The Chief of Staff’s words were like a general on a chessboard.
The ministers, having no soldier to block the general, could do nothing but grit their teeth.
“Tsk! Now there’s no move left.”
“All we can do from here is grab his ankle.”
“The emperor’s will is already clear, and there’s no justification left. It’s reckless.”
“With no conflicts that anyone can see, and the emperor’s mind already made up…”
“His Majesty is His Majesty, but still…”
The ministers found it hard to speak easily—not only were they trapped in a dead end, but Wan had already set his intention firmly.
Yet the greatest reason was the shadow of Hyang standing behind Wan.
Most, if not all, who were running the government with Wan now, had served under Sejong back when the empire was called Joseon.
Because of that, the images of Sejong and Hyang were deeply imprinted in their minds.
To them, Sejong and Hyang were an impassable wall.
Wan was a skilled ruler, but he was not perfect in every way.
He sometimes needed the help of ministers, and they could assert their presence by assisting him.
But that was not the case with Sejong and Hyang.
To put it bluntly, to Sejong and Hyang, the ministers were their eyes and ears, arms and legs.
And ones who could be replaced anytime.
Still, it was common for ministers to serve decades under Sejong and Hyang.