The Empire Capital is so prosperous, shouldn’t there be a lot of money?
Joen furrowed his brows and asked in confusion.
Constantine smiled and waved his hand.
“The national treasury is the national treasury, the Royal Treasury is the Royal Treasury, public is public, private is private. Behind the coins are people’s blood and sweat, they are resources. The resources the Empire can actually mobilize, relative to the entire nation, are not as abundant as you imagine.For example—”
Constantine pointed at a distant spire that pierced the clouds, “that tower that looks like a giant crystal cone is the Grand Sorcerer Antonia’s property, the Star-Gazing Tower. If you go ask around the streets, everyone says the Grand Sorcerer is as rich as the nation itself.”
“A single noble, can they truly be richer than the national treasury?”
Joen was slightly taken aback.
In his view, this rumor seemed a bit exaggerated.
No matter how rich the Grand Sorcerer was, how could one person, one family, compare to the national treasury?
Constantine poured himself a cup of tea, chuckled, and said hoarsely, “Hard to say.”
“Grandfather Constantine.”
A sudden thought occurred to Joen, making his heart pound wildly, his tone tinged with excitement.
He lowered his voice, leaned in closer, his eyebrows trembling uncontrollably.
“If I had account books written by corrupt officials confessing their crimes, could I follow the clues, root out all those corrupt officials like the ones in Tulip Territory, confiscate their properties, and use their wealth for disaster relief?”
Constantine seemed to have anticipated this question.
He didn’t say yes, nor did he say no.
He simply poured tea for Joen himself.
Then, like an old man telling his grandson stories of the past, he spoke with measured cadence, narrating smoothly.
“Joen, in the past, you saw things through a fog, only knowing the might with which I punished corrupt officials. But today, I want to tell you something different from another perspective. Listen, and then consider.”
Joen’s right hand quietly clenched, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
He was afraid… afraid of hearing something that might shatter the layers of “heroic filter” he had previously applied to the Duke.
If that were truly the case, he didn’t know who he should learn from anymore.
“Joen.”
Constantine said leisurely, “You might think this path is a shortcut—confiscate property, take the money, distribute it to the poor. But on the contrary, this path is the most difficult one.You are not using the rules to strike at your enemies; you are using the rules to punish the makers of the rules. And by doing so, all the powerful nobles will stand against you.
Because what you are violating is a forbidden taboo of the dining table etiquette.The lower officials will also fear you, even hate you for obstructing their pursuit of ‘happiness,’ feigning compliance while resisting passively. What you will be fighting against is not just a few corrupt officials, but a kind of human nature, a consensus—a foundational force rooted deep within our human genes.
You think overturning the rules will put you on a shortcut. But in reality, after overturning the rules, things will only become more troublesome and complicated than before. Destroying Order is not hard; what’s hard is creating a new Order.”
“Grandfather Constantine…”
Joen started to speak but then stopped.
“Let me finish first.”
Constantine waved his hand and continued.
“Moreover, once you embark on this path, you are destined to be alone. The brothers who follow you will eventually leave you, because as they grow old, they will find following you too tiring, not easy.
Your blade will eventually have to be swung at friends, family, even loved ones. However, humans are creatures of emotion before reason. Even if reason tells you they are greedy, sinful, destroying everything you’ve worked hard to create, the thought of those times sharing drinks and heartfelt conversations will still make your heart ache as if cut by a knife.
No matter how high a position of power you reach, you will not feel more happiness. On the contrary, loneliness and restraint will accompany you for life; you will bear more suffering and responsibility.Even so, are you still willing to walk this path?”
“Are you advising me to give up?”
Joen felt a bit indignant and a cold thread of disappointment.
Constantine said seriously, “No. I expect you to break the rotten old shackles, but I hope even more that you can truly be prepared. This matter requires one sustained effort; if you retreat midway due to unforeseen circumstances… many people never find the courage to set foot on this path again in their lifetime.”
“I think I understand.”
Joen chewed over these words repeatedly, dazed and confused, seeming to grasp something, yet also feeling it might just be an illusion.
For the next two days, Joen diligently followed the standard procedures of the Disaster Relief Office, running around for the relief funds for Dry River Territory.
The capital officials at the Disaster Relief Office deeply admired him, often accompanying him, and some even specially prepared afternoon tea and meals for him.
He filled out forms over and over again, running back and forth between different government offices due to various details.
Each time took several hours, and this was at the express channel speed, without needing to queue.
By the evening of the second day, a clerk who had finished his day’s work and was preparing to go home to his family stared at Joen for several seconds.
Joen suddenly caught on.
“Are you messing with me?”
“How could we, Brave One?”
The clerk offered an ingratiating smile, his shoulders trembling slightly, clearly very afraid deep down.
“How would we dare to deceive you? It’s just… the rules and regulations really are like this.”
Seeing his trembling appearance, Joen’s anger abruptly dissipated, replaced by a sense of dejection.
What was the point of taking it out on a low-level clerk just following orders?
Remembering that tonight was the banquet the Second Prince had invited him to, and that the superior of his superior at the Disaster Relief Office—the Privy Councilor responsible for handling the Empire’s daily administration, documents, and resource allocation—was also said to be attending…
Rather than wasting time at the lower levels, it would be better to ask the higher-ups directly for clarity.
Joen hadn’t received much formal education.
To smoothly resolve the relief fund issue, he had crammed a lot of knowledge about court administration these past two days.
Though much of it remained foggy, he at least had a general understanding.
Within the imperial court, there were three major institutions.
First, the Grand Overseer’s Office, which oversaw all administrative affairs, currently headed by the Grand Sorcerer as the Grand Overseer.
Under the Grand Overseer were eight Ministers, each overseeing one of eight major categories of affairs.
However, neither the Grand Overseer nor the eight Ministers had decision-making power, only executive power.
They had to act according to edicts stamped with the Emperor’s seal.
The Stewardship Office was responsible for managing internal palace affairs and holding the seals on behalf of the Emperor, serving as the “Orderly” institution.
Among them, the Palace Steward—Leopold—was the person with the heaviest authority.
As for the drafting of edicts and responses to memorials from various regions, some were written by the Emperor’s own hand, some by the Imperial Advisors.
For important matters, the Emperor would convene several Imperial Advisors for secret Imperial Council meetings to jointly discuss major decisions concerning the Empire’s fate.
The Emperor was undoubtedly the highest point of the imperial system.
All institutions served the will of the Emperor alone.
Sometimes, learning about this, Joen even had an absurd and dangerous thought—
The Emperor’s word is law, no one can defy it.
That’s really convenient.
If I were the Emperor, would raising relief funds be this difficult?
Amidst these fluctuating thoughts, something crystal clear that had been wrapped around Joen’s heart seemed to quietly shatter.
Like colored glaze, also like sugar frost.
The tip of his heart exposed to the air, sprouting unknown thorny vines and flowers.
This was the first time Joen experienced the stinging sensation of “ambition bursting through conscience.”
A youth who doesn’t know the taste of sorrow, unaware of the sky’s height, not seeing the road’s distance, runs aimlessly through the Forest, frolicking like a little Beast.
He waits by tree stumps for rabbits to knock themselves out, embraces spring by the stream.
But the Forest is only as big as six thousand five hundred and seventy trees.
The youth must eventually run out of the Forest, and must eventually grow from a child into a man.
Gravel mixed in the soil will cut the soles of his feet.
Blood seeps into the earth, flows along the path, blooming into flowers covering the mountains and fields.
Red, white, indigo blue.
Roses, wild lilies, carnations.
Beneath the gorgeous petals, the roots tightly embrace the soil, embracing the ambition fused with the Forest.
The seasons turn, all things grow.
Flowers wither and sprout, sprout and wither.
The man carefully tends his garden, afraid the wind will break the flowers, disturb the stamens.
Because once the stems and leaves break, they ooze a crimson liquid.
He thought it was his blood.
Until one day—
The old man could finally walk no more, collapsing into the flower beds that had accompanied him his whole life.
He plucked a stem, the faint red liquid staining his fingertips, and brought it to his nose to smell carefully.
The old man fell silent, then suddenly laughed heartily, laughing until tears fell.
So, it was just his desire, thick and unyielding.