“We need to set priorities!” shouted an editor, straining to be heard over the uproar. “The emperor’s death is historic, but there’s no confirmation it’s connected to the pirates yet.”

  “What about the new pirate captain?” countered another, holding up a photograph of Luna. “Word is this girl might become the next Queen of the Pirate Isles. The public will go wild, especially if Blackbeard keeps gaining power. If those two clash, it’ll be legendary!”

  “Maybe we should focus on the capture of the King of the Pirate Isles,” suggested a third editor, gesturing impatiently. “Rumor has it he was about to set sail for the Last Isle before Blackbeard betrayed him and handed him over to the Navy. If that legendary treasure is real, it changes everything.”

  The voices grew louder, opinions clashing, but the commotion died instantly when Gordon raised his hand. A sly smile spread across his face as he slowly flapped his wings, almost as if he wanted to heighten the tension in the room.

  All those stories deserved attention, he thought, but only one had the power to spark a frenzy of speculation, fear, and intrigue—and, most importantly, to hold the public’s attention for weeks.

  A female pirate was a rare thing, and if that weren’t enough, she was strong enough to kill a renowned Navy captain. That, without question, would make more waves in the world than the emperor’s death.

  People cared about what directly affected their daily lives. Even though the emperor’s death was shocking, the rise of a pirate in a world where everyone sailed felt far more immediate to the common folk. The fear of piracy was universal — something everyone understood. That story had the greatest potential to draw in new readers and keep the audience hooked on the Herald of the Seas.

  “We’ll prioritize Luna and the King of the Pirate Isles,” Gordon declared firmly. “I want headlines that dominate every conversation. Something like: ‘The World in Collapse!’ Put the photos of the emperor’s chambers on the back page, but make them prominent enough to seem as important as the front. I want every reader to devour this paper from the first word to the last.”

  He gave a light shake of his wings, dislodging a few feathers that tickled his back, and returned his gaze to the faces of the journalists.

  “Send the field reporters to dig into everything about the selection of the next empress,” Gordon commanded, his firm voice cutting through the noise. “The cycle is about to begin again, and I want to know when the Council of Elders will officially announce the start of the search for the new imperial family.”

  A young journalist hesitantly raised his hand. He was new to the team, a recent hire.

  “Sir, why would anyone kill an emperor who was already planning to abdicate?” The question came out awkwardly, almost na?ve.

  Gordon tilted his head toward the boy, studying him for a moment before offering a faint smile.

  “Forget the motives and find out who did it. If it was a pirate, the impact will be massive,” he replied calmly, almost pedagogically. He knew the young ones didn’t yet understand what really mattered in this newsroom he had built from the ground up — quite literally salvaging it from the trash. “Hint at who it might be, even without confirmation. That’s what the world wants to know.”

  The journalists nodded and returned to their desks, diving into the work of transforming accounts, photos, and scattered notes into the headlines the day demanded.

  Gordon watched his team for a moment. His brow furrowed slightly, but it wasn’t long before a satisfied smile crossed his lips. The selection process for the Empress had always been shrouded in mystery. In the past, there weren’t even journalists, and hardly anyone knew how the process truly worked.

  He knew the basics: once every thousand years, five young women were chosen, identified by unique marks scattered across the world. Once confirmed, they had seven years to accomplish legendary feats, earn fame, and win the people’s favor.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Beyond that, they had to complete tasks set by the Council — challenges that always changed, with rules known only to the old men who ruled the empire. In the end, one of the five would be crowned, ushering in a new imperial era.

  “Sir, a letter just arrived directly from the government!” announced an assistant, breaking Gordon’s train of thought as he handed over an envelope sealed with the Maritime Empire’s crest.

  Gordon looked up, took the envelope, and felt the smile fade from his lips, replaced by a grim expression. If there was one thing he hated more than lazy people, it was those old fools — the Papas who sat on the Council of Elders, ruling the empire. They always tried to stick their noses into what journalists could or couldn’t publish—a censorship law Gordon took pride in ignoring.

  “Who delivered this?” Gordon asked.

  “The Emperor’s Eyes,” the assistant replied, discreetly gesturing toward the newsroom door.

  Gordon fixed his gaze on the envelope. A mix of disdain and curiosity flickered across his face as he slowly turned the object between his fingers, scrutinizing the seal. His wings shifted slightly, and a low, raspy chuckle escaped him, dripping with contempt. They arrived too quickly, didn’t they? he thought.

  “So, they’re here?” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the seal. “I bet there’s a generous check in here. Do they really think they can buy me to tweak the narrative?” He held the envelope up to the light, examining it closely. “Are they afraid of the truth about the Last Isle and that so-called legendary treasure? Or are they trying to bury the news about the new pirate captains?”

  Without even opening the correspondence, Gordon made his decision: this time, he wouldn’t take the bribe. The Herald’s finances were stable, and the number of new subscribers grew with each edition. He no longer needed to bow to the whims of the council, publishing or suppressing whatever they dictated. With a nonchalant gesture, he handed the envelope back to the assistant.

  “Return it. This edition will be legendary, and no bribe is going to change that.”

  The assistant barely had time to react before a thunderous noise echoed through the room. The newsroom doors slammed against the walls, silencing the frenetic chatter. The echo orbs swayed on their chains, casting restless shadows across the wooden walls.

  A tall man strode through the entrance with purposeful steps. His white-and-gold uniform, emblazoned with the crest of the Maritime Empire on the back, shimmered under the flickering light. His eyes scanned the newsroom until they locked onto Gordon. His hand rested on his hip, casually gripping a pistol—a gesture that exuded an unmistakable threat.

  “Mr. Gordon,” he said, his voice firm and impatient, “I suggest you comply with the directive. You know the rules. Certain headlines must be… adjusted.”

  A murmur of unease rippled through the newsroom. Furtive glances and hushed whispers spread like wildfire, but Gordon remained still. His eyes examined the intruder with a calm, almost provocative intensity. He narrowed his gaze, and a restrained smile curled at the corners of his lips, never quite reaching his eyes.

  “What news does the government want to bury this time?” Gordon asked, his voice brimming with confidence. His wings partially spread, amplifying his already commanding presence.

  The officer stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

  “No mention of the Last Isle,” he ordered curtly. With a firm gesture, he pointed to the photographs of Luna and Blackbeard scattered across the desk. “Focus on the capture of the King of the Pirate Isles and emphasize that it was the Navy who took him down. Forget Blackbeard, and nothing about the daughter of that other pirate. As for the emperor’s chambers and his death… over a month ago… complete silence. Just say the pirates are to blame.”

  He paused, his eyes locked on Gordon’s, studying his reactions.

  “That’s why the decree has been issued: dead or alive. Soon, we’ll send wanted posters with the names the Empire considers dangerous, and whoever captures them will receive a generous reward. Make sure to report that.”

  Gordon didn’t respond immediately. He stood still, his expression stony, until a low chuckle slipped from his lips. The sound grew, echoing through the newsroom, as his wings unfurled fully. With a single, powerful flap, a gust of wind whipped through the room, sending papers flying into the air and forcing the journalists to shrink back in their seats.

  The sound of chairs scraping and papers fluttering filled the room, but Gordon remained unfazed. With steady steps, he walked up to the officer, stopping so close he could feel the man’s breath.

  There were few people in the world capable of making Gordon back down, and none of them were among the Emperor’s Eyes. To him, these officers were nothing more than children playing with their flashy, noisy weapons.

  “The Emperor’s Eyes think they can silence The King of News?” His voice rang out, authoritative and defiant. “I might consider publishing what the government wants, but no one tells me what I can or cannot print in my paper. This paper is mine. This is my empire. The Council of Elders might rule the rest of the world, but here, the rules are mine.”

  The officer hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, something akin to discomfort flickered in his eyes. But the hesitation quickly gave way to a calculated motion. His hand dropped to his hip, drawing his pistol with unnerving calm, and he pointed the weapon directly at Gordon.