Civil Servant in Romance Fantasy-Chapter 341: Khan (2)

The next person the Emperor turned to once Barnio left after taking full responsibility was the Minister of Intelligence. And with his first words, he dropped the bombshell: the emergence of a Khan.

The Minister of Intelligence continued calmly even though he was suddenly addressed by his title and was receiving countless gazes. Although he was usually sensitive to others’ gazes, probably from being holed up alone in the Information Department office, he didn’t seem to feel the stares now due to the gravity of the situation.

“As Your Majesty is well aware, the last unification and uprising of the nomads were centered around the Ga’ar Tribe. Following the Rebel’s defeat, the Empire ensured the Ga’ar Tribe’s stronghold was thoroughly eradicated.”

Throughout history, the nomads have never been unified. Thus, the empire needed to thoroughly eradicate the Ga’ar tribe because they were the first to unify the nomads. I remembered how thorough that process was—I was part of it, burning their camps to ashes.

“However, the Ga’ar Tribe has resurged under the leadership of Udesur Dorgon, the Rebel’s blood kin, and the missing War Machine. They quickly subdued the surrounding tribes and consolidated their power. This is information secured by the Blue Claw Knights during their retreat, and the Information Department considers it credible.”

To declare it with such certainty in front of the Emperor and an audience of high-ranking officials meant the claim wasn’t just a mere rumor. If the Minister of Intelligence said that Dorgon had declared himself Khan and begun unification, then it was as good as confirmed.

Even if Dorgon hadn’t officially claimed the title of Khan, the signs of a single, unified force were unmistakable, just like five years ago.

So it’s them.

I held back a sigh. It wasn’t hard to guess which tribes Dorgon had rallied.

Although Kagan had wiped out all the pro-empire tribes in the North, he didn’t destroy every tribe that didn’t join him. Neutral tribes, ones indifferent to conflict and unworthy of recruitment, had been left alone—treated as a kind of third faction. They were nominally under Kagan’s command, but actually in a reserve army position playing in the rear.

And understandably so. There were already plenty of tribes with bad blood between them within the forces he rallied, so recruiting disinterested tribes would have been a waste of effort, even for him.

We should have dealt with them then.

After the war, the Empire failed to bring those third-faction tribes under control. We neither eradicated them under the pretext of having been Kagan’s forces nor actively recruited them for influence in the North. The empire’s capacity at the time wouldn’t have produced successful results whichever path we chose.

And this was the consequence. While the Empire stumbled along in its recovery, Dorgon had regrouped those tribes and established a force capable of threatening the Empire’s stability.

“Moreover, the forces Udesur Dorgon has unified are estimated to be between 50,000 and 70,000—“

“Minister of Intelligence.”

At the Emperor’s displeased call, the Minister of Intelligence hurriedly lowered his head.

“To face 20,000 nomads on the plains, we need at least five army corps. Speak precisely.”

At those words, the Minister of Intelligence hesitated before finally opening his mouth.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but the Empire lost the majority of its intelligence networks in the north after the last Great Northern War. As a result, we can’t grasp the scale of each tribe unlike before. Also, we can’t be certain about the scale of remnants hiding in the dungeons.”

Admitting to one’s limitations in front of the Emperor was a rare and bold act. The Emperor’s eyebrow twitched, but he quickly composed himself.

The Empire’s intelligence networks in the north had indeed been decimated during the war. The Emperor might be strict, but he wasn’t unreasonable—he wouldn’t punish someone for the impossible. If anything, the Ministry of Intelligence deserved credit for gathering even this much.

“...In this humble subject’s judgment, the probability of it being below 60,000 is extremely low.”

“I see.”

The Emperor’s voice was unnervingly calm as he listened to the Minister of Intelligence’s desperate addition.

The margin of error of 20,000 was reduced to 10,000. A margin of error of 10,000 wasn’t small, either, but to reduce it further would require guessing rather than dealing with information.

“Minister of War.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

After hearing the Minister of Intelligence’s report, the Emperor turned to the Minister of War.

“How far has the cavalry restoration progressed?”

“The force’s discipline and valor are on par with their pre-war state, and their numbers have recovered to 70 percent of full strength. However, their training remains inferior to that of the nomads.”

The Emperor showed no particular reaction to the Minister of War’s answer, who bowed his head. This too must be within the Emperor’s expectations, so he was letting it pass.

After all, a cavalry wasn’t something you could create by simply handing someone a lance and a horse. True cavalry was forged through grueling training and symbiosis between the rider and mount. And if the enemy were nomads, then several times more effort was needed.

“However, other forces excluding cavalry have recovered to their previous numbers.”

“The Minister of War has done a great job.”

Though the update was encouraging, the Emperor’s expression remained unreadable. Restored numbers were one thing; rebuilding training and discipline to previous levels was another entirely. The Minister of War probably said this just to soothe the Emperor’s mood a little.

The Emperor fell into silence after the report, allowing the gathered officials to process the gravity of what was unfolding. They were left to contemplate questions that weighed on everyone’s minds: how many troops would be needed, how much logistical support could be mobilized, and whether the Empire’s reserves were sufficient. When it was clear to all that preparations for war were underway, the nobles began to eye each other.

How many private soldiers should be mobilized if war breaks out? How much military supplies should be secured? Is the food supply sufficient?

Their minds were probably busy with such thoughts.

“Iron-Blooded Duke.”

“A large amount of materials have been sent to the North to restore areas damaged by the Great Northern War. As there was relatively little material available for producing military supplies— I humbly report that there will be difficulties in a prolonged war.”

“Wise Duchess.”

“Thanks to His Majesty’s protection, last year was a good harvest. However, due to continuous relief efforts, our reserves are low. So like the Iron-Blooded Duke, I cannot guarantee that we are prepared for an extended conflict.”

The Emperor broke his silence to summon two dukes, who instantly offered responses that aligned with what he had anticipated.

Meanwhile, whispers rippled through the assembly at the Wise Duchess’s sober voice. The fact that even she wasn’t drunk was enough to cause unease. After all, her state of soberness was, for many, an unofficial barometer of the Empire’s crisis level.

This is driving me crazy.

Of course, whether the Wise Duchess was sober or not wasn’t the important thing right now. The reports from the Minister of War and the two dukes meant that things weren’t looking good for the Empire.

Earlier this year, the Empire had hosted a grand New Year’s Ball to showcase its recovery. The event was a message to the world: despite the bloodshed from the Great Northern War and the imperial succession disputes, the Empire was back in full strength.

But that was actually half a bluff.

Three years isn’t enough to erase such scars.

If the Empire’s current state was compared to a person’s, it would be a boxer who had barely survived 12 grueling rounds: bleeding, battered, and barely standing.

Yes, the Empire had managed to get back on its feet, but asking it to re-enter the boxing ring now? That would be madness. Sure, we could fight, but any victory would come with devastating consequences.

The current empire was only slightly better than a crumbling restaurant with a ‘We’re open for business’ placard. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was far from its prime.

“Your Majesty. Please allow me to speak.”

Breaking the tension, a middle-aged man stepped forward to request the floor.

“Speak.”

“Long live His Majesty. I am honored by Your Majesty’s grace.”

The man bowed his head politely, showing respect at the Emperor’s permission.

The Chairman?

Count Vardon was the chairman of the Imperial Council, known as the Emperor’s shadow and limbs. His request to speak independently at a gathering of all high-ranking officials made the other nobles focus on the chairman.

Was this truly the chairman’s independent statement, or was it an act pre-arranged with the Emperor?

“Your Majesty, it’s true that the current empire has many shackles, but the empire must move nonetheless.”

“You’re acknowledging the empire’s difficulties yet also saying we must move. Chairman, what do you mean?”

“These nomads must have forgotten the Rebel’s demise. It is imperative that we remind them, with blood and unyielding might, of the Empire’s indomitable strength.”

As soon as those words ended, the Imperial Counts one by one requested permission to speak. The Emperor granted permission to each of them without hesitation.

“Your Majesty, there have been many hardships in imperial history, but it was the empire that emerged victorious in the end. The current hardship is merely another part of imperial history.”

“It’s true that the empire hasn’t reached its past glory, but the rebels in the North will become arrogant if we don’t move now. Such inaction will cost us even more blood and tears in the future. Your Majesty, now is the time for the Empire to act.”

“Your Majesty. Your brave and peerless soldiers and the subjects who have received the imperial family’s grace are waiting only for your command.”

With the unanimous demands for war, the quiet conference room suddenly transformed into a place denouncing the North’s arrogance and rebellious hearts.

So it was the latter.

I realized that after watching the Imperial Counts, and the chairman who took a step back while the Emperor nodded calmly.

Right, there was no way an Imperial Count would speak their own opinion. Of course it was a show put on with the Emperor.

— ...And I just found out that the Minister of the Imperial Household has summoned all Ministers. His Majesty the Emperor has personally gone to the Imperial Council.

Suddenly, the 2nd Manager’s report came to mind. I was wondering why he visited the council before issuing the assembly order, but the Emperor was already thinking about going to war even then on.

As time passed, other nobles who sensed the situation began to join this denunciation. Their expressions were contorted, but that contortion wasn’t just due to anger towards the North.

“With so many loyal subjects, I am truly a blessed emperor.”

That was the decisive blow. The nobles’ public opinion shifted towards war due to the Imperial Counts’ instigation. Now, if the Emperor declared war, he would be ‘an Emperor who accepted the voluntary request for war from loyal subjects’ instead of ‘an Emperor who started a war despite the empire’s unfavorable situation.’

In short, there was no need to make excuses to nobles who would suffer losses by participating in this war. As always, politics came as naturally as breathing to this man.

“You speak the truth. The Empire has always stood unyielding, and it will continue to endure any hardship, standing tall against all adversities. Even a Khan is merely one of the territorial lords in front of me, who serves the Mandate of Heaven.”

The Emperor declared this as he rose from his throne. As he did, the nobles and even the Crown Prince and Ainter standing behind knelt and bowed their heads.

“We shall show the Mandate of Heaven to those who do not know it, and establish dignity to those who deny it.”

A thunderous voice that seemed impossible to come from an old body echoed through the conference room.

“We shall rightfully bring the North that has strayed from the empire’s embrace, and the nomads who do not know the parent of all under heaven, into the proper order.”

?

Huh?

Wait, what?

That sounded strange. It somehow didn’t seem like a simple subjugation order. Strayed from the empire’s embrace? Bring into the proper order?

“From the southernmost tip of this continent to the farthest reaches of the North, the light of Livnoman shall shine.”

No matter how I listened, this wasn’t just about suppressing a rebellion. It was a declaration to conquer the North.

“Long live His Majesty the Emperor! Long live Livnoman!”

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“May Kefellofen be eternal! Long live His Majesty the Emperor for ten thousand years!”

But no one could object.

In this atmosphere, even a misplaced word would be tantamount to treason.