When the official list of Ryntum’s newly appointed ministers was released to the public, it didn’t cause much of a stir among the populace.

In fact, there was little more than a hum of quiet curiosity, followed by a swift return to daily life.

In the bustling streets of Bideford, merchants continued haggling over spices and fabric. In the countryside, farmers ploughed their fields, preparing for the harvest. In schools, students continue to learn under the guidance of teachers.

The kingdom did not tremble at the announcement. It merely nodded and moved on.

For the people of Ryntum, the identity of ministers mattered far less than the man who appointed them. King Riz had, over the years, woven a reputation for his competence.

As long as the king didn’t change, they wouldn’t have to worry too much since their king was in charge and making the final decision.

Occasionally, one can hear the common folk commenting on the appointments with a kind of passive interest.

"Ah, the queen’s stepped back? Makes sense... she’s probably exhausted."

"This Hugo fella, how come I never heard of him before? Who is he?"

"They gave the mad doctor a ministry? We’ll be fine, right?"

While the streets of Bideford remained calm, a far different energy buzzed through the corridors of the government complex.

The reshuffle of ministers had triggered a wave of talks among bureaucrats and civil servants. Clerks, secretaries, and aides exchanged hushed conversations over stacks of files and steaming cups of tea.

After all, the change in the superior will affect their work life.

Although they know these ministers won’t act out of line because of the king, it doesn’t do much harm to learn more.

To an outsider, it might have seemed excessive, even paranoid. But for the career bureaucrats, this was a routine act of survival.

Knowing your superior’s temperament—what pleased them, what irked them—could mean the difference between promotion and stagnation, or worse, reassignment to a distant province.

As such, everyone begins acquiring information about the person who will become their superior. Even old rumours begin to float again.

The rumours reach Riz’s ear, but he turns a blind eye to them. In Riz’s mind, the reaction was entirely expected.

People are not very fond of change, especially a sudden one. They’ll inevitably panic for a while. There’s no need for him to personally step in and stop it.

From what he had heard, the rumours weren’t particularly malicious. There’s nothing outrageous to the point that it would harm one’s reputation and life.

Being a subject of gossip is normal for every top hierarchy in every organisation.

To sit at the top is to be seen and spoken of.

It didn’t matter how capable or brilliant his ministers were. The moment they stepped into the court’s inner circle, they had ceased to be private citizens.

Those who cannot endure the murmur of the masses aren’t suitable to hold power.

Power demands not just skills but also resilience of mind and spirit.

....

Vernau.

Beneath the flickering glow of an oil lamp, Van Vernau read the battle report he had just received. The ink had barely dried, but the words etched across the page were already burning into his mind.

A grim line formed on his forehead. Overall, the situation on the frontline is not optimistic.

No, it was hopeless.

He dropped the report onto the table and shifted his attention to the news from Bideford. As a defensive force, Van must always keep a close eye on the enemy’s movements.

Today’s report was particularly dense — an announcement of the royal court’s restructuring. Van skimmed the list of names at first, indifferent.

New ministers. New faces.

And then his gaze froze.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. For a moment, he simply stared at that name, as if willing it to vanish.

It didn’t.

Van’s already gloomy face contorted even more. He was very familiar with the name ’Hugo Hagen’. He wasn’t stupid enough not to realise the reason that name was on the list.

"That bastard..." he growled, voice low and venomous. "He defected!"

Van’s breath came out in a misty huff.

"Of course... of course Ryntum would want him," he muttered, his boots grinding into the icy floor. "That bastard has the keys to Blande’s food system. The storage sites. The crop cycles. The distribution networks."

Even without the actual agricultural products, the data alone was priceless.

Still staring down at the crumpled report, Van Vernau sank slowly into the worn leather chair.

"I was a fool..." he thought grimly. "A damn fool to put so much faith in those gluttonous bastards."

Van stood once more, pacing restlessly. If Hugo Hagen can jump ship so easily, who else is thinking the same?

His heart filled with suspicion. Aside from Leuphan, who came here seeking refuge, Van is unaware of the current movements of the remaining great families.

Many scenarios flash in his mind, each darker than the last.

None of them were good.

"This won’t do. I need to contact every family now—all of them. I want them gathered here under my eye. Who knows what they’re plotting behind my back?"

Van didn’t trust letters anymore. Ink and seal could be intercepted or altered.

With the situation teetering on the brink, he refused to let court politics and backroom deals decide the fate of Blande. Every day spent in intrigue was a day lost on the battlefield.

If the great families wanted to play their games, they would have to do it under his gaze.

That night, the Vernau mansion was not at rest.

In the courtyard, men in dark cloaks moved with silence, tightening saddle straps, checking sword belts, and tucking sealed letters into hidden pouches.

One by one, squads of mounted men slipped out through the side gates, avoiding the main road where curious eyes might be lurking.

Their mission is to bring all the remaining prestigious families of Blande back to Vernau, by hook or by crook.