She stepped slowly into her seat, glancing at those familiar insignias, feeling not awe but irony.
After all, nowadays, most of these so-called symbols of order, the descendants of nobility, have their knives concealed within their sleeves.
Not even the eternal flame can suppress these restless ambitions anymore.
Moreover, the throne is absent.
To be precise, the "Black Obsidian Throne" carved from a whole piece of obsidian is still there, standing atop the hall's highest step, overlooking the mundane like a divine being.
But ever since Emperor Ernst August's disappearance, no one dares to sit there.
The Grand Prince, the nominal Regent of the Empire, now only sits in the high chair at the center of the long table, his face pale, his breath weak, his gaze barely focused.
Eleanor glanced at him, and a recent piece of intelligence flashed in her mind: "Someone attempted to poison the Regent King, unsuccessfully. Details are unclear."
