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Three Years Later — Kingdom of Estonia, Pitera Palace
The Privy Council, the royal advisory body, had reconvened after several years. Around twenty advisors — composed of royals, nobles, and senior statesmen — sat in their assigned seats, waiting for the royal spokesperson to arrive. Their faces were filled with discontent, all because of the railway construction issue that was to be brought before Parliament. The Privy Council had advised against it, or at least to postpone it, but it seemed the king had no intention of backing down.
“Railways? There’s no way that idea came from His Majesty himself.”
“Of course not. It’s obvious that Tristan—that snake—whispered it into his ear.”
“I still don’t understand why His Majesty hired a foreigner as the royal spokesperson. What if classified royal documents get leaked?”
“It was all because Minister Harper pushed hard for him, wasn’t it? I’ve heard rumors that there’s something going on between that spokesperson and Harper’s daughter.”
Their dissatisfaction flowed from the king to the royal spokesperson Tristan, and then to Marquis Felix Harper, the Minister of Military Affairs. Their accusations were baseless—Tristan was in fact a citizen of the Estonian Kingdom. What truly irked them was that the king, who had always yielded to the Privy Council’s pressure, had started to assert himself after keeping Tristan by his side.
Moments later, the doors to the chamber opened, and a man walked in. Instantly, all the people who had been criticizing him fell silent, their eyes transfixed. Dressed in an elegant formal uniform, the man strode in confidently, commanding everyone’s attention at once. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a physique that was powerful even under his clothes. His striking features and youthful aura—unlike anyone else in the room—made him both beautiful and dignified.
He walked to the podium at the center and, after a brief bow, scanned the room. His face carried a mix of politeness, ease, and arrogance. Many of the council members frowned as they looked at him.
“Good day. I am Tristan Miller, His Majesty’s chief aide and royal spokesperson.”
Tristan Miller.
The man who spoke the king’s will in his stead. A beast who wielded rhetoric instead of a sword, crushing opposition and enforcing the royal will.
He was born to an Estonian mother but grew up in Atlanta after she remarried a nobleman there. He had graduated top of his class from Tebe Royal Academy—the most prestigious school on the western continent—and became a full Estonian citizen two years ago, entering the royal palace. Thanks to his exceptional abilities, he quickly earned the king’s trust and became his right hand, wielding immense power. Rumors said that nothing could reach the king’s heart without going through Tristan first. He was admired and envied by many.
The Privy Council members tensed up. They had to defeat Tristan. Only by crushing him could they push through their own agenda.
“First of all, I thank you all for attending once again. I will now deliver His Majesty’s intentions regarding the railway project. The railway construction proposal across the entire Estonian Kingdom will be submitted to Parliament as planned.”
Murmurs erupted. Faces twisted in displeasure. Tristan smirked inwardly; he had expected this. They would now launch their complaints and try to tear him apart.
“This is incomprehensible. Railway construction when train safety hasn’t even been fully guaranteed?”
“With slavery abolished, we now have to pay for labor. How will those costs be covered?”
“Is this really the time for railways? A war could break out any day with the southern rebels!”
As expected, their main excuses were doubts about trains’ utility and the unstable political climate of the divided kingdom. But Tristan knew their true motives. These were seasoned politicians and businessmen—they knew perfectly well the advantages of fast, powerful transportation. They simply refused to cooperate unless they were guaranteed a share of the profit. Tristan had brought bones to throw to the dogs, but he had no intention of handing them out so easily.
“Since the end of the Delmore War, all nations have been rushing to build railways. Our kingdom tested one from Yukon to Emerville. The steam locomotive ran without a single accident.”
“……”
“Compared to transporting the same goods by carriage, the travel time was cut to one-thirtieth, and the load capacity increased more than fiftyfold. Faster transport boosts commerce, which strengthens the national economy. Can our kingdom really afford to lag behind while others surge ahead with this new transportation system?”
He began dismantling their objections one by one.
“Moreover, if the railway runs from Yukon to the central region, we’ll be able to supply military goods immediately if a conflict arises with the southern rebels. You all know that the Allied victory in the Delmore War was largely due to their ability to transport supplies by train.”
Estonia was currently divided north and south. After returning victorious from the Delmore War, Duke Sigmund Hezelkaiser launched a rebellion in the name of a republic. With the southern region centered around Elkassus under his control, the people now called it “North Estonia and South Elkassus.”
“I have one question. The central region has become our border now. If we build a railway from the capital Yukon to the central region, won’t the southern rebels be able to use that railway against us and march straight to the capital if war breaks out?”
The question came from Lord Campbell, a young republican councilor. Calm but sharp, his words were filled with genuine concern for Estonia.
“If that happens, we can simply destroy the tracks. Since the railway is built by us, they can’t destroy it if we push south. But if they advance north, we can easily cut the railway ourselves.”
Tristan answered smoothly, clearly having anticipated the question. Lord Campbell asked several more difficult questions, but Tristan responded flawlessly every time.
Campbell fell silent, lost in thought. Others whispered, but no one could refute Tristan—his arguments were airtight.
“You speak like a man who’s been to war.”
Someone tried to mock him, picking a petty fight. Others eagerly joined in.
“What would someone who’s never even served in the military know? You don’t really think wars are won by supply lines alone, do you? Theory and reality are different.”
A noble who had fought in the Delmore War sneered, treating Tristan like a child. Laughter rippled through the room.
But Tristan only smiled leisurely.
“Someone once said: Those who live in caves see only shadows and think they are reality.”
“W-What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Oh, nothing. I was just reflecting on how someone like me, who’s never been to war, might’ve been speaking as if I only saw shadows and mistook them for truth.”
It sounded superficially like self-reflection or even an apology. But everyone knew there wasn’t a shred of sincerity. It was really a rebuke—You know nothing about me, and your criticisms are childish. Tristan then calmly steered the conversation back on track.
“Now, to the king’s proposal. If you support the bill in Parliament, the railway construction rights will be distributed fairly among you through a vote.”
At his words, the noise stopped immediately. The advisors began calculating quickly. Construction rights meant providing materials and getting paid by the state—a chance to amass vast wealth.
With a confident smile, Tristan laid out the details of the offer. Not one of the twenty dared challenge him anymore. They eagerly followed the lead he set. As the meeting drew to a close, Tristan smiled knowingly.
“I trust I can count on your cooperation.”
As if he had foreseen this outcome from the very start.
“Arrogant bastard.”
That was what most of them were thinking. Tristan always crushed their arguments with rationality, humiliated them, offered an insincere apology, then silenced them with rewards—always bending the situation to his will. Brilliant but infuriating. Talented, but detestable.
While the advisors huddled together whispering, Tristan strolled to the window, hands on his hips. Sunlight had begun to spill across the floor, and he stepped forward, letting the light touch his boots.
“Spokesperson Tristan Miller.”
Tristan stopped when he heard someone call his name outside. Recognizing the voice, he turned with a polite smile.
“Good day, Marquis Harper.”
Standing before him was Marquis Felix Harper, a royalist councilor and Minister of Military Affairs. He was one of the king’s most powerful supporters and held His Majesty’s absolute trust. He had also been a close friend of Tristan’s father, and thanks to his recommendation, Tristan had easily gained entry into the royal palace.
