"My lords, what do you think I should do?"
Wang Dali propped up his chin with one hand and looked down at the ministers below.
Originally, he had summoned several allies and had been utterly confident—utterly confident that he could leave every army from the Great Frost Dynasty behind.
But after watching the battle at the Xuanyuan Dynasty, that thought had vanished.
And the allies they had agreed upon long ago had all fled as well.
Now, he stood alone and without aid.
As soon as his words fell, the court sank into deathly silence.
The ministers all lowered their heads. They looked at one another, then ultimately remained silent.
Seeing this, Wang Dali let out a deep sigh.
These so-called ministers were nothing more than decorative figures, merely a group of tools he found convenient to use.
When it came to truly grave matters of right and wrong, he was alone, because no one could offer him a genuinely useful suggestion.
Every ruler of an imperial dynasty was utterly alone.
An imperial dynasty had only one ruler at the Quasi-Saint Realm.
Below the Quasi-Saint Realm, all were ants.
Thus, only the ruler himself could understand the loneliness of an imperial ruler.
Looking at the silent ministers, Wang Dali did not continue making things difficult for them. Instead, he picked up an imperial seal from a table nearby.
Holding the seal in one hand, Wang Dali stared at it in silence.
He looked at the patterns engraved upon it.
Alone and without support, perhaps he had only two paths left.
One path was death.
The other was surrender.
Death?
He did not want to die.
Before true death, no powerful expert could remain completely unmoved.
The same was true for him.
For an imperial ruler like him, death was what