Chapter 365 - 357: Facts Are the Sharpest Blade

Chapter 365: Chapter 357: Facts Are the Sharpest Blade

「A few days later, at the Noble Council.」

Beneath the oak dome, the atmosphere was oppressive.

Marquis "Iron Wall" Marcus stared at the agenda on the table, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

’Velin Klein. That name again.’

’It seems that victory with the pioneering rights went to his head. A Pioneer Baron who crawled out of a swamp, and he actually dares to dream of reaching the heavens in a single bound by applying to become a Count? And he’s doing it knowing full well it’s impossible?’

’Is he insane? What’s next, applying to be a Marquis? At this rate, I might as well just give him my "Iron Wall" title!’

A sneer played on Marcus’s lips.

Losing the debate on the pioneering rights last time was one thing. No one cared about that godforsaken island anyway.

But this was different.

This touched upon the very foundation of the Duchy’s order, the bedrock upon which it was built.

The Iron Wall Marquis’s gaze swept across the hall. Everyone present—their power, their wealth, their status—all stemmed from pure bloodlines, from the glory inherited from their ancestors.

And Velin was just a lucky upstart, trying to corrode those foundations with his bizarre "merit point system" and "citizenship rights."

’He elevates commoners, treats artisans like honored guests, and he expects the nobility to acknowledge his achievements and grant him a higher title?’

’In his dreams. He must be put down, and without mercy.’

The chief scribe’s Silver Bell rang, and one by one, the long and tedious routine items on the agenda were passed.

Finally, the scribe cleared his throat.

"The next item on the agenda is the review of the application for promotion to Count, submitted by His Lordship, Pioneer Baron Velin Klein of the Grey Marsh Territory."

The last whisper of conversation in the hall died away.

The Iron Wall Marquis rose to his feet, his deep blue military dress uniform impeccably pressed without a single wrinkle.

"My lords."

His voice, tinged with a metallic quality, carried throughout the entire hall.

"What we are discussing today is not the promotion of a single Baron, but the very foundation of the Haidi Duchy."

"For hundreds of years, the Duchy’s stability has been maintained by the succession of bloodlines, the honor of Knights, and an unshakeable order. The enfeoffment of every Count represents the recognition of an ancient and noble bloodline, the continuation of an unwavering loyalty to the Duchy."

He paused, letting his words sink into the hearts of everyone present.

"As for Baron Velin Klein, I acknowledge his achievements. He cleared the swamp of Magical Beasts and established a port. But are these accomplishments enough for him to cross the chasm of bloodline and stand as an equal among us here today?"

"More importantly, consider the systems he has implemented in the Grey Marsh Territory!"

The Iron Wall Marquis’s voice rose.

"Measuring a man’s worth with numbers instead of his birth and loyalty! Allowing mud-legged peasants to trade labor for status, undermining a Knight’s rule over his vassals! This is corroding our very foundation! It is a betrayal of the nobility as a whole!"

"If we approve his promotion today, countless other ambitious men will follow his example tomorrow! They will use money and demagoguery, and the common folk will no longer till the land diligently but will sell themselves to the highest bidder like whores! When that day comes, the spirit of the Knight will be no more, and the Duchy’s order will be utterly destroyed!"

As his voice fell, a chorus of agreement immediately erupted in the hall.

A gray-bearded Count, a vassal of the Iron Wall Marquis, stood up.

"The Marquis is absolutely right! A highly skilled farrier from my domain, simply because he heard some rumors about the Grey Marsh Territory, abandoned his family and his lord to run off to that godforsaken place! All for a ridiculous ’citizen certificate’! This is a blatant theft of a lord’s property!"

Another Count, one who traded with the Empire, also spoke up.

"I’m more concerned about the decay of the Knight’s spirit! My son returned from the Royal Capital Academy spouting nonsense about ’efficiency’ and ’costs’! I asked him, as a Knight, where is his loyalty and honor? He actually told me that the greatest honor is a strategy that brings victory! Where did he learn such heresy? It comes from that Grey Marsh Territory!"

"If this continues, our children will no longer believe in gods and kings—they will believe in Gold Coins and numbers! This is more terrifying than the Empire’s grand army!"

The murmurs rose and fell as panic began to spread.

The most sensitive nerves of these old nobles had been struck.

Count Leman stood up, his expression as calm as ever.

"My lords, perhaps we should look at this from a different perspective. Statistics show that the taxes submitted by the Grey Marsh Territory this year were three times that of other pioneer territories of the same size. Is this not a tangible benefit?"

"Benefits?" the Iron Wall Marquis snorted. "Trading the Duchy’s future for a few Gold Coins. You’ve made a shrewd calculation, Count Leman."

Marquis Lorenzo opened his eyes as well.

"Marquis Iron Wall, have you forgotten that Baron Velin has the support of the Dwarf artisans? His fleet will be equipped with the latest alchemical cannons. Is this power not a reinforcement of the Duchy’s national defense?"

"Defend the Duchy with a fleet of undisciplined, armed merchant ships?" the Iron Wall Marquis retorted. "Marquis Lorenzo, are you joking? National defense must remain in the hands of loyal nobles!"

The debate reached a stalemate.

Under the unshakeable banner of "upholding tradition," the rational arguments of Leman and Lorenzo seemed pale and powerless.

Most of the neutral nobles chose to remain silent. This time, it wasn’t because they feared offending the Iron Wall Marquis, but because they genuinely could not accept someone who subscribed to a philosophy of pure profit climbing to a position equal to their own.

The tide had turned in favor of the pro-Empire faction.

The Iron Wall Marquis was very pleased with this outcome. He prepared to deliver the final blow.

"Since the disagreement is so great, I propose that the motion for Baron Velin Klein’s enfeoffment be indefinitely postponed, pending—"

He hadn’t finished his sentence.

CREAK—

The heavy doors of the council hall were slowly pushed open.

This was against protocol.

During a council session, the doors were to remain shut.

All discussion ceased. Every head turned in unison toward the entrance.

Two chamberlains in royal uniforms entered first. They held silver scepters and positioned themselves on either side of the doorway, bowing deeply and standing at attention.

Then, a figure walked in.

It was a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a well-tailored black suit of plain clothes, bearing no crests or ornaments to signify his status.

The moment he entered, the light in the hall seemed to dim for an instant as everyone’s attention was irresistibly drawn to him.

His gait was steady, neither hurried nor slow, carrying the calm and authority of one long accustomed to a high position.

The hall was utterly silent.

Finally, a young noble recognized the newcomer and cried out involuntarily.

"It’s... His Royal Highness, Prince Willandar!"

BOOM!

The entire council hall erupted into chaos. The nobles whispered amongst themselves, their faces etched with unconcealable shock.

Even the ever-composed Iron Wall Marquis froze, staring in disbelief at the figure who had entered.

Prince Willandar, a member of the royal family who had been absent from the center of power for nearly a decade... why would he suddenly appear here?

Willandar ignored everyone’s stares.

He walked straight down the central aisle of the hall and ascended to the seats reserved for members of the royal family.

The white dust cloth covering that seat had already been discreetly removed by a chamberlain.

He slowly sat down in the seat that belonged to him, the one that had remained vacant for a full decade.

His gray-blue eyes swept over the entire assembly. He said nothing, but an invisible pressure descended upon everyone’s hearts, silencing the clamorous hall once more.

After a long moment, he spoke.

"I’ve heard that the council is discussing how to protect the power of the Duchy’s nobility."

The Prince’s voice was low and clear. "I’ve also heard that some believe bloodline is more important than merit."

He looked at no one in particular, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

Then, he took two bolts of cloth from an accompanying chamberlain.

One was a bolt of fine worsted wool, woven locally in the Haidi Duchy, thick and substantial.

The other was cotton cloth from the Holy Second Empire, light and finely woven.

"This is ’Snowcap Wool,’ produced by the best workshop in our own White Stone City. It sells for three Silver Moons a foot."

His hand stroked the woolen cloth.

"This is ’Water-Pattern Cotton,’ mass-produced in the southern region of the Empire. It sells for one Silver Moon and eight Copper Leaves a foot."

He displayed the two bolts of cloth side by side.

"My lords, can any of you tell me why our cloth, despite being more expensive in both material and labor, is inferior in both texture and durability to the Empire’s cheap goods?"

No one in the hall answered.

Many of the nobles who relied on the textile industry for their livelihood subconsciously avoided the Prince’s gaze.

"Because the Empire is using water-powered looms, something you’ve never even heard of. A single factory girl can weave in one day what it takes ten of our artisans a week to produce."

Willandar put down the cloth and picked up two lists.

"One is a list of goods our Golden Sail Commerce Association exported to the continent’s interior ten years ago. On it are potions, alchemical products, and Magic Scrolls."

"This one is from last month. On it are raw timber, ore, and roughly processed furs."

"Our competitiveness in the market is being completely eclipsed. The artisan skills we pride ourselves on are becoming obsolete antiques. We are degenerating from a nation that exports finished goods into a mere supplier of raw materials."

Every word from the Prince was a fact, and while lies often don’t wound, the truth is a swift blade.

"In recent years, the Empire has been locked in constant war with the Evergreen Council to the north and the Ten Thousand Beasts Court to the east. We have enjoyed peace and grown complacent, but we were wrong."

"War is the greatest catalyst. For the sake of victory, the Empire has reformed its armies, developed its technology, and standardized its weights and measures. Their Mage towers are researching more powerful battle Magic, and their workshops are forging stronger armor and sharper weapons."

"And what of us?"

Willandar’s gaze slowly swept over everyone present.

"We lie on the ledgers of our ancestors’ deeds, on our shrinking trade balances, arguing over whose bloodline is nobler, whose crest is more ancient. We are feigning sleep! We are lost in a dream of peace from which we refuse to wake!"

His words sent many of the nobles into deep thought.

They thought of the declining revenues in their own territories, of the goods that were becoming harder and harder to sell, of the polite yet oppressive smiles of the merchants from the Empire.

At last, a hint of weariness crept into Willandar’s voice.

"I may have the blood of the Empire in my veins, but I was born in this land. I do not wish to see the day the Haidi Duchy becomes an insignificant province on the Empire’s map. We must become strong on our own."

"Strength is not built by clinging to decaying rules, but by creating new ones. Velin Klein—his methods may be unorthodox, but they are effective. His territory is creating wealth, attracting talent, and bursting with vitality. He is showing us that there is another path besides exploiting serfs."

The Prince rose to his feet.

His figure, standing beneath the massive stained-glass window, cast a long shadow.

Inside the hall, all the nobles, including the Iron Wall Marquis, rose to their feet involuntarily, their eyes fixed on him in a gesture of respect.

Willandar’s words had completely overturned the tide of opinion in the council.

He wasn’t debating; he was delivering a verdict.

"I, Willandar Orange, in my capacity as a Prince of the Duchy, support Velin Klein’s promotion to Count."

His gaze finally fell upon the chief scribe.

"Now, let the voting begin."