Two weeks later, the new imperial decree was issued across the land.

Ilan Castle.

Even before winter’s arrival, the north’s chill was biting. A thin layer of frost coated the fallen leaves.

Fireplaces blazed inside the castle, yet the cold still made one shiver.

All of Ilan’s civil officials and military generals had gathered here.

Before them stood their lord, Andrew Sfostandin—the man hailed as the “Overlord of the Northern Wastes.”

“My lord! We beg you to reject this decree!”

This order was outrageous…

They had built this land with their own hands. They had repelled northern invaders time and again.

And now the empire demanded a reshuffle of territories!?

They knew this meant losing their home. No one could rule better than the man before them!

A foolish noble’s reign was unbearable.

“My lord!”

“…Hmm.”

Andrew’s fingertips tapped the armrest rhythmically.

[Indeed… Uler X is a fool.]

This king gave Andrew a headache.

His loyalty forbade plunging the nation into chaos and the people into misery. That was why he’d swallowed foolish decrees before.

But after this one, the entire realm was in turmoil.

“The Northern Wastes beneath us… our nation… won’t be defiled by this fool any longer.”

Andrew had decided. Better to rebuild the rotting Uler Empire himself.

“Lower the imperial flag of Uler! Raise the banner of our Northern Wastes!”

Fervor burned on every face.

Raising that flag meant one thing—independence for Ilan of the Northern Wastes!

“Lower the imperial flag of Uler! Raise the banner of our Northern Wastes!”

The crowd roared, blood boiling with excitement.

“I stand here now. All that remains is conquest!”

Andrew gazed into the distance, as if locking eyes with Tren far away.

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“A pack of shortsighted fools… How have they survived this long?!”

Winston Wance, lord of Hohaton, roared in his mansion, clutching the decree.

He nearly tore it apart.

Only a brainless idiot would devise this. Were they actually gloating?

Half the nation’s lords would surely rebel.

The instant thoughts of dominance sparked, Winston’s ambition swelled.

“Summon every civil and military officer of Hohaton within two weeks!” he barked at a subordinate.

“Oh, and bring Rael and Raiton to my chamber.”

He had crucial tasks for his two sons.

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Meanwhile, nearly twenty lords across the Uler Empire lowered the imperial flag. They raised banners of independence.

Nobles no longer hid their private armies.

They rallied their troops to different lords.

The amassed forces now rivaled the imperial army itself.

Even religious temples began stirring restlessly.

Over the Zim Continent, war-smoke seemed to rise.

The ministers who proposed this decree panicked. Yet they still had one duty: calming the terrified Uler X.

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Alto stared at the imperial decree, heart torn.

Even his gentle nature wanted to curse the king.

Atop his castle, he gazed at his lands and gave a bitter smile.

Letting go of what he’d built with sweat was agony.

Unlike other lords counting coins in mansions, he’d toiled in fields, humbly learning from farmers. While they played with birds and dogs, he pored over ledgers, planning each year.

“Ah… God, if you exist… tell me what to do.”

Though not devout, he prayed.

He sought only his people’s welfare. Defying the decree never crossed his mind…

Alto had no ambition.

Alas, such a man in this era was a tragedy.

[Time remains… I’ll think carefully.]

He stood beside the Uler imperial flag, watching it for a long, long time.

The wind whipped his coat, making it flap loudly.