s the disaster zone. Many people invested in it, and they believe the Empire should cover their losses.”

“It’s clearly impossible for us to pay them back out of our own coffers. But if they get nothing, the unrest will continue.”

“So we need a strategy to deal with it—at least something that calms them down.”

The public believed the Finance Minister had colluded with Harmony Capital’s chairman, Richard, using backdoor deals of money and power to get the company illegally listed.

So, in the minds of the investors, their losses should be borne by two parties: Harmony Capital and the state, represented by the Finance Minister.

Harmony Capital was already finished. There was no getting money out of them. But the Empire still stood. Investors wanted at least partial compensation—50% would suffice.

It sounded simple. But in practice, it was far from easy.

A financial black hole of several hundred million—just covering half would still mean a payout of one or two hundred million. That wasn’t an amount easily scraped together.

At the very least, it was certain the Treasury wouldn’t be paying for it.