Chapter 118
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 118
Chapter Title: The Butterfly's Typhoon (2)
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A lavish townhouse in Westminster, London.
The Whig members, gathered as usual to discuss party affairs, were more subdued than ever.
[The Truth Finally Revealed! The Astonishing Secret of Asian Prince Killian Gore’s Birth]
[A Surprising Truth About the Foreign Secretary! How Will This Affect the British Empire’s Foreign Policy?]
[How Do Asian Royals Differ from European Royalty? Exploring the Mysterious Culture of Asia with an Expert]
Newspapers, ranging from simple statements of fact to wild predictions and outright fiction, were spread across the table.
To Gladstone, the sight of the other members silently flipping through them was maddening.
“We must move preemptively. The Tories don’t know how to react to this unexpected situation either. We have to strike first and seize the narrative.”
“In principle, you’re correct, but how exactly do you propose we strike?”
Since Viscount Melbourne stepped down, Viscount Palmerston, Henry Temple, had been leading the Whig Party’s movements.
John Russell, who along with Lord Palmerston was considered a future leader of the Whigs, seemed to be lying low for some reason.
But now, both Lord Palmerston and John Russell were equally bewildered.
“Lord Palmerston, we must first unify the party’s opinion. We need to decide whether to treat this as a major issue or a minor incident. Only then can the other members voice their opinions.”
“That’s true. Then, Mr. Gladstone, would you care to share your thoughts?”
Having made a spectacular switch from the Tory Party and greatly aided the Whigs in the recent general election, Gladstone had already become one of the party’s central figures.
The Whig leaders valued his opinion, especially since his long political career with the Tories gave him insight into their way of thinking.
“In my opinion, we should wait for follow-up reports to arrive. There’s still a non-zero chance that the facts were misconstrued in Shanghai.”
“Hmm… Do you really think they would send a report on such a momentous issue without verifying it two or three times?”
“There’s a limit to how cautious one can be when we can’t investigate it ourselves. Perhaps that’s why the Tories aren’t making any moves either. Aren’t they being unusually quiet?”
The Tory Party, led by Charles Wellesley, had always been quicker than the Whigs to launch public opinion campaigns on any issue, guiding the political landscape.
But strangely, this time, they remained silent, issuing no reactions or statements, merely observing the situation.
Could it be because Killian, the person in question, was in Canada?
Still, wasn’t Charles Wellesley the head of the Wellesley faction and the Prime Minister of the Tory Party, not Killian Gore?
‘Could my assumption have been correct after all?’
Having spent a long time in the Tory Party, Gladstone had secretly suspected that the real power was not Wellesley, but Killian.
It was, of course, mere conjecture without a shred of evidence, but his conversations with them often fueled this suspicion.
However, the senior Whig members, who were usually receptive to his ideas, vehemently denied this particular theory.
John Russell, who was usually quiet, would become particularly fervent whenever the topic arose, preaching about how formidable Charles Wellesley was.
“We must not be complacent just because the Tories are quiet! The one at the center of the Tory Party right now is none other than Prime Minister Wellesley. He is undoubtedly weaving a plan with multiple layers!”
There it was again. Right on cue.
John Russell’s theory that Wellesley was the mastermind behind everything.
Gladstone had no idea why, but Russell was constantly warning everyone to be wary of Wellesley, parroting, “Don’t be fooled, this is Wellesley’s trap,” in every discussion.
Hearing the same thing again, Gladstone was now curious enough to want to press him for the reason.
“Mr. Russell, do you truly believe Prime Minister Wellesley is setting some kind of trap? From my perspective, it seems he’s simply flustered by the unexpected situation and is waiting for more reports.”
“That’s impossible. Mr. Gladstone, after all your time in the Tory Party, do you not know what a fearsome man the Prime Minister is?”
“No. The Prime Minister I spoke with was a pleasant and good-natured politician, not a fearsome man who concocts sinister schemes.”
“To think he deceived even a member of his own party… Do you see now why I warned you to be cautious? He is a man so adept at hiding himself that even those who observed him up close do not know his true nature.”
If he said one thing, Russell claimed it was fearsome for that reason; if he said another, it was fearsome for a different one. How was one supposed to react?
“Then what do you believe we should do, Mr. Russell? If the Prime Minister is so dreadful, should we do nothing but watch his every move?”
“For now, that is the best course of action. It’s better to wait and see how the Prime Minister acts and then formulate a response, rather than trying to do something.”
“I just… I don’t understand why you’re so wary of Prime Minister Wellesley. Could you please give us a reason so we can understand?”
“There are circumstances. Did Viscount Melbourne not repeatedly stress that we should be cautious of the Prime Minister as he stepped down?”
With both the former party leader, Viscount Melbourne, and now John Russell acting this way, there was clearly some behind-the-scenes story they were not privy to.
But since no one in the party knew what it was, it was simply frustrating.
But what could be done?
Within the party, Russell’s voice still carried more weight than his, an outsider who had rolled in. He had no choice but to follow.
“Then how about this? For now, we follow Mr. Russell’s advice and observe the situation. And when they make a move, please leave it to me to devise a strategy to counter it.”
“…Are you confident?”
“I’m not confident, but I am certain about the direction we must take.”
It was a hundred times more constructive to focus on Killian, whose capabilities he had witnessed firsthand, than to be consumed by an intangible fear.
Especially now that the shackles of his status, his only weakness until now, were gone, there would be no way to check his ascent as he soared with new wings.
‘Isn’t there a good way? A clever move that could distance Killian from the Tory Party….’
Sowing discord? It would never work, so that was out.
A conspiracy theory? They would likely be counter-plotted against and end up smeared with mud, so that was out too.
He needed an unconventional, unexpected approach, not something so crude. But what could that be?
Unlike the other members, all of Gladstone’s attention was focused not on the Prime Minister, but solely on Killian.
***
They say the world is wide and full of crazies, and Asia right now was a perfect example.
I thought it was all just empty bluster, but who would have thought they’d go as far as fabricating a family registry and making it official?
Japan, well, they were known for their outlandish antics, so I could almost let that slide.
But what was Joseon doing, getting swept up in this madness and running wild with them?
Did their rational judgment fail them because the Japanese, whom they’d always looked down upon, were involved?
Even so, I couldn’t even begin to fathom how I was supposed to accept this insane genealogy.
“Are you sure the British didn’t accidentally send a fabricated document?”
“No, sir. We’re getting reports from the office back home, and they say it’s already a confirmed fact. You are the biggest gossip in London right now, Young Master.”
As James showed me the fresh newspapers that had just crossed the Atlantic, my mind went blank.
“So, let me get this straight. I am the product of a royal relative implicated in treason, mixed with Tokugawa blood, and then mixed again with the blood of my Irish noble father?”
“A perfect summary. At least on paper, that is what you have become, Young Master.”
What kind of chimera was I? Why were there so many things mixed in?
A noble of the British Empire with the blood of a Joseon royal, a Shogun of the bakufu, and an Irish Earl.
Wasn’t this kind of mixed-blood hodgepodge usually something created in a shonen manga to tack on all sorts of abilities to the protagonist?
“James, you came to Joseon to get me. You of all people should have an inkling that this is all just bullshit, right? After treating me like something they’d wipe their feet on, isn’t it absurd for them to now claim noble blood flows through my veins?”
“They also added that they wish to offer you a sincere apology for that.”
“Who told them to apologize like this? Bunch of lunatics. I’d love to crack open the head of whoever came up with this bizarre idea.”
At first, I tried to deduce their motive for blowing things up like this, but I couldn’t make any sense of it, so I gave up.
Still, I had a rough idea.
There must have been some objective at the start.
But for things to have reached this point, emotional factors must have played a role.
When clashes of national pride occur, things far more ridiculous than this happen all the time.
“What will you do? I think you should head back, for starters…”
“I suppose I have to. Lord Wellesley’s letter also asks me to come as quickly as possible, so I need to go. But before that, I have to finish what I came here to do, don’t I?”
It was quite common, in both the East and the West, for people to manipulate lineage to claim famous or influential figures as their own.
But that usually involved inserting one’s own family line into a prestigious lineage of the past, or subtly incorporating a historical figure into one’s own family.
Taking a person who was very much alive and telling them, “Turns out you’re one of us,” was, no matter how I thought about it, not a normal thing to do.
But the deed was done, and things back home were in an uproar. What could I do?
I had to anticipate how this unexpected situation might affect me and prepare countermeasures.
Once I boarded the ship back to London, there would be no turning back.
“James, I need to meet with the Governor-General and give him some instructions. I need you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say and get it done as quickly as possible. This might be the most critical juncture of my life.”
Sensing the gravity of the situation from my carefully subdued voice, James nodded immediately.
“I will handle it at once and follow you back home, Young Master.”
Good. Then I should meet the Governor-General as quietly and quickly as possible to deliver my instructions.
I didn’t want any commotion, so I would just state my business concisely and slip away.
However, this wish of mine was mercilessly trampled by the well-intentioned violence of Governor-General Bagot, who thought far too highly of me.
“It’s the Minister! The Minister has returned!”
“Ooooh! Long live the Minister!”
“Asian Prince! Asian Prince!”
The moment I arrived in Kingston, where the temporary Governor-General’s residence was located, the people of Canada, who had flocked to welcome me, threw a grand celebratory parade.
To make matters worse, Governor-General Bagot had orchestrated the event to congratulate me on my successful talks with the United States, so people had gathered not just from Kingston but from all over the region.
“Asian Prince! Asian Prince! Asian Prince!”
“Minister Killian, ruler of Asia! Thank you for your hard work!”
“Asian Prince!”
Ugh, please stop.
Who on earth came up with the ridiculously tacky title “Asian Prince”?
Even if I were a royal relative, which is a huge stretch, a royal relative is not a prince!
“Asian Prince! Asian Prince!”
Before I could even correct the error in the title, I was too embarrassed to lift my head.
Could the Governor-General be a spy sent by France to assassinate me with shame?
If so, his plan nearly succeeded.
Still, if the support for me was this fanatical, I could consider it insurance that would allow me to escape even the worst-case scenario I had envisioned.
Alright. Embarrassment is temporary. Let’s try to think positively.
This gave me the assurance that no matter what happened back home, I wouldn't be held back.
“I love you! Asian Prince!”
It’s just…
I only had to endure the cringe and shame crawling all over my body, but that was proving to be harder than I thought.