Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 546 A Dangerous Voting Situation

After the secular electors had all arrived, the secular electors and church electors opposite them also took their seats.

Seated at the head of the table was Kaspar von Heinrichsdorf, the commandant of the Royal Griffin Military Academy in Modheim, an old general with a posture as straight as steel.

He wore a plain, dark blue military dress uniform, the tassels on his epaulets being his only symbol of honor. His silver hair was cut very short, his face, sculpted like granite, bore the marks of time, and his grey eyes, sharp as an eagle's, seemed to pierce through all pretense, pointing directly to the core of strategy. His hands rested flat on the table, his knuckles large and calloused. Before the meeting began, he had remained almost entirely silent, simply observing and listening quietly.

His presence represented a calm and pragmatic assessment of the imperial military system. He disregarded the conflicts between the northern and southern churches or ancient traditions; he assessed only one thing: how much real weight Suli Bauhinia and her alliance could add to the empire's war machine, and whether their military potential was worthy of the honor of being elected. Any grand promises or political deals were unacceptable to him; he valued only quantifiable military strength, combat performance, and potential future threats.

Jero, the cheerful elder of the Mute Halfling Autonomous Territory, seemed somewhat out of place in the solemn atmosphere of the hall. He was short in stature, sitting in a specially made high-backed chair with his feet barely touching the ground, swinging leisurely.

He wore an exquisitely crafted, brightly colored tweed vest, sported a meticulously groomed, curly mustache, and his large eyes darted around, brimming with curiosity and shrewd calculation. He toyed with a beautifully carved briar pipe, occasionally bringing it to his nose to inhale the aroma of the tobacco. For him, the grand narratives of the empire and the power struggles were far less important than the tangible realities of business contracts and everyday life.

His stance was simple and pure: Who could provide safer and more convenient passage for halfling caravans? Who could bring newer and more exotic goods and a wider market? Whose territory could produce more delicious ingredients and finer ale? In his eyes, Su Li's rise primarily meant stability and potential prosperity for the northern trade routes of the border princely territories. If this newcomer could prove that he could better guarantee the halflings' trade interests and happy lives than the existing order, then the votes of the Mut territory would be virtually a foregone conclusion.

Moreover, he had heard that there seemed to be a halfling autonomous territory in the Black Forest Territory, where a large number of halflings gathered and were building up the halfling territory in full swing.

Among the church electors, the Church of Redmar (the Imperial State Church) is the largest and most notable. Archbishop Vokmar sits in the center like a golden mountain, his face ancient and his eyes like ancient glaciers, containing unquestionable authority and a natural wariness of heresy.

To his left, Archbishop Marcus Grynhalt, the Judge, had a somber expression and sharp, hooked eyes, as if ready to expose any words or actions that deviated from the Holy Scriptures. He harbored an instinctive aversion to any expansion of non-state church power. To his right, Archbishop Leonhard Goldman, the Treasurer, had a wealthy appearance, his fingers adorned with several jeweled rings, and his eyes gleamed with a keen eye for numbers and interests. He was more concerned with how the rise of the Church of the Blazing Sun would affect the income and distribution of church assets.

High Pope Emil Ironbeard of the Church of Yurik (White Wolf God) was a man of imposing stature and wild temperament, completely out of place in the solemn atmosphere of the hall. He was clad in a heavy white wolf pelt, wielding a wolf-headed scepter symbolizing power; his white hair and beard were matted and twisted, like an ancient cedar tree of the North. His eyes were filled with primal fury and disdain for weakness and compromise. He made no secret of his disgust for the "refined" faiths of the South and his unwavering defense of Northern traditions (especially the Middenland territory's stance). In his view, the expansion of the Church of the Blazing Sun was a direct erosion of the Yurik faith sphere, and the rise of Su Li was a provocation against the power of the North. His vote was almost certainly destined for the opposition, unless a radical upheaval occurred.

The last to take his seat was Archbishop Conrad Radiance of the Church of the Goddess of the Sun, the "newest" face in the hall. Dressed in a gold-red priestly robe, his expression solemn, yet a hint of pioneering spirit and prudence lingered in his eyes. He was acutely aware of the importance of this meeting to the future of the church, and every statement required careful consideration. He needed to firmly fight for the rights belonging to the Sun, proving that the church possessed the strength and contribution to garner secular electoral votes, while avoiding being overly radical and provoking the state church and other traditional forces. His speech would strive to closely link Su Li's personal success with the flourishing development of the Church of the Sun and its contributions to the imperial order, attempting to transform this power struggle into a public recognition of the legitimacy and value of the Sun faith.

Now, all sixteen electoral votes have been cast. Their wills—whether resolute, wavering, cautious, or fervent—are about to clash within the highest hall of imperial power, jointly deciding whether to make an exception and open a door to the heart of the empire for a count from the border. A silent contest hangs in the air; behind every vote lies the future of the empire.

After all the electors were seated, Imperial Chancellor Otto von Hefberger slowly rose to his feet. His lean face remained impassive, his deep gaze sweeping across the room, and his voice, steady and clear, echoed beneath the dome:
"Esteemed Electors and Church Representatives, we gather here today to consider the request of Count Su Li Bauhinia of the Black Forest Territory—namely, to establish a secular electorate for the Church of the Goddess of the Sun, to be held by him personally. This matter concerns the imperial legitimacy and future structure, and we hope that you will uphold your loyalty and responsibility to the Empire and exercise your power prudently."

Without any unnecessary pleasantries, he cut straight to the point: "Now, let's begin the vote. Those who support this motion, please say 'yes'; those who oppose it, please say 'no'; those who abstain, please indicate."

The words had barely left his lips when, almost without pause, a voice as chilling as the northern winds boomed out:

"no!"

Graf von Kazabagh, the "tyrant" of Middenland, suddenly stood up. His imposing figure exuded an aura of tyranny. He surveyed his surroundings, especially glaring fiercely at the silent Hermann beside him, and his voice was like the chopping of a battle axe: "Middenland territory resolutely opposes such a usurpation that disrupts the millennia-old order of the Empire!"

This roar was like the sounding of a battle horn.

"No!" Archpatriarch Emil Ironbeard of the Church of Yurik roared immediately afterward, slamming his wolf-headed scepter heavily on the ground with a dull thud, expressing the anger and rejection of the White Wolf God faith.

"No!" Bogislav von Kotke of the Nord Territory shouted, his voice rough with the sea breeze, and stood unhesitatingly on the side of his northern ally.

Immediately, the pressure shifted to the Imperial State Church. All eyes were on Archbishop Vokmar. This golden, mountain-like figure did not speak immediately; his majestic gaze slowly swept across the entire hall, finally exchanging a glance with the referee, Archbishop Glenhart, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

Walkma's voice was like the friction of glaciers, carrying an unquestionable, ultimate authority:
"The Church of Redmar, based on its commitment to the purity of faith and the maintenance of the imperial traditions, hereby proposes this motion..."

He paused slightly, then emphasized his words:
"no!"

"No!" Archbishop Glenhart, the judge, immediately followed up, his voice sharp and carrying a sense of judgment.

"No!" Archbishop Goldman, the treasurer, also cast his dissenting vote expressionlessly. Although his reasons might have been more about weighing the interests, at this moment, the three votes of the state church had to be unified.

In a short time, six heavy dissenting votes had been cast!

The combined power of Middenland (one vote), the Church of Yurik (one vote), the Nord (one vote), and the Church of Redmar—the two northern provinces and the two strongest churches in the empire—demonstrated a breathtaking strength!

A murmur of discontent rose in the hall. Sixteen electoral votes—the opposition had secured nearly half in the very first moment! This was undoubtedly a very dangerous sign, putting immense pressure on those who supported the motion.

Princess Phyllis of Suland, her usually serene and beautiful face now showing a slight narrowing of her icy blue eyes, and a barely perceptible tightening of her fingers resting on her knees. She knew all too well the rules of the Electoral Council; in every major vote, it was difficult to guarantee that all electors would vote, and often two or three would abstain for various reasons. If this trend continued, the opposition's current six votes, even with many absentees, were enough to decide the outcome! They might truly be just one or two votes away from securing victory!

Archbishop Conrad Radiant of the Church of the Blazing Sun, though striving to maintain a solemn expression, betrayed his inner tension with tightly pursed lips and slightly straightened back. The combined efforts of the Imperial State Church and the Church of Yurik had far exceeded his initial expectations. This was not merely aimed at Su Li, but a powerful declaration of suppression against the rise of the Church of the Blazing Sun.

The atmosphere of the meeting instantly turned extremely unfavorable to Su Li due to the relentless collective opposition from the northern forces. All eyes were on the seats yet to be cast—those of Westerland, Steeleland, Talabekland, Ostermarkland, Mordheim Academy, the Mutter halflings, and most crucially, the prime minister beside the vacant throne. Every vote that followed was vital, determining the ultimate outcome of this power struggle.

Graf von Kazabagh, the "tyrant" of Middenland, upon hearing that the state church had also voted against it, instantly transformed his anger into an undisguised, cruelly gleeful mockery. He turned his massive frame toward Phyllis of Sorland, his voice booming, deliberately made to be heard clearly throughout the hall:

"Look! This is the end result of your 'frontier lover's' delusions, Prince Phyllis!" He laughed heartily, his laughter filled with contempt. "By rolling around in the swamp and seducing a few fanciful churches, you thought you could rise to the top of the empire's highest power in one step? It's utterly ridiculous! It seems that your little lover's charm and luck are nothing compared to the true authority of the empire!"

These vulgar and highly insulting words lashed through the air like a whip. Many electors frowned, but no one spoke up to stop them; the situation emboldened the Northern Alliance.

Princess Phyllis's exquisite face instantly turned frosty, her long silver hair seeming to flutter slightly with anger. She didn't look at Graf; her icy blue eyes stared directly at the empty throne before her. Her tightly pressed cherry lips parted slightly, her voice as cold as ice striking stone, yet carrying an undeniable firmness:
“Surland, ‘Yes.’” She ignored Graf’s provocation and simply cast her vote of approval clearly. This composure and decisiveness under immense pressure was more powerful than any vehement rebuttal.

However, her lone struggle failed to reverse the tide. Then, a heavy voice rang out, like another straw that broke the camel's back.

“Ostermark Territory, ‘No.’” Representative Valdemar Brunt said in a deep voice, his face, scarred by animal claws, expressionless. “We in the East need the fangs of the White Wolf Knights to fight the beastmen scourge in the forest. The promises from the South cannot provide us with the swords we desperately need.”

The seventh vote against!

The situation has become so clear it's almost hopeless! Of the sixteen votes, seven are against! Historically, in such a crucial vote, even twelve or thirteen votes are considered rare. The opposition is just one step away from the legal majority!
Graf von Kazabagh's face practically radiated smugness. He crossed his arms, his massive frame slumping back into his seat, causing the chair to groan. He glared at Phyllis and let out another mocking laugh:
"Hahahaha! Seven votes! My dear silver-haired prince! Did you hear that? You're not going to threaten us again with the 'willingness to start a civil war in the empire' argument, are you? This time, none of you gentlemen here will buy it! Dragging the empire into war for a nouveau riche on the border? I think you've been blinded by so-called 'love'!"

His words were like poisonous thorns, attempting to completely shatter Phyllis's will and to show all those who were still watching that the Northern Alliance was poised for victory.

Despite the near-humiliating mockery and the extremely unfavorable vote count, Phyllis still didn't turn to look at him. She merely raised her chin slightly, and the stubborn and resolute light in her icy blue eyes shone like stars in a cold night, far from dimming, but rather becoming even more dazzling. Her hands, resting on her knees, were clenched into tight fists, her nails almost digging into her palms, but her back was straighter than ever before.

She knew the chances were slim, but she would never back down at this moment.

Just as the echoes of Graf's taunts had barely faded, and the entire hall seemed frozen by the Northern Alliance's dominance, a calm and resolute voice, like sunlight breaking through ice, suddenly rang out:

“The Church of the Goddess of the Sun, yes.”

Archbishop Conrad Radiant slowly rose, his gold and crimson robes shimmering in the light from the dome. His face was solemn, his eyes no longer showing the previous caution, but only pure, unwavering conviction. He did not look at the smug Graf, but instead surveyed the entire hall, his voice clearly proclaiming: "The light of the blazing sun has illuminated the southern borders of the Empire, banishing darkness and safeguarding order. The faith of my Lord Violet, and her loyal defenders, deserve a voice and a place in this hall that determines the future of the Empire commensurate with their contributions."

This vote was a declaration of the Sun Church's status and its most direct endorsement of Su Li. It was like a stone thrown into stagnant water, creating new ripples.

The 2th vote in favor!

The laughter and chatter from the opposition subsided somewhat, replaced by a more scrutinizing gaze.

Immediately afterwards, a calm and steady voice slowly rang out:
“Royal Griffin Military Academy, Modheim… ‘Yes.’”

Dean Kaspar von Heinrichsdorf remained upright, not even rising from his seat. He simply swept his hawk-like gray eyes across the room and succinctly stated his reasons, or rather, his judgment: "The four legends, and the legions they command, are considerable military assets. The Empire needs swords, not decorations."

For him, the hard power demonstrated by the Hessian Territory, enough to influence the regional balance, was the most irrefutable reason. Any force that could enhance the Empire's war potential deserved to be incorporated into the core system.

The 3th vote in favor!

Two unexpected yet reasonable votes in a row caused a subtle shift in the situation! The opposition no longer seemed so invincible, and the flame of hope began to flicker again.

The pressure now shifted to the centrists who had yet to express their opinions. All eyes, especially Phyllis's hopeful gaze, were focused on Albrecht von Tallabek, the Elector of Tallabek. This "Golden Ear Prince" was known for his shrewdness and shrewdness, and his stance was always elusive.

Elector Albrecht felt the intense gaze. A perfectly measured pause crossed his portly face as his fingers unconsciously caressed the gemstone ring that symbolized abundance. He glanced at his ashen-faced northern ally, then at the resolute Phyllis, and finally at the Archbishop of the Sun, who represented the emerging power.

Finally, as if he had made up his mind, he slowly stood up, a slick smile on his face:

"Talabek, as the empire's granary and trade hub, has always maintained an open and pragmatic attitude." He started with a polite remark, then changed the subject, "We believe that a stable, prosperous, and powerful northern border princely territory is in the long-term interests of the empire, especially the central provinces. It means safer trade routes, broader markets, and... more stable food supply channels."

He paused deliberately, his gaze briefly meeting Phyllis's, as if confirming some unspoken promise.

“Therefore,” Albrecht raised his voice, “the Talabek territory, on this motion… ‘Yes.’”

The 4th vote in favor!

Phyllis breathed a long sigh of relief, her clenched fist slightly relaxing. Her previous efforts with the Talabek Territory regarding grain trade and commercial cooperation had finally paid off at this crucial moment. Albrecht valued the potential economic benefits and regional stability that the rise of the Hessian Territory could bring, and this pragmatic attitude translated into a valuable vote at this moment.

The situation reversed instantly!

The hopeless 1-to-7 vote has turned into a tense 4-to-7 vote!
Although the opposition still held the lead, the votes in favor had amassed a force not to be underestimated. Everyone's hearts were in their throats, and their gazes involuntarily turned to the remaining seats—the elusive Wissen territory, the ambiguous West territory, the Steel territory waiting for the best offer, and the halfling elder whose stance was always unpredictable.

The final decision seemed to rest in the hands of these few parties. The meeting entered its most suspenseful moment, each second feeling incredibly long. The smugness on Graf von Kazabagh's face had vanished, replaced by a heavy gloom and a barely perceptible anxiety. He stared intently at Hermann von West, as if trying to nail him to the opposing side with his gaze.

With the fourth crucial vote cast by Talabek, the tension in the hall seemed to increase even further. All eyes, especially those of the Northern Alliance members who seemed to be spitting fire, were fixed on Hermann von West, the Elector of West.

This commander of the North, known for his unwavering resolve, was now under unprecedented pressure. Fine beads of sweat even appeared on his forehead beneath his deep chestnut hair. His hands, resting on his knees, were clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the effort, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged. He could clearly feel the burning, questioning, and subtly threatening gaze of the Elector of Graf beside him, a gaze that seemed to say: "Remember our Northern Pact, Herman!"

The blood ties of the Northern Alliance and the millennia-old tradition of jointly resisting Chaos and the Greenskins bound him like heavy chains. If he were to cast his vote in favor, it would be tantamount to publicly betraying this ancient oath, which would inevitably cause a violent upheaval in the North and could even lead to the isolation of Westerlands in future border defenses.

However, another image emerged more clearly in his mind—the cursed land spreading beneath the West Highlands, exuding an aura of death and decay; the weary yet resolute eyes of the soldiers on the border watchtowers as they faced the surging tide of undead; and… the vibrant, dark green ghost vines brought by the Black Forest Territory, which could effectively suppress the undead and even accelerate the construction of swampy defenses!
To reclaim lost territory and wash away a thousand years of shame! This is the long-cherished wish flowing in the blood of every Westerman! Su Li and the resources he controls are the only hope that can be truly seen to realize this wish for thousands of years!
Hermann felt as if he were being roasted in a furnace. His lips trembled slightly, and he tried to speak several times, but the heavy weight of tradition and the tangible pressure around him kept him from speaking. He fell into a painful silence, as if time had frozen over him.

(End of this chapter)