Chapter 784: Before the Election |
“Lynch is gone?”
“Mm…”
“Alright, I see.”
The Prime Minister hung up. That morning, around 7 a.m., Lynch had made a surprise visit.
For the nobles of Gephra, morning usually meant around nine. Their lives were about enjoyment, with the occasional political intrigue. Business matters were handled by professional merchants—they didn’t live like the executives of the Federation, who rose before dawn for a day of endless work.
Lynch’s visit was early, and the Prime Minister, still in his pajamas, met him in the study. Had he dressed properly, it would’ve taken over thirty minutes, and making a guest wait that long was unacceptable. That wasn’t who he was.
Their conversation wasn’t long. Lynch spoke briefly about his plans after arriving in the province of Amellia, including his dual-core strategy. The Prime Minister already knew something about it and had no objections.
But unexpectedly, something Lynch said afterward left him deep in thought.
“Have you ever heard of constitutional monarchy?”
He knew it might be a trap, another of Lynch’s schemes, yet he couldn’t help but be drawn to the vision Lynch described.
Maintaining noble rule, weakening the monarchy, turning the royal family into a symbolic figurehead—a national mascot—and returning all power to the nobility.
Reviving the Privy Council as a functioning body, a place to select the empire’s leadership…
What Lynch proposed was dangerously alluring.
The problem with emperors ruling was the unpredictability—no one could guarantee that every emperor would be wise and capable. A fool or a madman was manageable, but a cruel tyrant? That could be fatal.
Every succession was a gamble. No one could be sure the next ruler would be someone fit to lead the nation to prosperity.
But if the emperor’s power were diminished, and nobles rotated in power based on merit—modeled on the Federation’s electoral system—it could work.
Those with ability rise; those without fall. Such a system ensures that the ruling class is always composed of the most capable. That is the strength of the Federation.
But Gephra wasn’t that kind of country. The monarchical system left no soil for such ideas to take root.
Now, though, Lynch had planted the seed. And the Prime Minister realized—he had control of the nation’s finances.
A Prime Minister with financial power could be considered a Chancellor of real authority. He now had the strength to counter the emperor. If he acted now…
The Prime Minister snapped out of his wandering thoughts and smiled, shaking his head. That bastard—even after leaving, Lynch had left him with a dangerous dilemma.
The fact that he was still thinking about it meant he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. In fact, he was somewhat excited.
He knew that wasn’t right. If he kept indulging such thoughts, he might unconsciously be swayed by Lynch’s words and make the wrong choice.
Then his mind drifted to the Federation’s upcoming election. The current president had timed it perfectly.
The previous president stepped down mid-term, giving him two years to consolidate power across the cabinet and national departments—crucial time saved.
If he won the coming election, his control over the country would surpass any first-term president before him.
And if he won again, power across the Federation would concentrate even more in his hands. Just as Gephran officials and the emperor predicted another war might erupt within ten years, that president could end up remaining in power indefinitely—an emperor in all but name.
So where would that leave Gephra?
By the time the Prime Minister pulled himself out of his thoughts, it was nearly ten. Time to go to work.
After a quick wash and breakfast, he grabbed his briefcase and headed to the office. He had just sat down when the phone rang.
It was the emperor. His secretary silently mouthed the caller’s identity from outside the door.
The Prime Minister nodded and picked up. “Prime Minister’s office.”
“Good morning… Has that bastard Lynch left yet?”
The emperor’s voice came through, oddly cordial—no trace of the tension that had existed between them days earlier.
Politics really is damn strange.
“He’s gone. My driver saw him board the ship and leave the port himself. He won’t be back anytime soon.”
The Prime Minister heard a sigh of relief on the other end. Clearly, the emperor was very concerned about Lynch’s departure.
“He better not come back—ever. Next time, you need to personally deny his entry. We can’t let him wander around freely!”
The Prime Minister smiled. The emperor always lost composure when it came to Lynch.
Part of it was because of Jania. Some said the emperor intended to recognize him as a brother-in-law, and that rumor alone felt like an insult.
The other part was that every time Lynch visited, trouble followed. That cunning, deceitful, shameless Federation businessman was no good.
The Prime Minister understood the emperor’s feelings. But for just a moment, he felt a flicker of doubt.
Between an emotionally unstable emperor and a ruling class of composed, capable nobles—who truly made the better leaders?
Just as the Prime Minister was lost in the beautiful vision of Lynch’s constitutional monarchy, Lynch had already returned to the Federation after several days at sea.
As he disembarked, the sea wind sliced across his face like a blade. Even licking his chapped lips tasted of salt.
“I don’t feel the sweet scent of freedom—just a sense of grim tension. Can someone tell me if I stepped off the gangway with the wrong foot?”
Standing on the port’s ground, Lynch made a small joke. Those around him chuckled softly. Funny or not, they laughed—such was the power of money.
The motorcade was ready. Under the protection of Sergeant and others, Lynch got into the car.
It was much warmer inside. The engine’s heat warmed the air, which was then circulated through the cabin.
Aside from its high casualty rate, everything else was just fine.
Lynch cracked the window slightly. He didn’t want to end up on every newspaper’s front page because of how he died.
This was just a coastal city—about 500 kilometers from Eminence. But as soon as the convoy entered the city, the atmosphere of the election was unmistakable.
Posters of the president’s big white teeth were plastered everywhere. Campaign slogans and banners lined the streets. Occasionally, citizens holding flags and signs marched in impromptu parades.
Elections in the Federation had become a cultural symbol—a nationwide event that everyone participated in, far livelier than mayoral or gubernatorial races.
While waiting at a red light, a passerby ran over and stuck several small flags with the president’s smiling face onto the car’s hood.
It was a national carnival. No wonder people said the federal election was both a political spectacle and a commercial one.
Think about it—roughly 120 million eligible voters. Each one wanted a jacket representing their party, a hat, a pair of gloves, some flags, some pins…
No wonder they held elections in winter. If it were summer, a T-shirt would suffice.
These items cost at least twenty to thirty Sol—that’s a $2–3 billion market.
Add in campaign posters, event funding, media expenses…
Even after slashing the numbers, the profit would still be in the hundreds of millions to over a billion.
That kind of money drove people mad.
By the time Lynch returned to Eminence, the political frenzy had intensified. Even the financial district had taken down its commercial ads and replaced them with the president’s smiling face, his gleaming teeth, and his thumbs-up pose.
The president was everywhere—so were his fanatical supporters. Everyone had lost their minds.
Back home, Lynch didn’t dive straight into work. He gave himself a few days off.
After the chaos in Gephra, he needed a break.
He turned on the TV, only to be met with nonstop election coverage, filled with the president’s speeches.
These programs had higher ratings than any drama series—a key difference between the Federation and other nations.
Federal elections gave every citizen a deep sense of involvement, a feeling that carried them through the months alongside the president and other candidates.
They felt a personal stake in national affairs. And when their candidate won, they believed—wrongly—that it was their support that made the difference.
When it came to manipulating, pacifying, and controlling the public, the Federation was leagues ahead of the world. Gephra didn’t even qualify to shine its shoes.
Lynch’s vacation was cut short after just two days. He received a call from Ms. Tracy, who wanted to meet and talk.
On his last trip to York State, he had made a donation to the Women’s Rights Protection Association. Ms. Tracy wasn’t there at the time.
Lynch was curious—what did this woman want?
