Chapter 309 : Chapter 309

Chapter 309. The Nobles: We Swear to Follow His Highness the First Prince to the Death!

Over ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍the next few days, Redleaf Manor was crowded with visitors.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍rain in the Royal Capital never stopped. It was cold and damp, as if even the sky was mourning this kingdom.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍nobles’ luxurious carriages formed a long line on the muddy road outside the manor. Their golden wheels mercilessly crushed the wet red leaves scattered across the ground, grinding them into filthy sludge.

Panic ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍spread wildly through the old noble circles like a plague.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍thought that Sylvia, the woman who had unleashed a storm of blood in the Northern Territory, might have even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of ascending the throne filled them with so much anxiety that they could not sleep through the night.

It ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍was as if a Sword of Damocles hung above their heads at every moment, ready to cut them down at any time.

“Your Highness the First Prince, you must make a decision!”

Inside the reception hall of Redleaf Manor, the heating burned fiercely, and the air was filled with a mixture of expensive incense and cigar smoke.

More than a dozen powerful marquises and counts who normally stood high above others now huddled together like fat sheep surrounded by wolves, pacing in agitation and unease.

“You know what that woman did in the Northern Territory! She abolished noble judicial immunity! She confiscated lands that had been inherited for centuries!”

“She is even implementing that damned Prefecture-County System, sending mud-legged commoners to govern us!”

“If she becomes king, every single one of our ancient families that have lasted for hundreds of years will be sent to the gallows by her!”

A count with a beer belly waved his fat arms, spittle flying everywhere.

“Exactly! Did the Tarassa family of White Harbor not merely make a small... a harmless little mistake? Yet she actually ordered their entire family destroyed!”

“She even stripped them of their title! She is a devil! She is a bloodthirsty devil!”

Another marquis echoed him, his voice trembling slightly from fear.

The nobles spoke one after another, painting Sylvia as an irreconcilable enemy.

They were afraid.

They were afraid from the marrow of their bones.

The tide of the magitech industrial revolution was battering the traditional agricultural fiefs on which they depended for survival, and a new, vibrant class was rising.

They, parasites of the old era who lived by bloodline and rent collection, were being mercilessly cast aside by the times.

Sylvia was the one holding the broom, ready to sweep them into the trash heap.

Dorg sat quietly in the high-backed chair at the head seat, a thick cashmere blanket covering him, as if even this furnace-warm room could not drive away the cold from his body.

He listened to these people’s complaints, fears, and curses. There was not the slightest ripple in those eyes of his that always carried a sickly weariness.

Stupid, greedy, and cowardly parasites.

Dorg sneered inwardly.

The Tarassa family had colluded with Tyrenia, trafficked poison capable of destroying an entire generation, and handed the Northern Territory’s military defense maps to the enemy on a silver platter. That was... a small mistake?

But not a trace of it showed on his face. He raised his hand and gently pressed it down, signaling for everyone to be quiet.

“I understand your concerns.”

Dorg’s voice was not loud. It even carried the hoarseness unique to illness, yet the entire noisy reception hall instantly fell silent.

He looked around and cast out that fatal bait.

“I hereby solemnly promise all of you. As long as I can ascend the throne smoothly at the Privy Council ten days from now, the first decree I sign will be—”

He paused, then spoke each word clearly.

“—to completely abolish that damned 《Special Act Abolishing Noble Judicial Immunity》 in the Northern Territory!”

The reception hall rang with a wave of sharp inhalations.

“Not only that.” The corner of Dorg’s mouth curved with deep meaning as he continued in an incomparably firm tone, “I will fully restore the tax privileges of every territory and guarantee the absolute legislative authority of the noble council.”

“Astrelia, in the end, is Astrelia of the nobles.”

Dead silence.

Then came uncontrollable, volcanic ecstasy.

The nobles’ eyes lit up in an instant, so bright that it was frightening, as if the most devout believers had witnessed the descent of a miracle.

They looked at Dorg as if they were looking at a god who had descended from the heavens specifically to save them from fire and water.

“Your Highness is wise!”

“We swear our loyalty to His Highness the First Prince to the death!”

A sickly fanaticism fermented inside Redleaf Manor. They completely regarded Dorg as the last fortress defending their own interests.

As long as Dorg took the throne, they could continue lying on the blood vessels of this country and sucking its blood.

Dorg looked at those faces distorted by greed, and a barely perceptible trace of mockery flashed through his eyes.

“However, Sylvia holds no small amount of military power. At the Privy Council ten days from now, she will not compromise easily.”

Dorg changed the direction of the conversation and revealed his true purpose.

“What does Your Highness need us to do?” Old Duke Grahaed could not wait to step forward. In his dreams, he longed to secure a place in the future court!

Dorg took out a parchment scroll stamped with his private seal. He did not immediately unfold it. Instead, he lightly tapped the table with his pale fingers.

“The Privy Council is merely a formality. The true decisive battle will take place outside the meeting.”

Dorg lifted his eyes. Those eyes, which always carried a sickly weariness, were now as sharp as knives.

“I want you to secretly arrive at Redleaf Manor late at night nine days from now. Bring every core confidant, top mage, and deathsworn warrior in your families.”

The nobles looked at one another, and uneasy whispers immediately rose inside the reception hall.

Bring all their confidants and core fighting strength?

This was not customary. Concentrating all of their family foundations in the Royal Capital would not only easily alert the other side, but if something unexpected happened, would their families not be wiped out in one sweep?

“Your Highness, this... will create too much movement.” One count wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “If we transfer all our core confidants here, and the Northern Territory’s spies notice...”

Dorg coughed heavily. When he moved the handkerchief away, another glaring smear of red had appeared on it.

He swept a cold gaze over that count.

“Sylvia’s Northern Legion is right outside Thunder Gorge, and she also has internal collaborators inside the city.”

“Do you think she will obediently hand over the throne just because we shout loudly at the Privy Council?”

Dorg clenched the bloodstained handkerchief in his palm, and his voice carried a chilling madness.

“We will strike in advance on that night, the eve before the ownership of the throne is decided, when she least expects it!”

“At that time, we will instantly take control of every city defense hub, magitech array, and communication tower in the Royal Capital! We will seize the heart and blood vessels of the entire Royal Capital in our hands!”

“Without those capable confidants and deathsworn warriors under your command, what will we use to control the whole city within a few hours without anyone noticing?”

The nobles came to a sudden realization, then sank once more into deep internal calculation.

This was a great gamble, and even more than that, it was an armed coup that placed their lives and fortunes entirely on the table!

As if seeing through their fear, Dorg’s tone slowed slightly, and he cast out the final reassurance.

“I know very well that this action carries tremendous risk. Therefore, to ensure absolute secrecy and to dispel all your concerns about mutual suspicion, we will first hold a secret magical ritual of the highest standard during the private meeting that night.”

“Only after the contract is formed, ensuring that everyone present shares life and death and absolutely cannot betray or harm one another, will we disclose our respective troop deployments and trump cards.”

Dorg leaned forward slightly. “Before that, even I will not know your specific routes of action. How does that sound?”

“An absolute contract that prevents mutual harm...” A sharp gleam flashed through Old Duke Grahaed’s eyes.

If they had this kind of high-tier magical contract as a guarantee, then they would not need to worry about Dorg using them as cannon fodder, nor would they need to guard against the political enemies around them striking from the shadows.

The temptation of profit, combined with the absolute sense of safety provided by a magical contract, finally overcame reason and fear.

Abolishing the act and restoring their privileges—this was too tempting.

To preserve this overwhelming wealth and status, what did taking a little risk matter?

As long as Dorg ascended the throne, everything would be worth it.

“We swear to follow His Highness the First Prince to the death!” The nobles all lowered their heads in unison, their eyes flashing with greed and fanaticism.