A small, incredibly abrupt, out-of-place, and flickering point of light abruptly seized his gaze.
It came from the cold, stone handrail beside him, carved with ancient motifs.
On that rough, icy stone surface, a small metal coin was spinning merrily.
Like a mischievous sprite, it continuously caught and refracted the light projected from the distant "Dawn Device" in its twirls. Capturing his attention.
It was a Coin of Trickery.
And beside it, a roll of pristine, snow-white gauze, neatly folded, and a small jar of ointment with a simple label, emitting a faint, cool medicinal scent, lay quietly.
They were placed perfectly—not easily blown away by the wind, yet positioned to be seen at a glance by anyone passing by.
"Huh—"
A very soft, yet utterly genuine chuckle escaped involuntarily from Phaethon's tightly pressed lips.
That smile was like the first warm current of early spring breaking through the ice, instantly melting the frost gathered in his eyes and the heavy frown locked between his brows.
An indescribable, warm yet aching feeling welled up in his heart.
He walked over without hesitation. Extending his right hand, he carefully picked up the Coin of Trickery, which had stopped spinning, then took the roll of gauze and the ointment, moving into the shadow of a massive nearby pillar.
A moment later.
When Phaethon's figure finally pushed open the heavy doors of the Council of Elders and stepped into that vast hall reeking of power struggles and the dust of history, the palm of his left hand was already neatly wrapped in that pristine white gauze.
...
Phaethon looked down at the cowering, ugly remnants called Council Elders below.
His gaze swept the room. No one dared meet his eyes. "Since we share the same goal—the stability of the Holy City and the greatness of Okhema—then from this moment on, we must 'work together in unity' to weather this difficult time."
He paused, the smile on his face deepening, yet utterly devoid of warmth.
"Lady Aglaea has toiled for the Holy City for many years, her spirit and strength exhausted. As the new Council Elder, I feel the weight of responsibility deeply."
"Therefore, I have decided that effective immediately, all routine Council administrative affairs, trivial matters of civil livelihood, departmental budget reviews, personnel assignments, dispute arbitration... essentially, all matters not impacting major Holy City policy decisions..."
"Shall be handled personally, by all of you esteemed Elders present. Under the supervision of Lady Aglaea."
As these words fell, the Elders' faces instantly turned from pale to ashen.
"P-personally... handle?" a portly Elder cried out involuntarily. He hadn't even touched his own quill in his entire life.
"Correct." Phaethon nodded, his tone matter-of-fact. "The Holy City is in turbulent times. The poison of Caenis is not yet purged, the issue of the Chrysos Heirs remains unresolved, and external threats loom. In such a critical period, how can we delegate to others?"
"Only by the personal handling of you, the Elders, can we ensure smooth governance and prevent any possible... delays or corruption."
He took two deliberate steps forward, placing the sword with which he had beheaded Caenis and cut through the Council the previous night on the table.
"I know you are accustomed to issuing orders, to fine wine and delicacies, to discussing philosophy in the gardens. But now, the times have changed."
His voice suddenly turned icy. "Starting at dawn tomorrow, the Council will implement a new work system."
He raised one finger, his tone brooking no argument:
"First, all positions of Elder Attendants, Secretaries, and Scribes are abolished."
"All drafting, copying, distributing, and archiving of documents will be done personally by each Elder."
"Every document must bear the handling Elder's personal signature, accompanied by a detailed report of the processing steps."
"I will establish a dedicated 'Efficiency Oversight Group.' Any document with illegible handwriting, unclear logic, or delayed submission will result in... severe accountability for the responsible party."
Several elderly Elders were already beginning to sway. Handling mountains of scrolls? And writing by hand?
"Second, working hours are adjusted from 5 AM daily to 11 PM."
"All banquets, hunts, theater viewings, and other recreational activities are canceled."
"The Council Chamber shall serve as both your workplace and... temporary residence."
"No one may leave without my personal approval."
Phaethon's gaze swept over faces accustomed to nightly revelry, seeing the light instantly die in their eyes.
"Third, establish 'Public Petition Days.'"
"Three days a week, all citizens of the Holy City, regardless of status, may come to the Council Plaza to directly present their grievances and appeals to the Elder on duty that day."
"Each Elder on duty must personally receive petitioners, record details meticulously, and before the day's end, submit a complete resolution proposal and follow-up tracking plan report."
Phaethon looked at several aristocratic Elders who normally viewed commoners as insects. Their faces had turned green.
Imagine them sitting in the plaza, enduring commoners' sweat, pleas, even curses, and having to "record details meticulously"? It was sheer torture!
"Fourth," Phaethon's voice held a hint of mockery, "To ensure the 'fairness and justice' and 'collective wisdom' of administrative handling, all decisions made by the Council must undergo collective deliberation by all Council members."
"For every proposal, every Elder must express a clear opinion, state their reasoning, and have it recorded."
"Any abstention or perfunctory remarks will be considered dereliction of duty."
This meant endless meetings, arguments, mutual blame-shifting and buck-passing. Every decision would become a long, painful tug-of-war. No one could stand aside.
"Fifth," Phaethon added finally, his tone casual yet falling like a sledgehammer, "All administrative results will be regularly compiled into reports and posted in the Holy City Plaza for public supervision and review."
"Citizen satisfaction ratings will be directly incorporated as a core metric into the monthly performance evaluations of each Elder, and will be linked to their families' monthly... asset review, ahem... I mean 'tax' relief quotas."
Dead silence.
Absolute dead silence.
Only labored breathing and the uncontrollable chattering of teeth.
The scent of blood from last night seemed to waft from the sword before Phaethon, intertwining with the despair now rising in the Elders' hearts.
*Personally handle mountains of paperwork? Work eighteen hours a day? Sleep in the frigid Council Chamber? Endure commoners' spittle? Get stuck in endless meeting arguments? And have their "achievements" laid bare for the rabble to critique, even affecting family wealth?*
This wasn't collaboration! This was political dismemberment draped in administrative robes!
It was death by a thousand cuts! Torture designed to drain the last ounce of their energy, dignity, and pleasure!
This was a hundred times more painful than execution! Caenis, beheaded by a single sword stroke, had found the swiftest release!
Phaethon savored the expressions of terror and despair on their faces—far worse than the fear of execution—his own heart cold and satisfied.