Laughter and claps erupted among the direct families of the Baron.
However, for the extended families, there was only silence and forced claps.
To many commoners, the politics of the Houses were fought between different Houses.
But among nobles, even from early childhood, it was common knowledge that even your own brother could be after your throat.
If that knowledge applied to this table,
The only one who was truly safe was Liam Maddach.
As the Baron sat on his chair, Elder Varcon Maddach raised his glass into the air.
"A toast to our capable Baron! Thanks to him, House Maddach is now the second-largest shareholder of the Mercantile Authority among the Houses!"
Now, this was something everyone could celebrate.
Being even a fractional shareholder in the Mercantile Authority was something to brag about.
Families married into other families just to increase their shares.
Owning 8.67% of the most powerful economic organization in the world?
That was a number to drool over.
Jorvik Maddach, a lean youth of the Maddach family, refused to get up and applaud.
Similar to Liam, he had been born to a House Consort.
His mother had died giving birth to him—poisoned—a fate common for consorts in noble politics.
Since then, he had done everything in his power to prove himself worthy of becoming an heir.
And now, all of his efforts had just been trampled on.
Jorvik had never been the most talented, never the smartest, nor the most cunning.
But every opportunity thrown his way, he seized it—he squeezed it dry—thinking that, one day, he might be worthy.
'It's not over…' he convinced himself.
'The Baron is not dead yet.'
'Valen is not Baron yet.'
'I can still be Baron.'
The Baron smiled as he raised his glass.
"Thank you. There will be an announcement soon by the Gracious Vox Imperium."
He set his glass down, clasping his hands together.
"But before that, I want to thank all of you for your support. Everything we have achieved; we have achieved together. And I hope that no matter what, we will carry each other, no matter how far we may fall."
Four Imperial Knights approached the table, escorting the Vox Imperium.
The Baron immediately stepped away from the front of the table, giving way.
"I greet the Voice of the Immortal, All-Knowing, and Gracious God Emperor Vossian, the Vox Imperium!" the Baron declared.
"We greet the Voice of the Immortal, All-Knowing, and Gracious God Emperor Vossian, the Vox Imperium!" everyone else followed in unison.
When someone becomes a Vox Imperium, their former identity is erased.
They cease to exist as individuals.
They become the Voice of the Emperor.
And though they hold no power, once the scroll is opened, and once they read its contents, they are no longer themselves.
At that moment—they are the Emperor.
'They might be different in flesh, but in spirit and in truth, when the Holy Scroll Unfurled, the Emperor and the Vox Imperium are one.'
This was a direct passage from the Kitab al-Vossian.
Everyone clasped their hands together, bowing their heads.
Liam followed suit.
He had no idea what he was doing—he simply copied everyone else.
The Knights carried a massive scroll.
Two held the top handle, while two others held the lower handle.
The Vox Imperium closed his eyes.
"We thank the God Emperor for this privilege of hearing his voice."
"We thank Him for the privilege to live, to love, to laugh, to triumph… and most of all—we thank Him for the privilege to die."
The privilege to die.
To Liam and outsiders, this sentence sounded borderline psychotic.
But to true followers of the Temple of Vossian, it was a sacred truth.
It was said that when God Emperor Vossian created life, he had originally made humans immortal.
But in their endless existence, they lost their sense of time—their sense of purpose—their sense of humanity.
The invention of death was said to be his greatest gift.
For only through death could life have meaning.
The Vox Imperium pressed his hands together and kissed his fingertips.
"Praise be the name of the Immortal."
"Praise be the name of the Immortal!" everyone echoed.
Liam hesitated for a second.
He almost whispered, "Amen."
Realizing his mistake, he quickly corrected himself, mimicking the others.
Luckily, no one had heard him.
Above the headgear of the Vox Imperium, a myriad of lights appeared.
The fireworks from the Imperial Capital had begun.
The largest display ever seen.
So large that even from thousands of miles away, every House in their own territories—each the size of a country—could see it.
The fireworks were specifically designed to be seen across the entire Empire.
As the lights faded, an Imperial staff member rushed forward, turning on a metronome placed at the center of the table.
The Knights gritted their teeth as they slowly pulled the scroll open.
A golden light reflected off the Vox Imperium's face as his eyes scanned the scroll.
Everyone, including the Baron, lowered their heads in humility.
They were about to hear the closest thing to the Emperor himself.
They braced themselves.
And then—
The Vox Imperium spoke.
"I, Emperor M. Vossian, have been satisfied with the work of the Houses.
The performance of the Mercantile Authority has been exceptional.
So, too, have all Imperial Governing Bodies.
However…
Mistakes have been made.
Mistakes that have been repeated.
And some… remain unfixed."
A ripple of unease passed through the table.
Nobles exchanged glances.
Even the Baron sat completely still, his fingers interlocked.
"I see suffering. I hear the cries of my people. But I cannot fix them."
No one had ever heard an announcement like this before.
"I know the problem. And I know the solution."
The Vox Imperium paused, inhaling deeply before continuing.
"My children, I have decided that I will allow the death I created to greet me—as a child welcomes his father."
A sharp gasp escaped from someone at the table.
The Baron's hands trembled slightly.
Even the Vox Imperium's voice held a barely noticeable shake.
"My life will soon come to an end. And so shall my reign of 737 years."
The room felt like it had frozen in time.
Not a single word.
Not even a breath.
Then, the final words of the scroll:
"But I will not leave without choosing an heir to the throne.
Whosoever is worthy shall inherit my throne.
Your father,
The Emperor M. Vossian."