Two hours flew by since the dismissal of the Imperial Council. Alexander walked at a relaxed pace as the front facade of the Winter Palace loomed over him.

He cut off his trip from Moskva to resolve the issues that transpired on the Manchu-Hanese border, and the immigration issues Manchuria is facing.

It was settled, but for now, the Imperial Council has to draft new policies about immigration as it can be a pain in the ass, especially when your neighbor is tearing itself apart, a war between four parties with each having its own agenda.

Speaking about that matter, one member of the Imperial Council, Vladimir Lenin, proposed an idea of supporting the Kuomintang to drive out foreign invaders that are doing commerce in their major cities. Speaking the truth, Alexander was moved by his analogy where if they are in Han’s situation, the people would mass together and drive out those foreign evils exploiting the treasures of their country.

Ever since that, Alexander has been considering helping the Nationalist Party, upon Lenin’s suggestion. He believes that it would bring great benefit to the Ruthenian Empire. Just like how they did to the Choson Empire, in exchange for giving their sovereignty back, Ruthenia receives mining concessions and a perpetual alliance that will deter the Yamato Empire from ever invading the peninsula again.

The land of the Han Dynasty is enormous and rich with natural resources that the western powers want to keep for themselves, if the Kuomintang were to win the civil war and took control of the country, not only they will have access to that resources, but the Ruthenia would also secure its dominance over Central Asia, and thus winning the Great Game that the Britannia Empire and the Ruthenian Empire has been playing for nearly a century.

Once that happens, he can focus on retaking Alaska from the United States and after that, shift his attention to the Middle East where 48 percent of the world’s known oil reserves and 38 percent of natural gas reserves are located. Controlling that region would result in Ruthenia being a global superpower, ten times better than the United States in the modern era.

Alexander was grinning as his mind ran wildly on such thoughts until he got to the door. The door opened, revealing the luxurious foyer with an expensive carpet and beautiful paintings lining the walls.

The marbled flooring produces a pleasant sound with every step Alexander takes, like the clacking of porcelain against ceramic plates. It brings a sense of peace to Alexander.

“Papa!” a young girl came running lithely and embraced Alexander’s thigh with glee.

Alex patted her soft blond hair affectionately and looked down at her. “Hey sweetheart, where’s mommy?”

“She’s upstairs, painting something. Papa, you said you won’t be here for one week…but only three days have passed…did you miss me papa?” she asked curiously, eyes glittering innocently.

“That’s one of the reasons, the second one is because of work. Papa has to do some Emperor duties to fix the problems our country is facing right now,” Alexander knelt down and picked his daughter up in his arms, planting a kiss on her head.

“So does that mean you will go to your office?” the little princess asked with a pout.

“Yes, sweetheart. But don’t worry, It will not take long, I promise. Okay, I have to go now, your uncle Sevastian must be waiting for me in his office.”

Alexander kissed his daughter’s cheek one last time before putting her down, then stood up. He glanced coolly around his surroundings before giving his orders to the servants near them. “Take her to my wife’s room, I’ll be going to my office now.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” the head servant replied reverently as she bowed her head. She then held Anya’s arm and led her towards the direction of a staircase.

Watching as his daughter disappeared, Alex smiled and turned around to face the other direction where his office is situated. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward with determination.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination. With quick steps, Alexander reached the entrance of his office. As he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Sevastian standing behind the desk while pouring tea.

“How long have you been here,” Alexander asked as he closed the door.

“Five minutes, Your Majesty,” Sevastian said as he watched Alexander take his seat. He continued. “How did it go in the Imperial Council?”

“It was conclusive,” Alexander replied shortly, leaning back in his chair. “Lenin made a suggestion of interfering with Han’s current civil war. What do you think? Should we help the Kuomintang and expel our rivals from the country?”

“As long as it benefits the Ruthenia Empire and satisfies you, Your Majesty, I’m fine with it. In fact, it was not a bad idea. We just have to be careful on every move we shall take as it can be seen by other western powers that we are directly helping the Kuomintang and use it as a casus belli to declare war on us.”

“In that case, we should contact the head of the Kuomintang, who was it?”

“According to this file, the name of the head of the Kuomintang Party is Sun Yat Sen., Your Majesty, once we contact this man and lend them our power, there is no turning back.”

“I have resolved myself to that already, Sevastian. Everyone is keen on taking lands from one another, I’d say we should do the same but with a different approach. I don’t want my name to be smeared with atrocities and bloodshed like King Leopold is doing in Congo,” Alexander spoke firmly, with conviction. “We have to make our current and future territories love Ruthenia when once you hear the name, hope and help will be the words they’d think of when we arrive in their country.”

Sevastian nodded solemnly. “Your insights and ambitions are admirable as always, Your Majesty.”

“Setting that aside, when is he coming?”

The moment Alexander asked that question to Sevastian, a knock on the door was heard.

“It seems that he is here,” Sevastian remarked. “Come in.”

A short, plump, middle-aged man appeared at the doorway. His appearance wasn’t outstanding, just average. Despite being short of stature, he carried himself with confidence. A dark brown coat hung on his shoulders, matching his trousers. The coat, along with the rest of his attire, gave off a rather regal aura.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Aleksey Pavlovich Bobrinsky, the Director of the Foreign Intelligence Services. I have come here to report our investigations and findings about the Black Hands”