The Emperor of the Empire looked at the Pri Minister sitting below him. His calm expression revealed nothing of his true thoughts.
Whether he agreed or not, no one could tell.
The Pri Minister frowned slightly—this idea had caught him off guard.
In his view, the simplest way to resolve the crisis was to kill a group of rchants and have the nobility cooperate. That alone would stabilize the situation.
Eliminating a group of disobedient, independent-minded rchants would imdiately release funds and materials, while also sending a strong ssage to opportunists.
rchants bore so responsibility for how far this crisis had spread.
These profit-driven individuals never considered whether their actions might bring disaster to the nation—they only thought about grabbing as much money as possible for themselves.
They needed to pay the price for what they’d done. This was Gephra, not the Federation.
Addressing the problems caused by the rchants would also ease other social issues resulting from the run on banks. Both materials and money were especially valuable during this period.
To put it simply: in tis of scarcity and unrest, even using goods instead of cash for wages wouldn’t be t with resistance.
A towel factory paying wages in towels, a lightbulb factory paying in bulbs—workers had no complaints. So even felt they profited from receiving extra goods.
As for the nobility, he wasn’t concerned. Lately, he’d frequently visited the Privy Council and had built good relationships with the old nobles. They had begun to understand one another.
The nobility, long suppressed by imperial power, indeed needed a chancellor to counterbalance the Emperor—a chance to breathe.
With a plan to make an example of the rchants and noble support lined up, resolving the crisis was just a matter of ti.
Still, this plan wasn’t ideal. Using rchants and capitalists as scapegoats every ti the state was short on money would eventually drain the market’s vitality. This approach should only be used in extre circumstances.
No one expected the Finance Minister to suggest sothing beyond the Pri Minister’s plan: borrowing money to get through the crisis.
To be honest, the Pri Minister instinctively rejected the idea the mont it entered his mind—because of pride.
If Gephra borrowed money from other nations, what would those countries think?
This was clearly a minor issue, now unnecessarily complicated. There was no need for that.
But once his knee-jerk reaction faded, he began to see other possibilities—small adjustnts within acceptable bounds.
If outside funds could help resolve the crisis, there would be no need to disrupt the internal industrial or noble structures too much.
Many commoners foolishly believed that whenever sothing wasn’t going their way, reform was the answer.
They could cite examples—this company restructured and was reborn, that country reford and beca strong.
But they didn’t understand that reform wasn’t just a word. Real reform always ca with obstacles—and those obstacles were the vested interests of the state: the ruling class and privileged elite.
No one would break their own skull to feed soone else with their blood. Still, so things eventually needed to change.
If changes could be made within a manageable, relatively safe, top-down frawork—that might be the future.
After weighing it all, he nodded. “This could work. But who would be willing to help us?” He looked up at the Emperor. “The Baylors?”
The Emperor responded swiftly. “Why not? Or do you have a better option?”
The Pri Minister shook his head and fell silent again, weighing whether this move would give him greater control.
No one openly objected—but no one outright agreed either. The Emperor nodded. “It’s a plan. But it won’t succeed quickly. We can’t rely entirely on the hope that others will help us.”
“We must also be prepared to resolve this crisis on our own, even if no one cos to our aid.”
In the end, they circled back to extracting money from so “less important” people—just using different words.
“I’ve noticed that so people played rather disgraceful roles in this bank run, gentlen.”
“Our rcy and tolerance are for the good citizens of the Empire, for the lawful rchants who follow the rules—not for them.”
“To make people obey the rules, they must first learn to fear.”
The Emperor looked again at the Pri Minister. “You’ll handle it.”
He didn’t na nas, but everyone knew what to do. Things had gone so far that the public was ignoring governnt notices and directives. They’d lost their sense of fear.
It was ti to remind them—this isn’t the Federation. This is Gephra—
A monarchy, viewed as decadent by the standards of so developed nations.
That very night, police sirens wailed across the capital. It was reported that cities around the capital—and even farther—saw massive police deploynts.
The police, often called the emperor’s hounds, along with large numbers of secret police, began openly arresting instigators.
So of them were indeed ringleaders—rchants, provocateurs, and opportunists.
Others were just suspects. How much suspicion they truly deserved would be decided during interrogation.
News of the events in Gephra quickly spread worldwide. As a forr military power, the Empire was always in the spotlight. The Emperor had once proudly claid:
“Gephra is the center of the world. All eyes are fixed on this nation’s core—on my palace.”
He had boasted that whatever he said in the morning would be heard by neighboring countries by noon—and by the global elite by sundown.
He had always been proud of that. But now, clearly, sothing bad had happened—and the world knew before sunset.
“Gephra is facing a financial crisis.” In the Baylor Federation’s presidential office, the President toyed with his pen, uninterested in what his aides were saying.
In na, he was a typical radical of the Progressive Party. But deep down, he missed the days when the country could shut its doors and mind its own business—unlike now, when even dostic affairs were a ss, and foreign ones still demanded his attention.
He appeared to be listening intently, but his mind was entirely focused on the election.
He had already begun delivering public campaign speeches—at prominent venues, universities, and on television.
It was the sound of war horns—ti for the final offensive.
The Conservative Party candidate had also launched campaign efforts. If Lynch returned to Eminence now, he’d see the city plastered with posters of the smiling President.
And of course, his campaign slogans.
Those were the things occupying his thoughts. Who cared how much the Emperor of Gephra was struggling? Still, the matter was important enough to warrant this eting.
He glanced at Mr. Truman, looking completely at ease. With Truman around, none of these issues would ever beco his personal headaches.
“This matches Mr. Truman’s earlier analysis…” The Defense Departnt official, while speaking, cast a quick glance at Truman—his eyes filled with mild surprise.
It was an acknowledgnt of Truman’s foresight—no wonder he was not only the President’s most trusted advisor, but also about to step onto the Federation’s political stage in his own right, this ti with a spotlight of his own, not just part of a group.
Mr. Truman nodded slightly to confirm. He was also curious—his understanding of the situation was mostly based on reports. He had no idea what Lynch had actually done to cause Gephra’s situation to deteriorate so rapidly.
The Defense official continued, “Right now, Gephra is facing an unprecedented crisis. They have no experience dealing with sothing like this. We’re not sure if this is a real opportunity for us, but we also don’t want to let it slip by. That’s why we’ve gathered everyone to discuss whether there’s room for us to intervene.”
He then gave a more detailed account of the events unfolding in Gephra. No one showed much reaction. Even the President gradually beca absorbed in the story-like narrative.
When the Defense official finally stopped, the President looked at him for a few seconds, then asked with so surprise, “That’s it?”
The official nodded awkwardly. “Yes, that’s what’s currently happening…”
The President suddenly chuckled and shook his head. “I thought it was sothing serious. Just a bank run…”
His tone made it sound trivial—which, in fact, it was. Bank runs had happened frequently throughout the Federation’s not-so-long history.
Soone had once tallied it up: since the founding of the Federation, nearly 300 banks of various types had existed. Today, fewer than twenty remained.
That naturally raised the question—where did the other roughly 300 banks go?
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