Chapter 41
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A mere sliver of the tale aligned with what she recalled.
Namjoo puzzled over her own unease.
The narrative veered sharply from the path etched in her mind.
She had no inkling of the reason behind such a shift.
Back then, the tax controversy should have ignited first.
Conflict had ravaged the empire’s eastern territories and portions of the north.
Fresh from the front lines, the emperor opted to ease fiscal burdens there, fostering rebuilding efforts.
That sequence had unfolded already.
In the classic account, friction brewed when western and southern lords clamored for matching relief, citing wartime scars.
Yet those zones had escaped the bulk of the brutality, enduring scant true harm despite the prolonged strife.
Initially, the sovereign dismissed their pleas, though pressure mounted until he struck back fiercely.
Bypassing those early clashes plunged negotiations headlong into outright war.
With brutal speed.
What epiphany had reshaped the emperor’s resolve?
Her recollections yielded no catalyst for deviation.
Nothing momentous stirred near the throne, by all accounts.
Perhaps vital details eluded her grasp.
News trickled to her tardily; palace whispers reached her solely through Connie’s lips.
The foundational tale offered slim glimpses into his pre-heroine days, pieced from others’ reminiscences or visions.
Nobles’ fiscal pleas marked the flashpoint.
That standoff birthed their rift.
Matrimonial decrees fanned the fiscal blaze higher.
Without fervent tax pleas, the wedding uproar might have drawn milder ire.
Prior to the heroine’s sway, duty-bound unions struck him as mere imperial obligation.
Would this ripple warp future beats?
Her scheme to bide time, leveraging foreknowledge until the heroine emerged, teetered on ruin.
In the most dire fashion imaginable.
Spotting her shadowed visage, Connie hastened to clarify.
“No lives were lost in the fray.”
Slim comfort amid brewing peril.
Escalation loomed near.
She summoned memories of pre-heroine upheavals.
Nobles would regroup, contesting him relentlessly.
His sway over populace and forces unnerved them; a single setback could erode their influence enduringly.
True to form, aristocrats from every compass—east, west, north, south, heartland—forged a united front.
Even the prior ruler, reviled as the realm’s feeblest flop, shunned antagonizing the full nobility.
Confident in their pact, they eyed triumph.
If only against a less unyielding foe.
The emperor brooked no quarter. Kyle’s Blue Hawks and spy networks excelled at exposing rot.
Radicals fell first in the canon, felled by proofs of guilt.
Doom scaled with misdeeds: demotion, death, banishment.
None endured scrutiny unscathed; defiance invited chains. Their bloc frayed steadily.
He merely unveiled truths—they invited their fall.
Cleansing spared no one, snaring palace functionaries too.
Partisans and bystanders alike reeled.
Connie’s prior brush proved even minor cogs like them vulnerable.
Her blueprint—duck low till romance humanized him—crumbled now.
Turbulence encroached her orbit.
Unforeseeable gusts demanded bolder tactics than mere crouching.
No assurance spared her or kin from capricious gales.
Blue Hawks’ invitation tempted as sanctuary’s core.
Still, confronting it drained her nerve.
That hesitance lingered.
Benign to loyalists, yet Kyle’s bid gave pause.
Intimates faced no blanket shield.
Canon warned of chamberlains ousted for whispers, veterans culled for blunders—ruthlessly.
Battle-forged aides discarded sans remorse.
Insight pierced like lightning.
Instinct howled urgency.
A vital link dangled tantalizingly.
Connie, eyeing her torment, soothed.
“Brass may sweat, but us grunts? Untouched.”
Catastrophe brewed inescapably.
Dire enough to seize this instant.
Undeterred by her frown, Connie pressed.
“We seldom cross their paths. Routine shields us plenty.”
Her earnest bid for calm rang true this once.
Humble roots weathered gales deepest.
“Suppose so,” she murmured.
As gloom thickened, she coaxed a faint grin, defusing strain.
The elusive snag snapped clear.
“Hold on, Connie! Crucial bit just clicked.”
Her stark outburst hushed her friend, tension crackling.
Treasury Department drones, they ranked as palace afterthoughts.
Invisible in the tale’s weave, safe in obscurity.
Lately, threads bound her nearer thrones.
An aide flickered to mind.
Even canon-compliant, peril shadowed him—and her proximity.
That doomed aide whose flub stalled the purge… Everette?
A footnote figure, two lines at most.
His error alone postponed the sovereign’s sweep.
Name withheld then, overlooked.
Few adjutants served—scarce past a handful structurally.
Probability spiked.
Had Everette ever surfaced post-novel’s dawn?
