Chapter 421: The Skaven Ratmen—No, the Imperial Thirteen-Person Council

Tiruien stared for seven or eight seconds before finally reacting, glancing at Uwula with a hint of fear.

Uwula never considered assassinating the leaders of the Neiwu Force, Fawu Force, and Navy from a political standpoint.

He acted purely to punish the enemy of Saint Doraemon, from a religious perspective.

Causing the flagship of a high-ranking admiral to crash onto Terra in an "accident," eliminating three High Lords at once, and destroying the Fawu Force's headquarters, the Judgment Hall, would bring only political disaster—and no one would believe it was an accident.

"What? Why are you frozen?" Uwula tilted his head slightly and continued speaking to Tiruien. "Isn't this just like what Saint Guilliman did to the High Pontiff of the Ecclesiarchy?"

Tiruien felt sweat beginning to bead on his back.

Many could guess that Bardos Strayt's sudden death was Saint Guilliman's doing, but until now, no one except Saint Doraemon had dared voice this suspicion.

And Uwula's plan was entirely different from what Saint Guilliman had done to High Pontiff Bardos Strayt.

The High Lords are less independent individuals than representatives of the colossal institutions behind them—embodiments of interest groups, aggregates of billions of bureaucrats.

Assassinating three High Lords in such obvious, brutal, terrifying fashion would only further provoke the Neiwu Force, Fawu Force, and Navy, potentially pushing many wavering centrists toward the conservatives.

Moreover, the High Lords hold vital, irreplaceable information—such as the full organizational structure of the Neiwu Force—whose loss would disrupt the transition of power to new High Lords.

Saint Guilliman's direct assassination of the High Pontiff worked because the conservative faction behind Bardos Strayt could never question whether Saint Guilliman was responsible.

To question the Archangel's assassination of the High Pontiff is not only to doubt whether billions of faithful would believe it, but to question Saint Guilliman himself—the second most venerated figure in the Ecclesiarchy—and to imply Bardos Strayt lacked the fervent faith required to die suddenly.

More importantly, the Ecclesiarchy's power rests on the faith of its believers: do they revere the High Pontiff more, or Saint Guilliman? A moment's thought reveals the answer.

Furthermore, even the Ecclesiarchy's conservatives still hold devout faith and do not resist Saint Guilliman; the High Pontiff's death from unwavering devotion to Saint Guilliman is an acceptable, dignified justification.

Of course, these are not Uwula's greatest problems.

His greatest problem is this: as General of the Forge of Mars, he attempted to bombard Terra—does he want war between Mars and Terra?!

Clearly, in Uwula's mind, faith outweighs all else.

"This is entirely unnecessary. We can remove them from office through the High Lords' Council."

"That would ensure a smooth transition of power, allowing our people to take control of the Neiwu Force, Fawu Force, and Navy."

Tiruien explained urgently.

"What if Ilthu and the others refuse to cooperate?" Uwula asked, frowning with his two dwarf heads.

He knew it was impossible—he asked only because he preferred ending their natural lives over ending their political ones.

But Tiruien still spoke.

"They won't." Tiruien shook his head slightly. "They and their conservative faction seek only to preserve the old Imperial laws."

"Removing them from office through the High Lords' Council fully complies with Imperial law; their refusal would mean violating both Imperial law and their own faction."

"Ultimately, a High Lord is merely a spokesperson for a faction."

Uwula's two heads nodded simultaneously. "So this Council session will remove all three at once?"

"No. We'll use the sausage-cutting tactic."

Tiruien shook his head.

"Slice off one thin piece at a time."

"If we swallow them whole, they'll fight to the death. But if we slice slowly, one thin piece at a time, they won't react violently."

"First, we'll remove Ilthu from his post as Neiwu Force Director, but retain the weaker Fawu Force Minister and High Admiral in the Council."

"That will create rifts within their faction."

"Actually, I still have an excellent assassination squad," Uwula said, sounding slightly reluctant.

"Lord Guilliman prefers gentle, gradual reform, minimizing internal Imperial waste."

Tiruien reminded him.

"Saint Doraemon agreed—He wants us to avoid wasting resources and energy on such matters."

"'This is my money!' Saint Doraemon declared through His avatar, Doraemon."

"So it is the Holy Word!" Uwula nodded vigorously. "Already archived. I feel the Thinker Array's efficiency has improved."

Then Uwula continued: "What about Fadix? Our Grand Master of the Assassin's Chamber?"

He is crucial—Fadix commands the entire Assassin's Chamber.

Recall how during the Beast Wars, Grand Master Wange Liqi killed every High Lord in a single day and seized their power—still fresh in memory.

Fadix mostly follows the Assassin's Chamber's tradition: abstaining in High Lord meetings, neither supporting nor opposing.

But what does he truly think? Is he reformist or conservative? What are his intentions and desires? What kind of man is he?

All are mysteries—even Tiruien does not know which temple within the Assassin's Chamber he belongs to.

Tiruien had tried to uncover Fadix's secrets, gathering intelligence on him.

He believed other High Lords had done the same—it was normal; every High Lord had spies.

But every spy Tiruien sent into the Assassin's Chamber turned up the next morning as a bloody coffin placed outside his private sitting room.

"The Clowns attempted to infiltrate the Assassin's Chamber."

Tiruien chose his words carefully.

"They escaped unharmed—but found no valuable information."

"I don't know Fadix's political leanings, but the Three Lords seem unconcerned."

"Then Saint Doraemon must have already arranged it," Uwula declared confidently.

Tiruien nodded slightly—he believed it too, just as Uwula did.

"Alright, let my poor old Tiruien begin rebuilding this council chamber."

Tiruien looked gloomily at the council hall, torn apart to fit Uwula inside.

In the Imperial Palace on Terra, within the High Lords' Grand Council Chamber,

Zhou Yun propped his chin on his hand, observing everything with keen interest.

The Empire's theoretical supreme rulers—the High Lords—sat around a massive, solid, hollow wooden round table.

Directly beside the table were thirteen seats.

Nine bore the emblems of their respective departments: Neiwu Force Director, Fawu Force Minister, High Pontiff of the Ecclesiarchy, Astropathic Choir Director, Inquisitorial Representative, General of the Forge of Mars, Grand Master of the Assassin's Chamber, Star Torch Director, and Navigator Ambassador.

These were the nine permanent seats.

The positions of Star Torch Director and Navigator Ambassador remained vacant.

The Star Torch Director had tried to reignite the Star Torch and accidentally wiped out the entire Star Torch Choir.

The Navigator Ambassador was a reformist, but his ideas were so extreme even Guilliman called them reckless—he had been dismissed.

Yet due to their permanent status, their seats were symbolically preserved.

The remaining three seats belonged to Grand Mistress Mo Wen Val of the Adepta Sororitas, Commander Trajan of the Imperial Guard, and High Admiral Melida Pereis—three non-permanent seats, not permanently tied to any department, yet possessing equal voting rights as other High Lords.

Generally, the High Lords consisted of these twelve seats.

But today, a thirteenth seat was added: that of Robert Guilliman, Regent of the Empire and Supreme Commander.

The Regent represents the Emperor's will, His proxy, and rightfully holds a seat and vote among the High Lords.

Zhou Yun and Saint Guilliman's seats were positioned behind Guilliman, granted attendance rights but sharing one vote with him.

One other person attended without voting rights: Imperial Chancellor Tiruien, standing at the center of the hollow round table, presiding over the High Lords' Council.

Hmm. Thirteen-person Council. The thirteenth seat represents divine will, mediated by a human. Familiar. So familiar.

Zhou Yun couldn't help internally grumbling.

How is this any different from the Skaven's Thirteen-Person Council in Warhammer Fantasy? Their thirteenth seat also belongs to their god, Great Horned Rat.

No wonder Zhou Yun always felt the Emperor was copying him—he was a rat, after all.

That's so evil. He deserves to be smashed with an Earth Destruction Bomb.

And Guilliman too—rounding up, he's a rat too. No wonder he always makes Zhou Yun work overtime.

As he thought this, Zhou Yun glanced at Guilliman beside him—but his peripheral vision was drawn to Neiwu Force Director Ilthu.

As the former presiding High Lord, Ilthu's seat sat right next to Guilliman, close enough that Zhou Yun could reach out and slap him.

Xilandelie Veilwalker had reported Ilthu's condition to Zhou Yun—he knew this poor fool's Neiwu Force Director had been fed neurotoxins by his clearly suspicious assistant, Neso.

Though Zhou Yun didn't know Neso's motive, the toxin's effects were obvious.

Ilthu's entire right side twitched uncontrollably—and so did his head.

"Director Ilthu, why is your head pointy?" Zhou Yun blurted out to the Neiwu Force Director, whose head bore a small pointed protrusion.

"My pointiness does slightly hinder my duties as a High Lord, but it hasn't impeded my fulfillment of them."

"Though I'm not in a hurry, let's not delay further—I'm eager to begin the first agenda item."

(My health has been poor lately. Updated at 7: 7 AM, dedicated to the Blessing.)

(Actually, I've been dizzy and unwell—updated early to check feedback.)

(End of Chapter)