The assembled ministers boiled over, Fighting Intent filling the palace. Civil officials and military generals alike yearned to win merit and become founding officials of the empire.
They had swept invincibly across the battlefield all the way here, and thus feared nothing.
King Shan and King Wei were nothing more than defeated foes.
King Zheng, who called himself a Divine Son, was even more laughable. He was more worthless than Yu Yong, King Yu of old. If not for his remote location in the Desolate Border Realm, no one knew where he would have died long ago. Nothing but dry bones in a grave.
The enemies across the entire realm looked glorious and mighty, but in truth they were merely men with their heads marked for sale.
If they arrived too late and others seized the war merits, would that not be a lifelong regret?
"Your Majesty, please dispatch the army at once!"
The generals requested battle one after another, like a surging tide.
Silence fell.
There was no answer.
"Send out the army?"
Amid such a scene of flowers piled upon brocade and oil poured upon blazing fire, Tu Sanyi inexplicably felt a chill. For no reason, he recalled the sight of Zhou Xiaocui being consumed by flames back in Kaoshan Village.
That scene clearly bore no resemblance whatsoever to the present one, yet it felt strangely familiar.
Was the feverish fire in these ministers' eyes, their craving for achievement, meant to burn me alive?
Tu Sanyi remained silent for a long while. He did not answer the ministers' requests for battle, and the palace gradually quieted until a needle could be heard falling.
The ministers looked at one another, utterly bewildered.
What was wrong with the King?
Could the wise and mighty King, whose gaze reached ten thousand