The day was so bright that even the northern banners looked like they burned against the winter sky.
The capital was choked with peoplemerchants, nobles, soldiers, citizens filling every balcony and every stretch of marble road that led toward the Grand Parliament Hall.
It was not just another meeting; it was the first open convocation of war the North had held in over three decades.
And at the center of that massive assembly stood a single man cloaked in grey and silver his face half-veiled by a mask that glimmered faintly beneath the sun.
Machiavelli.
The name "Machiavelli" was a phantom title, whispered through alleys and trade routes, the face of Chrome Hearts. Now it stood in the daylight before nobles, soldiers, and the Emperor himself.
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