Within a political group.
It’s normal to have factions and opposition.
Everyone present knew that if the decision to favor the Orcs passed, they would all become sinners, and none of them would escape unscathed.
The Saintess raised the stakes.
She forced them into a position where they could no longer remain silent.
Aililan grabbed a bronze bell and flung it at the feet of those opposing, the crisp, chaotic clang echoing through the room, ushering in her fury: “You oppose this?”
“Then let me ask you.”
“When some among you wanted me to tolerate it, did you oppose?”
“When tens of thousands of the people demanded my compromise, did you object then?”
“Since you never once opposed, that means you agreed. Now, I am only following your wishes, and the current state of affairs is exactly as you wanted.”
“So what right do you have, standing in opposition now, to speak to me?”
The man’s face flushed red: “I…”
Aililan snorted coldly and continued, “Enough, step back.”
Aililan gestured to Renata.
Immediately, several Chastity Knights began distributing the printed regulations on the favorable treatment of Orcs, handing a copy to each person so they could read it carefully.
The council chamber buzzed all at once—some faces showed sorrow, some seethed with rage, and others remained indifferent.
Ibisos and the others wore conflicted expressions. They’d thought the Saintess had truly compromised, but hadn’t expected her to come at them with something even bigger.
Weren’t they always advocating closeness with the Orcs?
Well, now she’d taken that to a whole new level.
Those who’d been the loudest before were now the quietest, which was almost laughable.
Facing the glances of their former colleagues, they bowed their heads and pretended ignorance.
Trying to play dead?
Did Aililan look like someone who would let them off?
After a moment, Aililan slapped the table and said, “Alright, everyone’s read it, yes? Then it’s time for a final decision. Every time I recall the advice from some of you, my heart is uneasy day and night. Every time I remember the will of the tens of thousands, I find it hard to sleep.”
“The Saintess is human too. The Saintess doesn’t want to be accused of disregarding the people’s lives, much less be pointed at as one who deliberately incites wars that bring suffering.”
Aililan took a deep breath.
“What do you say to that?”
“Lord Ibisos?”
Ibisos shuddered all over, stammering, “I—I… I don’t know what you mean.”
‘Bang—’
Aililan slammed the table in anger.
“You don’t know what I mean?”
“Then what was the meaning of your threats to hang yourself before me? What were you leading tens of thousands of people to demand? And now you say this to me.”
“Are you playing games with me?”
Ibisos shook his head hastily, “I really am not toying with you.”
Aililan became even angrier, scolding, “Then you led tens of thousands to surround the Frezea Manor—was that rebellion?”
Ibisos turned deathly pale, “I wasn’t, I didn’t.”
Aililan slapped the table again, her little hand turning red, and said coldly, “I don’t want to argue with you about these useless things. Just look at the regulations on favorable treatment of Orcs! Since you were the one who started this, you ought to be the first to sign and agree.”
Ibisos shook his head, “No, I won’t sign.” Such an overly intimate regulation with Orcs—anyone who signs is doomed!
Aililan sneered and brought up the old argument, “Not signing? Then you admit, when you led tens of thousands to surround Frezea Manor, you truly meant to rebel?”
She gestured to her own faction; several Chastity Knights now had their hands on their sword hilts.
Sign, and your name will be cursed forever.
Don’t sign? Then you’re a deliberate traitor.
Suddenly.
“Absurd.” A slightly aged voice sounded, the Minister of Finance, Obien, wearing a sour expression, pointed at Aililan and accused, “You, as Saintess, how could you act so ridiculously? Forcing your subjects—would a wise Saintess ever do such a thing?”
“Heh.” Aililan laughed, asking, “Then, Lord Obien, what do you suggest?”
“Please put away your childish ideas and end this farce. Otherwise, I will dash my head against the pillar of this council chamber. If my death could bring your maturity, I would die without regret, and surely my noble name would be sung for centuries to come.”
Aililan laughed.
She even applauded for Obien.
‘Clap, clap, clap—’
“Well said.”
“First, Ibisos wants to hang himself for me. Now you, Lord Obien, want to smash your head for me.”
“If I disagree with your demands, that’s unacceptable. But if I agree, that’s no good either. So what exactly do you want?”
Aililan revealed an angry expression, and in a stern voice, said, “I’m fed up with all your tiresome rituals, and I’ve had enough of your ways.”
“If you’re truly so eager to die—”
“Then go right ahead.”
Obien was stunned, and grew agitated, losing his composure as he said, “You, you…”
He held it in for quite a while before blurting out, face red, “If I do smash my head and die, aren’t you afraid the world will condemn you?”
Aililan took a deep breath, her tone firm, “If you really die, then I will write a ‘letter of self-condemnation’ to all the people of Atast.”
“You, you, you…”
“Lord Obien, what are you waiting for?”
“I, I, I…”
Obien looked like he’d swallowed something foul—who really wants to die if they can live?
Why must the Saintess take it so seriously?
“Not going to do it?”
“Lord Obien, why do your words sound like hot air? If you don’t want to die, I remember you share the same pro-Orc ideals as Ibisos. Then sign along with him!”
Obien’s face darkened again, his voice low, “Saintess, aren’t you afraid that by forcing us like this, you’ll chill the hearts of the governors of Atast City?”
“Chill their hearts?” Aililan swept her gaze across the crowd, her voice forceful and demanding, “Tell me, what heart is there to chill? Did you really think the Saintess came to Atast City for a banquet?”
Aililan stared straight at everyone.
“Those whose hearts are chilled, those who don’t want to work, stand up right now and get out.”
“If you won’t do it, plenty of others will.”
Aililan returned to the Speaker’s seat.
Then she turned to the head maid, Yarandel.
“Go and find a few cooks to take care of everyone’s food and lodging. Until a decision is reached, no one is to leave. If any of the lords are neglected, I’ll hold you accountable.”
The head maid, Yarandel, quickly took the order, “Yes, I’ll arrange it right away.”
Aililan glanced again at the crowd, a hint of a smile curling at her lips before she quickly hid it away, then sighed and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you surely still have much to say, many issues to discuss. Please, feel free to deliberate—I guarantee you absolute freedom of speech.”
“I will stay with you.”
“Until a decision is made.”
Is the Saintess really going to fight to the bitter end?
And as for this so-called freedom of speech, in reality, as they talked, all their fury would end up directed at Ibisos and his group. It didn’t matter whether the Saintess was right or wrong.
Let’s just say—
Wasn’t it all because you forced her?