Warhammer Divine Throne

Imperial Capital, Brunswick.

The resplendent Imperial Palace is surrounded by towering statues, with statues of Charlemagne, the founding Emperor of the Empire, and the twelve Gallorin Knights standing around the palace. The statue of Charlemagne holds a sword in one hand and a book in the other, naturally gazing forward.

Engravings of ancient historical murals cover every inch of the fifty-meter-high palace gates, depicting events from Charlemagne’s rise to power, to the ”Battle of Longbeard” which established the Dwarf Covenant, to the Black Fire Pass battle that annihilated the Green-skinned Army, and finally to his defeat of the Master of the Undead Nagash at the Battle of Rick River. There’s also the wall depicting the first Chaos Invasion, showing Charlemagne wielding the Holy Sword against the ”Unifier” Moka.

The Emperor of the Human Empire, Carl Franz Friedrich, is in his study writing.

”Brittania certainly failed in the Marinburg engagement, but that was because the main force was not deployed. In any case, we are fellow humans. I do not wish for our knightly friends to become estranged from us—not even as a possibility.” The Emperor of the Empire was writing at his desk with a quill and parchment: ”The Empire is vast, with too few friends, surrounded on all sides. In such circumstances, the Empire must unite its scarce allies as much as possible, and the strength of the Holy Grail Knight Order is necessary.”

”The Prince-Electors underestimated me for ascending the throne at such a young age, often making things difficult for me in the council. They hope I will relinquish power. However, following the great victory at Blood Pine Forest and success in quelling multiple rebellions, this victory against the Knight Kingdom has finally earned me their temporary trust.”

Carl Franz was still writing when a voice from outside announced, and a nearby attendant approached: ”Your Majesty, General Heinrich has arrived.”

”Let him in.” The Emperor looked up. He was not very old, appearing to be in his thirties, with a deep and powerful voice, an imposing presence, and handsome features full of vitality, with bright eyes like the morning sun.

”Yes!”

After a moment, the fully armed Imperial Earl Heinrich Frens arrived in the Emperor’s study, kneeling on one knee: ”Your Majesty, the Prince-Electors have already arrived at the Imperial Council.”

Upon hearing the words ”Prince-Electors,” the Emperor’s fingers trembled slightly.

”Hmm, alright, I’ll head over now.” The Emperor stood up, looking at the strands of light filtering through the stained glass windows, and sighed: ”War has never ceased, neither in the past, nor now, and in the future... who knows what will happen?”

”By the way, has the Magic Guild been notified?” Walking through the long corridor, feeling the soft carpet under his boots, the Emperor suddenly inquired about this matter.

The Magic Guild is not the Magic Church; the Magic Guild is composed of wizards from the Imperial Royal Wizard Academy and is directly under the Emperor of the Empire. The leader of the Magic Guild is the Imperial Royal Chief Grand Mage. The current Chief Grand Mage is Sernus German, a Fire Mage of unfathomable power, rumored by many to have advanced to the Holy Sanctuary level, though no one dares to test this Great Wizard’s true abilities.

”Yes, Lord German is already on his way to the palace.” The attendant replied.

”Have Gailte called as well; I want to see him after the meeting.” The Emperor added.

”Understood.” An attendant hurried away.

The Imperial Council decides the entire empire’s politics, but in actuality, it is not large. This building within the Imperial Palace is smaller than one might imagine, with just a standalone large courtyard and a three-story mansion. Inside the courtyard, there are guards every five steps and sentries every ten steps. The War Court Guards, clad in golden armor and wielding hammer swords, keep watch for any disturbances.

Carl Franz gestured for his guards to stand aside and gently pushed open the large doors. All the Imperial Prince-Electors were already seated, even the Brescia Prince-Elector—a teenage boy barely considered a man, who nervously looked around. The number of people inside the council hall was not many, and each Prince-Elector had only one courtier standing behind them. The hall was not cramped, and many Prince-Electors even enjoyed drinks and snacks.

However, the atmosphere inside was suffocating.

The lineage of the Human Empire has been passed down to this day, yet only the bloodlines of four of Charlemagne’s original twelve Gallorin Knights remain. The rest of the Prince-Electors are martial aristocrats ennobled due to military achievements after Ludwig, each a formidable figure with illustrious service and commanding a region with awe. Their intimidating presence made the hall feel completely sealed off, so much so that the attendants and maidservants delivering refreshments often turned pale with fright, wishing only to drop the items and flee.

Additionally, the Justice Church’s Archbishop Vokma Bekman was resting with his eyes closed, the Life Church’s Archbishop was discussing further agricultural improvements with Wolrich Prince-Elector Manfred, and the Magic Church’s Archbishop was examining his gemstone ring, lost in thought.

Upon seeing the Emperor push the door open and enter, all the Prince-Electors rose to acknowledge him. Carl Franz gestured for everyone to sit: ”Gentlemen, today’s council meeting is about two matters that need to be discussed with all of you.”

”Please speak plainly, Your Majesty.” The speaker was the Altdorf Prince-Elector ”Victory Horn” Roland-Otto-Fiehenbach, whose daughter Helena was the Emperor’s wife. Despite appearing young, informed individuals knew he was nearly a hundred years old. As a direct descendant of the original Gallorin Knights and the Emperor’s father-in-law, he had the right to speak up.

”The first matter is simple. This is a letter from the High Elf Prince Phoenix Terion.” The Emperor sat at the head of the table and placed a letter on the red velvet tablecloth before him.

”What does the pointy-eared one’s letter say?” The Toscan Prince-Elector ”Fierce Sun Lion” Umberto Corleone asked, a brown-haired, full-bearded Prince-Elector over two hundred seventy years old. He was the only legendary human hero who had been a Prince-Elector before the Great Holy War and remained so to this day, a Saint Realm powerhouse. When Ludwig launched his campaign, he was the first great noble to respond, handing over his military power and going to war personally. During the Battle of Fasha, he single-handedly took down two Demon Princes.

”The envoy from Ossuan brought greetings from the Phoenix King and also made a small ’request’.” The Emperor’s face bore uncontainable derision as he handed the letter to a servant, who delivered it to Umberto.

”Hmm!” After only a few glances, Umberto slapped the table fiercely: ”Outrageous! What do these pointy-eared ones want?! They want the right to elect the Emperor!”

Wow! The entire council hall erupted like boiling oil, generating a tremendous sound.

”Absolutely not allowed! Affairs of humanity should be settled internally!”

”There is no precedent for High Elves interfering in the Empire’s affairs! I do not endorse it!”

”Impossible!”

”The Emperor of the Human Empire should be chosen by humans!”

The Prince-Electors were filled with emotion, roaring their unanimous stance against allowing any High Elf involvement in the Empire’s affairs.

Carl Franz gestured for quiet once more: ”Then, gentlemen, in ten minutes, we will take a vote to decide if this proposal will be accepted.”

The Emperor then sat back in his chair, coldly observing the Prince-Electors’ fierce discussions. Yet, aside from the silent Magic Church Archbishop, almost everyone rejected this excessive demand.

Carl Franz thought that as long as the electors had any sense, they couldn’t possibly agree to such a humiliating and treacherous proposal, even if the letter promised that High Elves were willing to share more secrets of magic and technology if it passed.

However, what about the young Prince-Elector of Brescia? The Emperor noticed him whispering with his attendant.

”What should I do?” The young Gani Bernardino cautiously asked his attendant.

”You should cast a veto, my lord.”

Ten minutes later, the Emperor signaled the start of the voting.

Fourteen votes against, one abstention.

The abstention came from the Magic Church Archbishop, which didn’t surprise the Emperor; the Magic Church wished to learn more magical secrets from the High Elves, and abstaining was already a concession for them.

”Very well, this matter has been rejected by the Imperial Council.” Carl Franz nodded, not at all surprised by the result: ”Then, the next matter.”

The Emperor’s expression turned serious: ”The Storm Fortress has been breached by Northern Barbarians, and not one of the two thousand defenders survived! About four thousand Barbarians have entered the Nord heartland; Nord is seeking our aid!”