[4 days later; three earth-shattering news has spread throughout the realm.]
[Somewhere within the Imperial City]
The grandeur of the Hall of Assembly was a sight to behold, with its opulence and magnificence on full display.
The round table at the center of the hall was adorned with an array of esteemed individuals, each a successor to the great Emperor Modu.
The walls were decorated with portraits of former rulers, depicting their grandeur and might, while the ceiling displayed a magnificent Baroque theme that added to the room's splendor.
In the midst of it, all stood a stunning five-meter Void White Eyes Snake statue of the 25th Empress Mogu, a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship.
Her slit pupils seemed to pierce through the souls of those in the room, adding an air of mystique to the already impressive surroundings.
However, at this moment every soul in attendance was instantly drawn to the magnificent figure of the Empress Dowager.
Her regal presence filled the room, and her beauty and strength were renowned throughout the land. She commanded respect and admiration with every move she made.
The Empress Dowager's jet-black hair flowed down her back like a shimmering waterfall of silk, and her striking eyes shone a piercing shade of green.
Her well-defined jawline added an air of seduction, perfectly complemented by her full, luscious lips. It was easy to understand how she had captured the heart of the late Emperor and become his beloved wife.
Seated beside the Empress Dowager were the two Royal Consorts, Jasmine and Neve. Their beauty was nothing short of mesmerizing. Each was veiled, but their alluring features and flowing garments left nothing to the imagination.
Consort Jasmine was resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald green silk, her dark eyes sparkling like precious stones in the sunlight.
Her skin was smooth and radiant, and her movements were as graceful as a bird in flight. Her every gesture was captivating.
On the other hand, Neve was draped in a flowing scarlet red gown that flowed like a river with her every move. Her long, ocean-blue tresses cascaded down her petal back like a midnight waterfall.
Her eyes held a deep, dark mystery that was difficult to resist, and every gesture she made was tinged with danger and intrigue. Together, these three women formed a trinity of power and beauty that was the envy of all.
In the midst of a grand assembly of eighteen, there stood one who shone with distinguished splendor, unmatched even by their illustrious mothers. These eight, elevated to the highest echelons of esteem, held a place of honor befitting their royal lineage.
Among the gathering of illustrious figures, each with their own unique qualities and traits. First Prince Musa, a towering figure whose regal countenance exuded an air of authority that must not be challenged.
Beside him sat the Second Princess Hedwig, her delicate facade and graceful movements akin to those of a swan on a serene lake.
The Third Prince Balor was a man of a sharp mind and devilish good looks, his mere presence causing envy among his peers. The Fourth Prince Uoe, a man known for his unique style of swordsmanship…
There existed two princesses, each famed for their unique attributes, that left all who gazed upon them in awe. The Fifth Princess, known as the II Mona, had gained notoriety for her scandalous and untamed behavior.
Yet, none dared to condemn her, for rumor had it that she had lain with almost every prominent noble. Indeed, of all the female offspring of the late Emperor, none could compete with the puppet master Mona.
Her very presence commanded obedience, with a single glance, she could reduce a stadium full of depraved fools to putty.
On the opposite end, there existed a being of extraordinary splendor - The Sixth Princess, Anya. Her intellectual prowess and wit were unparalleled, surpassing even the most erudite scholars of the realm.
Her sharp mind and quick tongue were both a gift and a curse, for they had left her without a suitable match for the last millennium.
One could contend that her svelte yet curvaceous figure was even more alluring than that of the Fifth Princess.
Behold Ergon IV, the Seventh Prince, whose very name sends shivers down the spines of both nobles and commoners alike. Much like the notorious Fifth Princess before him, Ergon IV had garnered a reputation for his insatiable greed.
His cuckoldry became the stuff of bards' tales, spreading like a malignant disease from one alehouse to another.
Speculation ran rampant, with some daring to suggest that his progeny graced every noble house in the land...At last, the Eighth Princess Melinda, a woman whose infinite kindness and unwavering compassion stirred the hearts of the commoners.
Yet, there were always those who whispered in the shadows, casting doubts about her character. They claimed that her kindness was nothing more than a clever ruse to conceal her true nature, a sadistic bitch.
Meanwhile, the conspicuous absence of the Ninth Prince Amon did not elude the attention of the assembled.
As a matter of fact, there were one hundred and twenty-one, other royal bastards who shared the blood of the deceased Emperor but were 'unable to attend.'
Amidst the lineage of Khan, there exists a striking feature that is awe-inspiring to behold. Their locks of hair are a lustrous shade of white, inherited directly from the Imperial House of old.
But that is not all - their eyes possess a unique quality, a golden slit that marks them as Pureblood Void Snake. Only those who hold royal lineage can boast of such a feature.
In the realm of Khan, those without the mark of distinction - a streak of white or golden slit pupil - are shunned as mere mongrels, unworthy of the company of their noble brethren.
Beneath the gaze of the eight Royal Successors, sat a gathering of individuals most distinguished and loyal.
Among them, the Four exalted Kingdoms bowed in deference to the overwhelming might of the Khan, who had stripped them of their kingly titles in the Year of the Unyielding Beast and relegated them to the ranks of Duke and Duchess.
The triumvirate of Dukes stood tall amidst this gathering of noble personages: Duke Baliesh, proud scion of the Northern Utgard Province; Duke Elmber, hailing from the rolling Western Plains; Duke Tatum, stalwart defender of the Eastern Blackwater Province; and finally, In the Southern land, a woman of modest appearance named Duchess Rina reigned supreme.
Their radiance was akin to the gleaming chandeliers above, a testament to their noble lineage and unwavering commitment to the Khan.
The acquisition of such a faithful hound was no mere feat. It demanded not one, but nine generations of meticulous conditioning.
A testament to the unrivaled dedication, a legacy left behind by the Khan. A symbol of unyielding control over their subjects, the Khan Dynasty stands as the second-oldest in the Central Plain. Their laws and traditions have been adopted by many empires and kingdoms throughout history, a testament to their enduring influence.
In the hall, an aged man dozed, as the Grand Maester expounded on Emperor Modu. Nearby, a man with parchment waited, hunched over. It was the Royal Eunuch, a loyal attendant of the monarchy.
As the Grand Maester concluded his recitation of the late Emperor, a solemn observance conducted with profound respect, the gathered audience listened with rapt attention, so it seems.
As the epic poem that chronicled the grandeur and valor of Emperor Modu reached its denouement, the Grand Maester ceremoniously lowered his scroll, his trembling hands betraying the weight of his years spent in service to the court.
He had counseled not one, not two, but seven rulers, each one seeking his guidance in times of peace and war.
Just as the Grand Maester was about to read another scroll.
The First Prince's voice reverberated through the council chamber, his impatience palpable in every syllable. "Maester Myros, pray take your seat. Time is not on our side.
The realm is in dire need of wise guidance. These barbarian hordes pounding at our border and the rise of an unknown force threaten our very survival, this is no time for mourning. The realm needs a strong leader like myself. "
Maester Myros hurriedly obeyed, taking his place at the council table, his heart pounding with trepidation. He had never seen the First Prince so agitated before, and the weight of responsibility seemed to press down on him, so it seems.
The Prince surveyed the assembled council with a piercing gaze, his voice resonating with thunderous power. "We cannot remain idle as our foes relentlessly encroach upon our borders. Nay, we must summon the strength of our resolve and act with decisive force, overpowering them with all our might.
The hour calls for us to conscript and expand our territories, my Lord Father, for it is the seductive whispers of peace that have led us to this dire moment. It is time to reclaim the lands that lie to the South, to restore what is rightfully ours. Duchess Rina, do you not concur with this noble endeavor?"
The room erupted into a discordant cacophony of voices, each member clamoring to be heard above the din. Princess Anya's eyes gleamed with an intense light as she directed her gaze toward Musa, her words dripping with disdain.
"Always the impetuous brute," she spat out, her frustration rising uncontrollably. Musa's insatiable desire for control and his failure to abide by the rules had left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"You speak of the South, yet ignore the vast loss of land under Duke Elmber."
The Second Princess Hedwig delicately prodded at the subject of the prosperous lands in the Western Plain, the very same lands from which the First Prince drew the bulk of his support. Her words were like the piercing thrust of a dagger, aimed squarely at her opponent's vulnerability. For he had dared to alienate her most loyal supporter, the resolute Raquel.
As Musa opened his mouth to rebuttal, the authoritative voice of the Queen Dowager resonated through the hall like a thunderclap. "Hush!" she thundered, her words slicing through the tension like a sharp blade.
"This is a hallowed day, and there can be no place for petty quarrels. Need I remind you that we are in the throes of mourning?" Her eyes glinted with steely resolve as she continued, "Musa, your words, though not entirely misplaced, do not give you the right to direct the military.
You speak of a new threat, yet you are willing to plunge us into war without fully comprehending their motives.
We must first send emissaries to investigate. Remember your place, for now, I am the reigning monarch until the Trial of Succession concludes. Is that crystal clear?"
Musa stood motionless, his mouth agape, struggling to come to terms with the Queen Dowager's commanding words.
They struck him with the force of a hammer blow, rendering him speechless and leaving him with no choice but to accept her will.
He watched as the Dowager turned her attention to his sisters, her voice resolute and unwavering as she issued her instructions. "As for you two lass, refrain from provoking your brother... Proceed with the decree, Alber."
The aged Eunuch shuffled forward, his heart beating with trepidation as he reached out to grasp the delicate scroll presented on the tray before him.
With trembling hands, he unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning the words inscribed upon it. "All hail the glorious Emperor Modu," the missive began, "As his last will concerning his succession..."
The air was heavy with the weight of expectation as the Eunuch's gaze flicked nervously around the room, the assembled courtiers watching his every move with bated breath.
"Pray, allow me to impart a piece of knowledge before delving further into this solemn affair," Alber began, his voice echoing in the grand hall.
"Merely a few weeks ago, Prince Amon, rightful heir to the throne, relinquished his claim."
"He did, What?" the speaker of the voice drew everyone's attention, it was none other than Consort Neve.
Not to let such a moment slip, Consort Jasmine's rebuke promptly follow; cutting Neve to the core. Yet, it was executed with the finesse and elegance of a graceful ballerina.
With a gentle reprimand, she scolded Neve, her lips curling into a sly smirk that hinted at a hidden pleasure derived from her discomfort.
Neve, despite the fury that ignited in her eyes, bit her tongue. She recognized that her irascible temperament was her Achilles' heel, a blemish in her character that Jasmine relished exploiting.
The Empress Dowager intervened, demanding an explanation for the altercation. Neve inhaled deeply, mustering a smile that felt more like a grimace.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," she replied through gritted teeth, irritation prickling her nerves. Jasmine's assault stung, but Neve realized it was a necessary evil if she desired to maintain her place in the court, although disappointed.
She still has Prince Uoe, knowing his personality he wouldn't dare.
A tenderness washed over the Empress Dowager's countenance, a smile gracing her stoic features at Neve's use of the proper title.
"I understand," she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Let us refrain from such behavior in the future, shall we? Alber, proceed! I hope there won't be any more outbursts going forward!" Those words were intended for everyone at the roundtable.
"Your Majesty," murmured the petitioner, "for the next segment of the Will, I humbly request the presence of the Royal Scribe."
"Very well," replied the monarch, with a regal nod. "Summon the Scribe."
A hush descended upon the room, as the expectant petitioner awaited the arrival of the Scribe. After a few fleeting moments, the Scribe made his grand entrance, his quill at the ready, prepared to capture every word spoken.
"As my proclamation has been heralded, a withdrawal has indeed transpired, and thus in accordance with the venerable Khan succession, I shall with great deference beseech each Prince and Princess to declare their intent for the coveted crown.
The esteemed Dukes have graced us with their presence to bear witness to this momentous occasion, alongside the wise Maester and diligent Scribe, who shall meticulously archive this moment in our history...
And now, Princess Melinda, I implore you to declare whether you shall contest for the throne?"
All eyes upon Melinda, and with a playful smile she declared her intent, "Before I proffer an answer, do indulge me, pray, with the fate that befalls those who elect to withdraw from the Royal Succession?"The words flowed effortlessly from Melinda's tongue, rolling off her lips like a velvet stream
In this place of intrigue and uncertainty, all eyes turned toward the elusive answer. The passing of a Khan ruler ignited a fierce debate: would the succession to the throne be a matter of blood or a graceful transition of power, dictated by the late Emperor's Will?
"Grant me but a few fleeting moments, I pray thee," implored Alber, as he scoured the parchment, searching for its elusive essence.
The Ninth Prince, indifferent and unconcerned, did not inquire as to what misfortune may befall him.
"Ah, here it lies..." The words escaped Alber's lips.