"Let us continue where we left off," Bernard said, a satisfied look on his face. "The term length is the most pressing issue before us. We must consider not only the populace but also the future of our own party. Only by securing re-election can we lead all of humanity to drive the Ancient Legion out of the Outer Solar System and stride toward a better life. Therefore, I urge you all to support my proposal: initiate the military campaign to retake Saturn within two months! After all, we only need another month to conclude the battle, don't we? Heh heh..."

"Drive the Ancient Legion out of the Outer Solar System and lead humanity toward a better life?" Marshal Duncan pointed at the Minister of Propaganda and roared, "Bernard, a person cannot be this shameless. Do you really think I am like those commoners, ready to swallow every exaggerated lie you spew? And what did you just say? Two months! You want to expedite it even further?"

"Naturally, if the war starts three months from now, by the time we win, we will already be out of office," Bernard replied with a smile.

Bernard scanned the faces of the other ministers. He had already spoken with everyone present except Marshal Duncan, and many eyes reflected a silent understanding with him.

Bernard nearly laughed aloud inwardly but feigned a heavy sigh. "Marshal Duncan, I am aware that commencing this campaign within two months will undoubtedly cause inconvenience for the military brass. However, I implore you to convey the earnest expectations of the people to the military. Please urge them to exert twelve-tenths of their combat effectiveness, and we, in turn, will marshal the strength of all departments to fast-track the conscription efforts in every sector."

The Minister of Industry immediately chimed in, "All necessary resources for the military will receive the highest priority. Regarding equipment, I will personally see to it that the major armories work overtime to resolve any shortages for you."

The Minister of Finance followed suit, "If funding becomes an issue, I can take the lead in submitting a proposal to the United Council for issuing special war bonds. Any measure that accelerates the training of new recruits will receive the most comprehensive support from the Treasury."

Several other ministers voiced their enthusiastic agreement.

Finally, Bernard took the floor again, gesturing animatedly as he spoke: "As for those brave soldiers who fall in battle—though their loss is regrettable—they have sacrificed themselves for the cause of righteousness, fighting until their last breath for all of humanity. What immense glory! They are ten times more noble than soldiers who have died in human civil wars since antiquity. For these fallen heroes, I will mobilize the entire apparatus of the Propaganda Ministry to ensure their brilliant deeds are sung through the ages, inspiring future generations to achieve the glory unattainable by those who remain safely out of the fight! Let everyone know their deaths are glorious, righteous, and eternal!"

Marshal Duncan stared at him and spat out a few cold words: "If it's so glorious, why don't you go die!"

Bernard instantly choked, erupting into a violent fit of coughing. Several ministers around him chuckled, then quickly composed themselves, stepping in to gently persuade Marshal Duncan.

Seeing their demeanor, Marshal Duncan understood they had already been swayed by Bernard. A flash of rage crossed his face, but he held it in check.

He had spent his entire life on the battlefield; in the arena of politics, he was no match for these figures who had been steeped in the halls of power from the beginning. Yet, even now, he recognized that nothing he said would change their minds.

Bernard recovered his breath, glaring at Marshal Duncan and silently cursing the stubborn old fool in his mind. However, one needed a thick skin to be the Minister of Propaganda; he quickly regained his composure, smoothed his clothing, and declared, "It appears the difference between Minister Duncan and the rest of us is irreconcilable. Let us resort to the most fundamental method: a vote. Those who agree to commence hostilities three months from now, please raise your hands..."

The vote concluded. Marshal Duncan slumped in his chair, silent, while Bernard shook hands with several ministers one by one. His proposal for war initiation in three months passed with an overwhelming majority: ten votes in favor, one against, and one abstention.

The opposition, naturally, was Marshal Duncan, while the abstention came from the Minister of Health and Welfare.

Seeing the lopsided result, Marshal Duncan shot a look of profound disappointment at the other ministers and thundered, "You short-sighted fools! Say what you will, two months is simply not enough time. I am going to see President Frank. Bernard, even if you persuade everyone else, you still have to get past the President. If he does not approve, this proposal will be rejected."

Bernard, far from worried, merely smirked triumphantly. "To be perfectly honest, I discussed this matter with His Excellency President Frank even before this meeting convened today. You must understand, the President also faces intense pressure from the upcoming election. As the head of our party, the burden on him is even greater than ours. Consequently, I successfully secured the President’s alignment with us. I already shared this situation with all the ministers."

"Indeed," the Minister of Health and Welfare sighed. "During the recess, I also spoke with President Frank. His Excellency admitted the arrangement. What an irony—the trajectory of a war is being determined not by the person who understands it best, but by his very opponents."

After the meeting adjourned, Marshal Duncan stalked out of the conference room, his face dark. His aide-de-camp immediately followed. The Marshal proceeded directly to the sky deck, where a hemispherical glass exterior allowed one to gaze upon the heavens.

A fabricated cool breeze drifted by, infused with various nutrients beneficial to the body and carrying a light, refreshing fragrance—regular exposure, they claimed, was good for one’s health.

"It is a true pity. The military only possesses authority over operational command and administrative management. When, where, and against whom we fight must be decided by a vote of the twelve ministers. The rationale behind such a decision is public opinion—ha! Is this the populace getting what they asked for?" Marshal Duncan murmured quietly.

"Sir. What are you saying?" His orderly did not quite catch the words.

"I said, to hell with it all," Marshal Duncan snorted and turned away from the deck.

...

Although the decision to start the war in three months was highly classified, intelligence from the Ghost Agents eventually reached Yang Ying's ears.

"To conquer Saturn in three months? Truly the thinking of politicians. No, this can no longer be called politics; it smells more like the gambles of gamblers." The full context of this affair lay spread across Yang Ying’s desk, with dossiers on Ivan and Bailey placed nearby.

"All sorts of undesirable elements are surfacing lately. The conflict between the Ancient Legion and humanity has grown much more complicated. Humanity’s own politicians, grand families, and major merchants are actively working against humanity itself. What exactly has gone wrong?" Yang Ying muttered to himself.

Kaliya commented from the side, "Perhaps only 'every man for himself' can explain it."

"'Every man for himself'..." Yang Ying tasted the phrase, nodding. "That is a fitting description."

"In their eyes, the human world is an inexhaustible mine. They rarely consider the world of humanity; instead, they relentlessly fight for their own interests. While self-interest is natural, when too many people adopt this mindset, problems arise," Kaliya said, shrugging.

"There is a saying, 'Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.' We have reached this tipping point. If this continues, the world of humanity will truly be in danger," Yang Ying stated slowly.

"Sir, is there anything we should do?" Kaliya inquired.

Yang Ying considered deeply for a long moment. "We absolutely should do something. However, exactly what, and how to execute it, I have not yet decided. I need to visit the General Staff Headquarters; we will discuss this tomorrow."

Kaliya’s eyes sharpened. He understood that when Yang Ying spoke this way, there was usually a significant plan in motion. If it were a minor matter, a single directive would suffice; there would be no need to involve the General Staff. He stepped back, bowed, and said, "Understood, Sir."

After Kaliya departed, Yang Ying struck the air with his fist, sending out concentric ripples. A gale-force wind seemed to churn the room, lifting small objects like pens and ornaments into the air before they clattered back to the floor.

Fortunately, his blow struck empty space; otherwise, no solid object in the command center could have withstood that impact.

This time, Yang Ying was genuinely furious. As a transmigrator, he had always felt a certain detachment toward this Earth five centuries in the future, often viewing the world through the detached eyes of an observer, as if engaging with a game.

Back when Istha of the Caesar Mercenary Group had caused trouble, although he classified them as enemies and initiated their complete annihilation, his internal reaction had been muted. His own influence had grown vast, with interests spanning numerous sectors, yet when reviewing statements of his assets, he merely glanced at the figures—his emotional response remained minimal.

The only time he had truly erupted in anger was that one instance in the Santos underground, upon discovering the Caesar Group's research facility; he had unleashed his wrath and purged the entire Caesar family.

Aside from that, even when the Council had recently challenged him, he had merely delivered a decisive counterstrike without true anger—it was simply a necessary retaliation.

However, upon learning now that Earth's forces would launch an offensive in three months, motivated solely by politicians securing their own positions, a surge of fury welled up inside him.

He remembered that small cottage outside the battlefield, that Madame Browen. If the war ignited three months hence, who knew how many more widows like Madame Browen there would be, how many families shattered by such political maneuvering.

"Regardless of the cost, measures must be taken to delay the start of the war until six months from now. Those politicians—they are guilty!"