Fire Mage

A few nobles tried to speak again, but Zephyr didn't let them.

"Next, regarding the Council."

He raised his voice just slightly. "A meeting will be convened at dawn tomorrow. You will attend. Absent seats will be permanently vacated. I will introduce new rules—reforms that will save this Empire from its slow death."

His gaze swept the floor. "Mark this date. Your silence today shall echo in history."

Gasps again, louder now.

But Zephyr wasn't finished.

"I also declare a temporary tax suspension in war-torn provinces and all border territories. The peasants bled to build your mansions. Let them breathe."

The Finance Minister visibly reeled. "Impossible!"

"Then you'll find a way to make it possible," Zephyr replied flatly. "Or someone else will."

He didn't wait for a response.

"To combat unemployment and hunger, I am introducing a Work-for-Food Initiative. Every citizen who joins infrastructure efforts shall be given rations, shelter, and safety."

Zephyr knew the Royal Family had enough grains to feed millions of people in the Royal Treasury.

'They have stored grains in hundreds of dimensional boxes over the centuries of their rule. Each dimensional box holds thousands of square meters of space. Thanks to this storage method, the grains were preserved without any risk of spoilage.'

He turned her gaze toward the map hanging behind the ministers.

"We will rebuild the roads. Fortify the borders. Construct new irrigation dams to prevent the droughts."

Shock, disbelief, and quiet admiration spread like ink through the court.

"And finally…"

Zephyr raised her hand.

Rhys brought forward a scroll and unfurled it with a flourish.

"This is an Imperial Edict of Conditional Liberation."

Even the concubines leaned forward at that.

"All slaves—particularly War Slaves—shall now have the right to earn their freedom through labor or military service. Twenty thousand hours earn liberty. Once they earned their freedom, they would be set free. If they are elves or Syreni, they must be escorted back to their domain." He paused for a moment and then added.

"From now on, there should be no new war or debt slaves in the Empire."

"No—" The finance minister tried to object.

"Ten hours of work grants one silver. A hundred silvers earn a gold. You do the math," Zephyr cut in, voice sharper now. "Furthermore, no noble may mistreat a slave."

He raised a second decree.

"All such individuals shall now be registered in the Royal Legislature as Shackled Citizens. You will feed them. You will not torture them. You will present them for verification every three months."

"And if one dies under your care…" Her voice dropped. "You will pay two emeralds—ten gold coins. A price fitting a noble's ignorance."

The chamber had gone utterly silent.

"We cannot afford kindness to criminals—"

"They are not criminals," Zephyr snapped with a sharp glare. "They are still people, caught in a war they never started. And this Empire needs workers, soldiers, and loyalty more than it needs slaves."

No one dared to argue again.

And then, with a slow wave of her hand, Zephyr ordered:

"Clear the hall. Everyone… out."

The guards hesitated. Then they moved. Nobles, concubines, ministers—all were escorted away.

Only three remained.

House Yven. House Morlin. House Delcroix.

The three most unpredictable but powerful neutral forces in the Empire.

Zephyr stood in front of them, expression unreadable.

"I will not waste time with pleasantries," he said. "I summoned you three because I don't need blind followers. I need allies with teeth."

The three representatives exchanged tense glances.

"I intend to form a secret alliance between our houses. Its purpose is simple—revive the Empire. Stabilize the economy. Break the deadlocks strangling our future."

"Why us?" asked the Delcroix envoy, cautiously.

"Because you're the only ones who haven't drowned in corruption and greed. And because your Houses are competent enough to survive without the Empire, yet wise enough to know what you'd lose if it falls."

He took a breath.

"If you agree, I'll grant you military appointments of real value. Not decorative. Forts, divisions, direct control of provincial militias."

That got their attention.

"And economically, I will include your Houses in state-funded projects. Road commissions, dam construction, weapon manufacturing."

"You're offering us power?" asked Morlin's envoy, eyes narrowing.

"I'm offering you a future."

Zephyr's tone grew colder.

"Discuss it with your House Heads. But do it fast. Because if I don't hear from you within three days, I'll assume you've sided with the others."

He turned.

"This Empire is dying. I don't have time to play politics."

As he walked past them, the faint echo of his footsteps filled the chamber.

Before long, he walked out of the throne room.

…

The next day, as the sun cast a dim orange hue through the towering stained-glass windows of the Imperial Council Hall, Zephyr entered alone through the high gates, cloaked not in ceremonial robes, but in simple black. No crown. No scepter. Just presence. That alone silenced the hall.

The seats were nearly full—nobles, ministers, merchant lords, and regional governors had taken their places, some still murmuring bitterly from the night before. Their expressions ranged from anxious curiosity to open contempt. Yet none dared to be absent.

Because everyone remembered his words:

"Absent seats will be permanently vacated."

Zephyr moved to the central dais, bypassing the golden seat reserved for the Emperor without hesitation. He sat.

A stunned breath rippled through the chamber.

The Finance Minister hesitated, glancing toward the Emperor's empty throne. "Your Majesty, with all due respect—"

"I am not here for respect," Zephyr said calmly. "I am here for reform."

He opened the thick leather folder handed to him by his aide, Rhys. Inside were multiple letters, all complaints about the slavery reforms and tax suspensions. With one glance, he tossed the folder to the floor.

"Those who sent these," he said, "have forfeited their seats in this Council."

A wave of shock surged through the chamber.

"You cannot—" barked Duke Feron of Valemarch, standing sharply.

"I just did," Zephyr replied. "And anyone else who wishes to follow them is free to leave."

No one moved.

He continued, voice steady. "This Council claims to serve the Empire, yet it groans when peasants are fed, when roads are built, when fairness replaces tradition. Enough of this fake loyalty."

He unfurled a new scroll. "Let's talk economics."

"The Empire's core trade routes are collapsing. Merchants are migrating east. Inflation is rising, and internal trade has stagnated due to fear and border instability."

He raised a hand before anyone could interrupt.

"My solution is simple. New allies. New routes."

Zephyr pointed to the large imperial map. His finger traced the southern sands.

"First, the desert tribes. Offer fair tributes—grain, tools, salt—and in return, we demand exclusive trade in minerals and silks. Make them partners, not raiders."

A few nobles scoffed, but Zephyr was already turning east.

"Second, the Eastern Tribes. We grant them limited cultural independence and autonomy in religious and ceremonial laws. In return, they trade directly with us, not the rogue border merchants or foreign empires."

"You would grant savages rights?" sneered Baron Elros.

"They guard their land better than your soldiers," Zephyr shot back. "The Empire can no longer afford enemies on every front. We must sacrifice old pride for new peace."

Discontent bubbled in the chamber. The old guard was shaking.

"Royal Mages," he called, shifting the focus. The head mage stepped forward with a bow.

"I want a full report within two months—research on agriculture, crop rotation systems, irrigation technologies, and climate prediction techniques. You will work with local scholars. This Empire cannot grow if its lands starve."

There were nods from the agricultural ministers, at least.

"Next," Zephyr said, and the hall braced.

"The Wood Elves."

The word alone brought murmurs of unease. Relations between the elves and the Syreni had always been tense, but formal alliances were taboo.

"I will establish a covert pact with the Wood Elves. I heard a faction against the Syreni relationship within the Elven Kingdom. As they are against the Syreni race, they will make capable informants. House Yven will oversee the negotiations."

The Yven representative blinked. "That will take months—"

"You have three weeks," Zephyr said. "Start with minor exchanges—herbs, spells, maps. Build trust quietly."

He paused, then dropped the real weight.

"I'm giving away the Eastern Grey Lands."

Chaos erupted. Voices rose, fists slammed.

"That's treason!"

"You weaken the Empire's claim!"

"The princess is mad!"

Zephyr stood, slamming his palm against the podium.

"This land has brought nothing but bloodshed and famine. We gain nothing by holding it. Let it become neutral ground or treaty land. No more wars over ashes."

His tone turned steely. "And call me mad again, I will remind you why this chair is empty and mine is not."

Silence.

Then came the final matter: the barbarian tribes.

"I propose granting select clans limited self-governance and trade permits. In exchange, they guard our borders. They act as a buffer—hostile to raiders, but bound to us by coin and land."

Gasps again. Even the military ministers stirred uneasily.

"That would mean arming them," whispered a general.

"Yes. And trusting them. We must do this because you, my lords, have failed to guard our walls with your greed."

The meeting ended not with applause, but with complaints, whispered curses, and heavy dread.

…