To Lillian, the throne held very little appeal.
Especially in the world within the walls, where the king possessed almost no real authority and was little more than a decorative mascot seated on a throne. Did Lillian want to play that role? Don't be ridiculous—he had no interest in that whatsoever.
And even if he did, neither the common people nor the regional nobles would ever acknowledge him. His origins were humble; he was a commoner. This wasn't a proletarian revolution—this world was still feudal. It didn't need a peasant king to point out its decay.
When it came to maintaining appearances, the common people actually shared the same mindset as the nobles. At the very least, a magnificent royal palace subconsciously gave people a sense of prosperity and hope for the future. If even the palace was dilapidated, what was there left to strive for? Once people lost their motivation and slipped into apathy, that would spell real disaster.
That was why Lillian had never once fantasized about becoming king.
And just as he had said, he didn't want Historia to become queen either. In many ways, that position was more like a cage. He didn't want the innocent, lively girl to turn into a lifeless queen.
Of course, he didn't deny that Historia ascending the throne might produce better results. But so what? Did Lillian really care about "results"?
He didn't.
His original intention had never been to "bring happiness to all." It was simply to protect the few people he cared about—and let them live happily.
"'Purge the courtiers'…"
After Lillian proposed his idea, everyone looked puzzled. They naturally didn't understand this distinctly Eastern political term. But judging from Lillian's actions, they could roughly grasp its meaning.
"So… we're framing the king as innocent?"
"That way…"
"Come to think of it, that king who does nothing but sleep and eat really is innocent. He doesn't know anything at all."
The idea wasn't completely unacceptable—it just didn't seem as good as having Historia take the throne. But after the girl's fierce and unequivocal rejection earlier, it was obvious she couldn't be persuaded.
Were they supposed to force her?
Then they'd first have to defeat Lillian—the one who openly and firmly supported her.
To be honest, at first no one had taken him too seriously. But once he produced that newspaper, the situation could only move forward according to his will.
This meeting could practically be called meaningless. Lillian had already decided the outcome in advance—and even printed it in the newspapers and distributed it to the public.
This kind of "act first, report later" tactic was undeniably effective—so effective that everyone's faces turned red with anger. Many people glared at Lillian through clenched teeth, yet not a single one dared to actually make a move.
"Fine. Very well." Pixis turned and walked straight out. "Then I'll take my leave. Seems like there's no need for us old men to be here anymore."
"Commander Pixis!"
Several people called after him, but he ignored them completely. Some other officers stood up and left as well—from various departments—but most of them belonged to the Garrison and the Military Police.
A few minutes later, only the Scout Regiment, the Northern Garrison Commander, and President of the Three Branches, Zachary, remained in the room.
"You…" Zachary stared at Lillian for a long moment and sighed. "You really pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. Even I didn't know about this."
"Well, now you do," Lillian replied calmly.
"..."
Erwin looked at Lillian. Although he felt some dissatisfaction, he was an extremely rational person. Once he judged the situation, he didn't dwell on negative emotions.
"Since the newspapers have already been distributed, it's too late to retract them," Erwin said. "And issuing rebuttals would only damage the royal government's credibility. So we can only proceed according to this 'purge the courtiers' plan."
"Commander Erwin really does see the bigger picture," Lillian said, feeling rather amused by how intimidating his chosen slogan sounded.
In truth, "purging the courtiers" originally was a term used by loyal officials. When corrupt ministers surrounded an emperor, they distorted his judgment and blocked him from hearing the truth of the people's suffering—eventually turning him into a foolish or tyrannical ruler who might even ask, "Why don't they just eat meat?"
When persuasion failed, some loyalists would resort to force to eliminate those corrupt officials.
Over time, however, the slogan gradually became a form of "political correctness" for rebellions—a justification much like the modern phrase "eliminating harm for the people."
Once the precedent was set, countless traitors began copying it. The famous An Lushan Rebellion of the Tang Dynasty was launched under the banner of "purging the courtiers," and it directly caused the Tang Dynasty's decline.
So it's hard to say when such a slogan is right or wrong. It's simply a tool—a method. And like a forbidden move in Go, once you use it against others, others can one day use it against you.
Now that the "purge the courtiers" newspapers had already been distributed, the people believed that it was the ministers who had misled the king, causing him to neglect the people.
As a result, they hated only the corrupt officials—not the king.
And thus, that "sleepy king" could continue playing his role until the day those in real power decided he was no longer needed.
Or perhaps one day, even the system that allowed a king to exist would disappear entirely—and with it, the king himself.
"So next," Lillian said bluntly, "it's time to divide the spoils."
"I don't care about the nobles. But the Central Military Police must be handed over to me—I'll break them apart and reorganize them. And that new deputy commander sent to the Stohess District can go right back where he came from. My territory doesn't need outsiders making decisions for me."
"..."
Asking outright for control of the Central Military Police—arguably the most critical force of all—was nothing short of a lion opening its jaws wide.
But at this moment, whether it was the Scout Regiment or even Zachary himself, there was no real power left to refuse him.
"Commander Pixis previously proposed that the Central Military Police be disbanded, and that an 'Inner Capital Guard' be formed instead, composed of elite soldiers selected from the three major military branches," Erwin said. "The captain would be jointly elected by all three sides."
Lillian glanced at him.
"Don't you understand yet, Commander Erwin? The moment he walked out of this room, he forfeited the right to speak."
"..."
Zachary frowned deeply. "Lillian… are you trying to provoke a civil war?"
"No," Lillian replied calmly. "But since they don't respect us, why should we respect them? President Zachary—you of all people should understand that."
Zachary shook his head.
"Marley's attack could come at any time. If the world within the walls can't unite before then, things will become extremely difficult when that happens. As for those who refuse to cooperate… we can't simply ignore them forever."
After saying this, Lillian stood up.
"Then it's settled for now. The specifics can be discussed later. President Zachary, I'll pay you a visit personally."
"Very well," Zachary replied. "I'll be waiting."
Lillian left with the others. Those who remained exchanged looks, unsure what to say.
"At this point," Erwin said, "there's no longer any way to restrain him. The two Titans under his control—Ymir is extremely powerful in combat. As for the Female Titan, although we haven't fought her directly, her speed alone suggests formidable strength. And for reasons unknown, Kenny's special operations unit—originally under Rod—has also come under his command… Combined with Lillian's own mysterious 'return from death,' it's become nearly impossible for us to contain him."
Zachary let out a deep sigh. "Sigh… I thought I was nurturing talent back then. Now it seems… I was raising a tiger that would become a threat."
He lifted his eyes and met Erwin's gaze.
"And this tiger might very well bite us someday."
"..."