Lord of Caldera - Chapter 378

Chapter 378: Chapter 378 The New Emperor
Even the courtiers felt something was amiss, glancing at one another uncertainly. Yet Sylas remained unfazed.

“From the moment the Crown Prince died, everything was already decided. Why bother with unnecessary formalities? If there were even a shred of genuine loyalty among the lords, it might be worth considering, but that isn’t the case.”

Displays of abdication and reconciliation, commonly referred to as “coronation shows,” were only meaningful in preserving loyalty to the existing order. But in this case, genuine loyalty was almost nonexistent.

Under such circumstances, it was far more effective to assert the emergence of a new order through overwhelming strength.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Sylas said suddenly.

“…!?”

Sylas picked up one of the chairs meant for the nobles and placed it directly beneath the throne, in the exact spot Maximilian had once occupied. It was the regent’s seat—a position that traditionally acted as the Emperor’s proxy when the Emperor was absent.

But Sylas’s actions made it clear: he was declaring himself regent despite the Emperor’s presence.

“Your Majesty, please retire and rest. I will handle the remaining affairs.”

“Very… well,” Zichard replied with a resigned sigh, bowing his head deeply. He rose weakly from the throne and shuffled toward his chambers.

As the court nobles watched in stunned silence, Sylas spoke again.

“Let us begin. What is the first item on the agenda?”

None of the court nobles dared to oppose Sylas. It was only natural; these were the same individuals who had quietly served under Maximilian.

Sylas had the power to accuse any of them of treason and execute them at will.

“If the Emperor were inclined to protect us, it might be a different story, but he has no such intention.”

In reality, Sylas was the one holding Zichard back from enacting a full purge of the court.

This left the nobles in a precarious position, like candles flickering in the wind. To survive, they had no choice but to work tirelessly for Sylas.

Having completely secured control of the capital, Sylas set the final stage of his plan into motion, using the Emperor as a figurehead.

“I have no children by my queen, and while there are offspring from my concubines, they are unfit to inherit the throne. Therefore, I intend to appoint Count Sylas as my successor. I summon the Empire’s nobles to convene and discuss this matter in the capital.”

The court nobles nodded in agreement. It was hardly a surprising proclamation. The Crown Prince was dead, Sylas controlled the Imperial Palace, and there were no longer any loyalist nobles to speak of.

Moreover, a significant number of lords from across the Empire already supported Sylas. Naming anyone else as successor would have been madness.

However, not all provincial nobles agreed.

“What? The Emperor intends to pass the throne to the Count?”

“Even if it’s His Majesty’s decision, how can a non-royal ascend to the throne?”

“This cannot stand! I will personally persuade His Majesty to reconsider!”

Some nobles voiced strong objections for various reasons—loyalty to the old order, jealousy over the throne, or fear of Sylas’s dominance.

The greatest concern was Sylas’s potential consolidation of power.

“If the dragonslayer becomes Emperor, he’ll wield immense authority. Any rebellion could be crushed in an instant.”

“Even in regions where the royal family’s influence didn’t reach, the mere shadow of their authority was suffocating. And now he’ll have both?”

“No, this cannot be allowed. We must make our voices heard and find a way to keep him in check.”

Certain provincial nobles, particularly those in the East who had not encountered Sylas directly, boarded their carriages with such thoughts.

But they would soon come to see things differently.

“…”

“…”

The nobles who had come to the capital to protest Sylas’s rise to the throne now walked through the palace in silence. None of them dared to speak or voice their complaints.

They didn’t need to be told what might happen if they did—the conversations they overheard around them made it abundantly clear.

“So, the royal family is finally changing hands.”

“It’s only natural. Who else but the Count could become the next Emperor?”

“That may be true, but surely there will be some who refuse to accept it.”

“Who would be so foolish?”

A noble snorted, shaking his head.

“In the North and South, there isn’t a single lord of baron rank or higher who doesn’t support the Count. The West is largely under the Hernig family’s control, and Count Ray is a staunch loyalist of his.”

“Yes, I know that much. But in the East, isn’t he supported only by the Corleone family?”

“The balance of power has already tipped. What can a few holdouts tucked away in the East hope to do? Actually, come to think of it, this might be an opportunity.”

One young noble, recently made head of his house, chuckled as if struck by an idea. His expression was like that of a child imagining a mischievous prank.

“Don’t you think the Count might want to deal with these petty nuisances before becoming Emperor? If we play our cards right, we could help him wipe out the rebellious lords and reap some rewards in the process.”

“Oh, that’s a good point! My own territory in the South happens to border the East.”

“I envy you. Opportunities to expand one’s lands don’t come often.”

The Eastern nobles who had intended to oppose Sylas’s coronation felt a chill run down their spines.

The talk of “expanding territories” obviously didn’t mean purchasing land. It was clear these nobles were referring to massacring entire ruling families and annexing their lands.

Such brutality would have been unthinkable under the reign of Emperor Zichard, but now, with a shift in power imminent, it seemed entirely plausible.

“Damn it, I didn’t realize we were such a minority. Almost everyone else seems perfectly fine with the Count becoming Emperor!”

“Fine with it? It’s more like they’re ready to kill anyone who dares to oppose him.”

“Could that be why we were summoned here? To weed out rebellious nobles before he takes the throne?”

It was a perfectly reasonable assumption. Sylas had already demonstrated a willingness to eliminate obstacles during his unification of Drakenfels, wiping out entire families that stood in his way.

If he intended to remove potential threats preemptively, it wouldn’t be surprising. The realization sent a sharp, icy shiver down the Eastern nobles’ spines.

Opposing his coronation? Seeking leverage for future negotiations? Such thoughts now seemed laughable. This was no time to be making demands.

“One wrong word here, and my family will be wiped out.”

The Eastern nobles licked their dry lips, quickly abandoning any notion of voicing dissent.

Zichard knew deep down that it was over, yet he clung to a small shred of hope. He hoped that when Sylas sought to claim the throne, some among the lords might at least show reluctance.

It wasn’t out of faith in their loyalty but simply because power transitions had always been accompanied by friction and resistance.

“There must be those who are jealous, or those who seek to negotiate for future gains. Even if Sylas gains a majority, it won’t be unanimous.”

He had given up on reclaiming power but still harbored a sliver of pride—the belief that there were those who would prefer his reign to Sylas’s.

But that pride was shattered in the throne hall.

“Is there truly no one? Is there not a single person who will oppose giving the throne to the Count?”

The Emperor’s cry, tinged with desperation, went unanswered. The lords who once called themselves loyalists turned their heads away. Not a single voice of dissent was raised.

Instead, applause erupted, echoing through the hall as though they were congratulating him.

“What a truly wise decision, Your Majesty. Who but the Count could inherit the throne?”

“In merit and achievement, none surpass him.”

“Anyone who opposes this is a traitor and should be executed on the spot.”