To be a good prime minister, I first became the leader of a secret religion.

Chapter 26 Deep Blue, add points!

blood.

Blood everywhere.

Anna only saw so much blood on the day she was born; her mother died in childbirth, so Anna's first impression of the world was that it was all red.

However, the crimson of the past at least held the hope of life, while the blood before us was nothing but a chaotic and meaningless death.

Those gambling tables that Anna once dreamed of were now submerged in a dark, almost muddy hue.

The air was thick with the smell of rust. With each step Anna took forward, the soles of her shoes made a screeching sound against the blood on the carpet. She opened her eyes wide, trying to make out familiar faces among the piles of debris in front of her.

However, all efforts were in vain.

As far as the eye can see, human bodies have been completely stripped of their "human" shape, like puppet parts carelessly discarded after being dismantled by a naughty child. Several severed arms hang from the edge of the chandelier, and dark red threads hanging from the broken ends tremble in the wind. Fingers that once gripped playing cards are now stuffed into the mouth of a broken wine bottle like chips.

Some of the body parts had incredibly smooth cuts, like works of art, but the main body parts had turned into minced meat under intense pressure.

This is no longer murder, but a slaughter devoid of logic, purely for the purpose of venting some bizarre malice.

Anna felt her stomach spasming violently. She wanted to scream, but her throat felt like it was being squeezed, and she couldn't make a sound.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The voice she had previously ignored rang out again.

It came from the shadows deep within the casino, dull and slow, each tap accompanied by a slight tremor in the floor, like a heavy, twisted monster dragging its clumsy body through a pool of blood.

Is he the murderer?

Anna's mind went completely blank in extreme fear. She stood frozen in the middle of the pool of blood, staring at the unrecognizable rotten flesh. Her instincts screamed wildly for her to run away, but her legs had lost all feeling and were nailed to the floor.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The sound grew closer; it no longer came from the depths of the casino, but was accompanied by a chilling breath that swept across the stiff back of her neck.

Anna shuddered suddenly, catching a glimpse of something filthy out of the corner of her eye.

Before she could turn her head, a dull thud struck the back of her head.

"Bang!"

The world collapsed instantly. The hellish crimson in her vision quickly faded, turning into a void of pitch black. Anna lay in a warm pool of blood, mingling with the shattered pieces of flesh, indistinguishable from one another.

Her last thought before falling into a coma was that the scene of approaching death was not much different from the day she was born.

……

The next morning, Winston woke up to bright sunshine outside his window.

He slept very well last night, without any of the near-death sensation of being hit hard on the back of the head from behind.

After the cap on mysticism was raised to 1200, Queen Victoria surprisingly let him off the hook. Whether she was going to sleep early for health or paying attention to other unfortunate souls, Winston was relieved of his troubles.

When he opened his eyes today, his back and legs were not sore, and even the sore throat and local edema caused by the headache had disappeared.

Refreshing!

Winston was in high spirits and immediately decided to summon Sir Wilson of the Trade Commission and Mr. Elliott of the General Post Office for a meeting. These two men were figureheads in the cabinet, senior but with little real power, but their respective areas of jurisdiction were quite lucrative and related to public health and infrastructure.

It's the perfect opportunity to test the waters before giving a media interview.

The specific time for the media interview has been set for this Friday. Everyone around Winston, whether gloating or interested in investing, has openly or subtly indicated that this interview will be a tough battle, and may even affect the stability of his seat as prime minister.

He might be ousted after only a week in office! Wait, why does this scenario seem so familiar?

The Cabinet Chief Secretary and the Press Secretary were quite troubled by this—or at least they seemed to be. Winston was pulled into their office for an entire afternoon to discuss interview strategies and details from all angles.

The best location to choose is Whitehall, followed by Downing Street, and definitely not the newspaper office, the reporters' headquarters.

What advice Winston gave was that the goal of his interviews wasn't to convince everyone, but simply to prevent the situation from escalating.

They also told Winston word for word what he could and couldn't say, and finally simulated the worst-case scenario, asking Winston if he could accept it.

Winston: "..."

There's no need to be so pessimistic.

Interviews are indeed challenging, as reporters are bound to be aggressive. However, if you perform well and, most importantly, maintain your skills, you might have a chance to turn the tide.

Dark Blue, add some points!

"...Given that my country's structural reforms fundamentally depend on the sustained and robust reserve of relevant human resources, and the feasibility of such reforms in a biological sense is essentially a derivative of advanced clinical frameworks and a systematic healthcare system..."

"...Therefore, it is not difficult for us to draw this prudent conclusion: the allocation of financial resources for the field of medical science should not be interpreted one-sidedly as a simple recurring expenditure, but should be regarded as a long-term strategic endowment investment aimed at achieving the goal of optimizing the total future productivity of the contracting party..."

The old jazz musician sitting opposite Winston listened intently, his eyes becoming somewhat fixed on the screen.

It's hard to say whether the skill actually worked or if people were just confused by what they read.

Even Winston himself wasn't quite sure what he was saying; he just used very sophisticated and impressive language.

After reading the last word of the manuscript kindly written by v1888, the old knight slumped in his chair, his lips trembling as if he were partially paralyzed, and asked:

"Was this passage edited by Mr. Martin Grayling?"

"No, I wrote it myself (the system)," Winston said. "What do you think? Isn't it very regionally distinctive?"

What he actually meant was "hellish style," because v1888 said that these great demons used to write greeting cards for Satan in this style...

Upon hearing this, Sir Wilson slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples and eye sockets vigorously, feeling somewhat delirious. Winston, thinking the skill had failed, was about to regretfully ask Eileen to escort him out when he heard the other man mutter:

"You're right, Prime Minister, public health... is indeed an area of ​​concern. I will push for related discussions within the committee... and organize a trip to St. Bartholomew's Hospital... phew..."

As he spoke, his voice gradually faded, and Winston looked closely and realized that the old man had fallen asleep!

The hypnotic effect is very powerful, both in its literal sense and in its implied meaning.

After Thurlinn moved the sleeping knight away, Winston changed his tune when facing Mr. Elliott of the General Post Office: "The postal network is the lifeblood of the nation, and medical advancements ensure its smooth flow. Just imagine the damage to commerce and people's livelihoods if a plague caused mass illness among postmen, leading to a backlog of letters and parcels and a halt in the flow of information. Therefore, appropriate and forward-looking investment is necessary."

This passage is much simpler and easier to understand, and it's ridiculous enough to serve as a comparative experiment.

After listening to Mr. Elliott's enthusiastic praise of Winston from head to toe, he rattled off a string of platitudes about his visionary leadership and strategic thinking until Winston was tired of hearing them. Only then did Mr. Elliott swear to the stars that he would fully cooperate and was willing to mobilize other cabinet members to visit St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

After the two dialogues, Winston used six points of magic to prove that the Whisperer skill was indeed useful, as it could lower the audience's IQ to a certain extent and lead them by the nose.

So here's the question.

What should I do when my magic is depleted?

What if one day in the future he suddenly has a whim and decides to mobilize the upper and lower councils to launch a blitzkrieg against Buckingham Palace? Where will he get a large amount of temporary magic power then? He can't rely entirely on the overflow conversion caused by exceeding the limit of mystery value, can he?

The system, as he wished, once again provided a solution:

[Sacrifice]