Chapter 703
People's joys and sorrows are not shared.
Although the imperial officials present each had their own sources of information, they were already aware of what Emperor Wilson was announcing today.
But hearing firsthand that an imperial prince had his title stripped still shocked many people.
Gregor's title of prince was stripped, which meant he also lost his status as a regional lord and was reduced to a leisurely prince in the capital, a prisoner confined in a magnificent cage.
This not only stripped him of his power, but also of his status and honor.
Regardless of the changes in the expressions on the faces of the crowd, Emperor Wilson's voice remained unchanged as he continued to announce the punishment for Greg:
"Third, due to his personal recklessness, the enormous material losses he caused to the empire must be compensated by his personal assets."
The following assets under Gregor Jarvis’s name shall be confiscated, including but not limited to three fine iron ore veins in the Eastern Territory, all shares in the Yunlan Sea trade route in the Southern Territory, and forty-two high-quality real estates, shipyards, chambers of commerce and other appreciable properties in the capital and seven provinces, with a total valuation equivalent to approximately two years’ worth of the Empire’s naval military expenses.
The confiscated properties will be immediately returned to the Imperial Treasury to cover the deficit caused by this incident and to provide compensation to the families of the fallen soldiers.
This last point was like a final, heavy blow, striking Greg's chest and the hearts of every attendee.
The assets announced by Emperor Wilson accounted for nearly half of Gregor's personal assets.
This is the harshest penalty ever imposed on a prince in the history of the empire. It not only means that Greg's personal wealth has been halved, but also that the economic foundation he has built over many years to maintain his vast network of power has been instantly emptied.
Without financial support, how much loyalty would remain among the officials, generals, and retainers who depended on him?
After the verdict was read, Emperor Wilson no longer glanced at Greg, as if the ashen-faced young man was no different from the decorative pillars in the hall.
He surveyed the assembled officials, his voice regaining its usual dignified and calm tone:
"This ruling shall take effect immediately. I hope all ministers will take this as a warning, diligently perform their duties, and prioritize the interests of the Empire above all else, so that such a tragedy may never be repeated. Court adjourned."
The attendant's loud "Dismiss the court!" echoed in the empty hall.
The emperor, surrounded by palace guards, left through a side gate.
The throne is empty.
The ministers also began to rise stiffly, exchanging glances and talking in hushed tones, but all deliberately keeping their voices low and avoiding the area at the end of the long table.
No one comforted Greg, and very few people even looked in his direction.
The sycophantic faces that once surrounded him have all vanished.
The imperial court has always been the most snobbish and forgetful place.
The heavy palace gates closed slowly, the dull thud sounding not like wood rubbing against stone, but like a direct blow to Gregor Jarvis's spine.
Greg stood beneath the towering pillars outside the main hall of the palace. The afternoon sun was still bright, even somewhat dazzling, falling on his princely robes embroidered with dull gold thread, yet bringing no warmth whatsoever.
The emperor's cold pronouncements still echoed in his ears, each word like a red-hot branding iron, searing his soul, sizzling and emitting wisps of smoke that seemed to be nothing short of shame and despair.
Disqualification from inheritance, stripping of the title of prince, confiscation of nearly half of the property... these are the official rulings.
They were like sharp knives, chipping away at his power, status, and wealth piece by piece, leaving him bloodied and in excruciating pain.
However, what was colder and more chilling than these blades was the loss of Emperor Wilson's trust.
The emperor's trust was the cornerstone of all his ambitions, the source of his confidence to look down on his ministers, and the most important bargaining chip in his competition with his brothers.
Now, the foundation beneath his feet has crumbled.
The last look his father gave him was devoid of anger or rebuke, only a chilling indifference, as if he were looking at a worthless object.
That look in his eyes was more heartbreaking than any angry words.
He knew that in his father's heart, the eldest son Greg, who was "capable of shouldering great responsibilities," had sunk into the endless sea along with the defeat in the siege of the merfolk and the loss of the empire's dignity.
Whirlpool Fortress, just like its name suggests.
This place, where he was born and raised, and where he once thought he would rule, has always been the most snobbish, the most forgetful, and the most adept at kicking someone when they're down.
The wind shifted so quickly it was breathtaking, and so cruel it sent chills down your spine.
Even before today's official announcement, Greg's former "allies" and "supporters" had already begun to subtly sever ties.
The constant stream of visiting cards and attentive greetings that used to flood the Prince's residence seemed to have vanished overnight.
Several family patriarchs who had previously held important positions under him and swore allegiance to him soon appeared elsewhere—either at the private salon of the Second Prince Borg or at the hunting banquet of the Fourth Prince Gobert.
They chatted happily, as if their previous investment and commitment to Greg were nothing more than an insignificant dream.
Of course, there are also more direct blows.
Gregor's original responsibility for Imperial maritime coordination was transferred entirely to the Second Prince, Boggs, by the Cabinet under the pretext of "improving efficiency and focusing on cleanup."
The Royal Coastal Trade Inspectorate, to which he had devoted much effort and placed many of his cronies, was also merged into the Ministry of Commerce and Taxation, which was headed by the fourth prince, Gobert.
Gobert, the fourth brother who was fond of parties, art, and beautiful men and women and was considered by many to be "indulging in pleasure and not worth worrying about," simply smiled casually when he received this generous gift, as if he had only received a novel toy.
But a glint of shrewdness flashed in Greg's eyes, making him realize that he might have underestimated his "carefree" younger brother.
He knew that behind this thunderous punishment was far more than just his father's fury.
He knew perfectly well how much effort, how much underhanded influence, and how much seditious influence Bogues and Gobert, his two "good brothers," and the forces behind them had exerted in all of this.
Like sharks that have smelled blood, they pounced on him when he was at his weakest, precisely tearing off the fattest pieces of flesh and dividing up the territory he had built up over many years.
In just a few days, Greg clearly felt the muddy situation he had fallen from the clouds to.
In the past, he entered and exited the palace with a retinue of attendants, and could make decisions on matters thousands of miles away with a single word.
Now, as he walks along the palace path, even the lowest-ranking servants might have a hint of barely perceptible disdain in their eyes when they bow.
He currently holds the title of "Grand Prince" but his actual power is probably far less than that of a hereditary duke who possesses a real fiefdom and can collect taxes and recruit soldiers.
The Grand Duke still has a strong foundation, a private army, and absolute authority within his territory.
And what does he have left besides the increasingly empty and cold prince's mansion in the capital, and those retainers who quickly scattered like monkeys after the tree fell?
A long, clear, oceanic chime rang out from the tallest bell tower in the palace, piercing the slightly stuffy afternoon air.
The bell tolls daily at a fixed time, marking the official end of the day's court proceedings.
In the past, the sound of this bell meant that he could temporarily put down his burdens, discuss the next steps with his confidants, or enjoy the compliments and flattery he deserved.
Today, however, the tolling of the bell is like an order to leave, an echo of a verdict that has completely eliminated him from the game.
Greg was jolted awake from his numb, frozen state, only to realize that he had been standing under the pillars for quite some time without realizing it.
The sunlight stretched his shadow long, lying alone on the smooth, mirror-like ground, making him appear exceptionally thin.
He moved his stiff neck, took a deep breath, and tried to swallow the bitter taste mixed with the metallic rust in his chest, but only got a stronger wave of nausea.
Suppressing his complicated thoughts, he strode forward and walked along the wide palace road towards the outside of the palace.
He appeared somewhat unsteady and unsteady; against the backdrop of the magnificent palace, his back looked hunched and dejected, as if his pillars had been completely removed.
Passing through the palace gates guarded by solemn palace guards, and stepping out of the gilded gate that symbolizes the supreme authority of the empire, the bustling atmosphere of the marketplace mixed with the warm afternoon breeze hits you.
The carriages rumbled, the voices clamored, vendors hawked their wares, noblewomen chatted and laughed... The capital remained bustling and prosperous, as if the court assembly in the palace that determined the fate of an individual or even a family had never happened.
This stark contrast deepened Greg's inner turmoil.
People's joys and sorrows are not shared!
However, just as Greg stood at the edge of the square outside the palace gates, staring blankly at the bustling traffic, unsure of where to go, and even feeling that the familiar streets of the capital had become strange and full of malice.
A figure, a figure he never expected to appear here, walked slowly and deliberately in front of him with a perfectly timed smile, blocking his bewildered gaze.
The newcomer wore a deep purple robe with silver trim, stood tall and composed, and had his dark brown hair neatly combed. He was none other than Count Garland June, the current head of the June family and the Imperial Minister of Finance.
Garland wore a gentle smile, neither overly warm nor distant.
He nodded slightly, his movements impeccable, and his voice was steady and clear, just enough for Greg to hear without attracting too much attention from those around him.
"Good day, Your Highness. The weather is nice today."
You look somewhat tired; meetings in the palace are always long.
If Your Highness has no other plans for tonight, how about we find a quiet place to have a couple of drinks together?
"There's a nice shop in the west of the city. The owner's homemade rye wine has a unique flavor, and it's also... quiet enough for a chat." Garland's tone was calm and natural, as if he were just making a perfectly ordinary suggestion for a pastime from a colleague he had met by chance.
However, at this sensitive moment, when Greg had just suffered a devastating blow and everyone was avoiding him like the plague, the head of the June family, a high-ranking official of the empire and always cautious, took the initiative to approach him and extend such a private invitation...
Gregor Jarvis stood at the edge of the bustling square outside the palace, feeling somewhat dazed.
Garland June's face, with its standard social smile, and the invitation he extended, seemed somewhat blurry and unreal, as if separated by a thick veil of water.
He stood there stunned for a long while before his unfocused gaze finally settled on the Chancellor of the Exchequer's composed face.
The June family... Garland June...
The name and the face stirred ripples in Greg's currently confused mind.
Yes, the June family, that ancient, wealthy family deeply rooted in the empire's financial and shipping networks, yet always subtly maintaining a distance, never easily getting involved in the princes' conflicts.
Their patriarch, Viscount Garland, was known for his prudence and shrewdness.
In the past, when Greg was at the height of his power and influence, he had extended an olive branch to this family.
Generous promises of benefits, important vacancies, and even subtle hints of future rewards for "serving the emperor"...
But without exception, they were all rejected.
Garland June always declined with impeccable politeness, offering a series of smooth and tactful reasons that left no room for criticism.
Greg had secretly speculated that it might be because of the Salgado family.
After all, the June family and the Salgado family were related by marriage. Although that connection had long become irrelevant with the fall of Salgado, perhaps in the hearts of these old nobles, there were still some old-fashioned knots about "morality" that they could not untie.
In any case, the June family's big ship never docked at Greg's pier.
And now... what is he now?
A prince who had just been stripped of all his glory and power by his father, betrayed by his brothers, and discarded like trash by his former supporters—a joke with only a title.
As he stood there, he could even feel the pitying or mocking glances cast his way by some low-ranking officials who passed by.
Just then, when everyone was avoiding him like the plague, afraid of getting tainted by his bad luck, Garland June, the head of the June family who was always careful to protect himself, actually took the initiative to come over and invited him to "have a couple of drinks" in such a peaceful tone.
absurd!
This was the first thought that popped into Greg's mind.
Did Garland come here specifically to see him make a fool of himself?
No, given Garland June's status and shrewdness, if he truly wanted to kick someone when they're down, he would have countless more effective and ruthless ways. He would never need to resort to such a childish, face-to-face invitation and mockery.
So... is he serious?
At this extremely sensitive moment, why extend a private invitation to him, a prince who has "lost power"?
Greg felt a strange sensation in his heart, like the heat and trepidation he felt the first time he slept with a woman.
Despite his reason warning loudly that this might be a trap, emotionally, being approached with such kindness felt like a tiny warmth in the midst of the bitter cold, compared to the countless cold betrayals and blatant plunder he had endured in recent days.
In just a few seconds, countless thoughts flashed through Greg's mind.
Ultimately, the unwillingness to succumb to despair overcame the doubts.
Even if it's a trap, what's wrong with going to check it out?
Could things get any worse? Besides, what if there's something else going on behind the scenes?
He straightened his somewhat stiff back, trying to make himself look less dejected, and forced a smile that was barely acceptable:
"Viscount, thank you for your invitation."
Today... was indeed a bit long and tedious. That place you mentioned sounds nice; I'd love to go.
……
Night completely enveloped Whirlpool Fortress.
At 7 p.m., deep in a quiet street in the west of the city, a private club with an inconspicuous storefront welcomed two special guests.
The club owner had clearly been instructed beforehand, and without any unnecessary pleasantries, respectfully and silently led Garland and Greg to a well-soundproofed private room at the very back of the second floor.
The private room wasn't large, but it was tastefully furnished.
The heavy wool carpet absorbed all footsteps, the walls were covered with dark sound-absorbing velvet, and the fireplace burned with fine silver frost wood, releasing a relaxing pine scent.
On a small round table, several delicate snacks to accompany the wine, as well as two crystal glasses, were already laid out.
On the small cart next to them were several antique-style ceramic bottles containing the owner's homemade rye wine.
Contrary to Greg's expectations of awkwardness or solemnity, Garland acted as if it were just a casual drink between old friends.
He didn't mention anything about what happened in the palace during the day, offered no probing, no comfort, and showed no pity or sense of superiority whatsoever.
He was like a skilled socialite, effortlessly steer the conversation toward the latest popular dramas in the capital, a minor scandal involving a nobleman, the taste of a certain exotic fruit recently brought in from the south, and even chattering about the club owner's private stash of rye wine, praising its rich flavor and its wonderfully caramelized aftertaste.
Greg was initially on edge, taking only a small sip of each drink and carefully choosing each word he said.
But perhaps the quiet and secluded environment made him relax a little, or perhaps Garland's attitude of not mentioning anything serious and only talking about romance really had an effect.
Or perhaps, the bitterness and loneliness he had been suppressing were desperately in need of an outlet—even if that outlet seemed so inappropriate.
After a few glasses of rich rye, a warm feeling spread from his stomach, and Greg's previously stiff facial features gradually softened.
He began to respond to Garland's topic, and occasionally even managed to twitch the corners of his mouth, revealing the first expression that could be considered a "smile" in the past few days.
He talked about the controversial new play at the Royal Theatre last year, the amusing incidents he encountered in the Royal Forest during the hunting season, and the jokes made by a notoriously stingy earl...
These topics were light and harmless, far removed from power and intrigue, allowing him to temporarily forget his identity as a prince and the humiliation of the day, as if he were just an ordinary young nobleman drinking and chatting with friends.
He was even surprised to find that Garland June was not the rigid finance minister he had always imagined, who only knew how to calculate gold coins and accounts. The man had a considerable understanding of the capital's anecdotes, art appreciation, and even fine wines and delicacies.
His speech is witty and insightful, yet without any hint of preaching or showing off.
This conversation, devoid of any ulterior motives, gradually eased Greg's tense nerves.
He drank faster than usual, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, and his eyes no longer held the gloom and wariness they had when he first entered.
Greg had to admit that Garland June was an excellent companion and a master at controlling the atmosphere.
Time slipped away quietly amidst the flickering firelight of the fireplace and the gentle clinking of wine glasses.
Most of the snacks on the table were gone, and the rye wine in the earthenware bottle was almost empty.
The alcohol warmed his body and temporarily numbed the sharp pain, but it did not numb Greg's ability to think.
As the initial sense of relaxation wore off, and with the effects of the alcohol, a hint of doubt slowly crept into Greg's mind.
What exactly is Garland June up to?
Was it really just a spur-of-the-moment decision to drink with this down-on-his-luck prince to relieve his boredom?
Greg simply couldn't believe that the June family was as ancient as their Alvis royal family.
Behind every action they take and every word they utter lies a precise calculation and purpose.
This is the ironclad rule of survival in the capital, especially for these long-established families.
Emboldened by the alcohol, Greg put down his crystal glass, stared into Garland's eyes, and spoke in a deep voice:
“Your Excellency, thank you for your hospitality tonight. The wine… was indeed excellent, and the conversation was very pleasant, allowing me to temporarily forget many of my troubles.”
He paused, his fingers unconsciously tracing the smooth rim of the glass, his gaze never leaving Garland's face:
"However, please forgive my bluntness... I, Gregor Alvis, am no longer the powerful prince I was a few months ago."
In the eyes of many people, my value is probably almost gone, or even... a trouble that needs to be avoided.
Therefore, I am truly curious, at such a sensitive moment, why would you, Your Excellency Viscount June, invite such a 'troublesome' person as me here for drinks and conversation? (End of Chapter)