Chapter 542 — Obstruction

The nobles' clamor was maddening.

Victoria Wilde sat beside Crown Prince Wales, her face cold and utterly expressionless as her gaze swept over the assembled nobles, great and small, in the castle's long hall, a faint, imperceptible contempt hidden deep in her eyes.

These good-for-nothings.

They wore gorgeous robes and held forth at length in this castle, their bloodlines noble, their titles each more resounding than the last, and their manner as they spoke here was as though they were deciding the fate of the kingdom itself—yet their impassioned speeches could in the end be summed up in a single word: profit.

A righteous voice echoed through the long hall: "...House Carre supports the rebuilding of the Royal Thoroughfare. We are willing to contribute a hundred able-bodied laborers, and my nephew will lead them personally..."

"What a sacrifice! A hundred men!" someone jeered loudly from the side. "The men who tend your horses probably number more than a hundred, don't they?"

"The men and grain of House Carre are all on the eastern front. We have already given this kingdom everything we have to give—but what of you, Count Greymount? Do you not even have five hundred mules?"

"I do not agree to rebuilding the Royal Thoroughfare—though the Regent Duke's words are most reasonable, and the Thoroughfare would bring great benefit in the long run, we are at war now. If we recklessly pour a great many men and supplies into road-building and it affects the course of the war, what then? I believe we need only rebuild the great east-west road, so that troops may be moved to the front more easily..."

"I object!"

...

The nobles' squabbling was truly maddening.

Wales Morne sat like a puppet in the seat of honor at the very head of the hall, and when the clamor in the long hall had nearly spiraled out of control, the nominal heir to the throne finally could not help but speak: "Ladies and gentlemen, let us set the argument aside for a moment—the matter of the Royal Thoroughfare can be discussed at leisure. It is winter, after all. We might first discuss the town councils and the commercial system..."

Wales's voice finally brought the debate in the long hall to a slight calm, but the new proposal he put forward swiftly brought a fresh round of contention—the nobles, great and small, first praised the Regent Duke and His Highness the Crown Prince for their far-sighted vision and their most wise plan, and then one after another strongly urged that these new institutions be implemented on other people's lands.

Had Victoria Wilde and Franklin Boyu not been sitting here, they would likely have done more than merely argue.

Such debate was doomed to yield nothing. As the clamor in the long hall reached its peak once more and Wales Morne was once again forced to open his mouth, Victoria Wilde finally rose to her feet.

"Enough."

The Northern Queen spoke in a cold, clear voice, and as her words fell, the entire castle, from within to without, plunged instantly toward freezing point.

"I hope this cold air will help you all calm down." A moment later, Victoria withdrew her vast magical power. As the temperature in the hall gradually recovered, her gaze swept over the nobles, great and small, who were now as silent as cicadas in winter.

These were the nobles of real power, great and small, who held half the kingdom's extraordinary strength, its land and its wealth. They were short-sighted, they were selfish, and when they banded together they could only hold the kingdom back—yet even as Regent Duke, she could do no more than warn them thus.

"We did not come here to quarrel," Victoria continued only after a silence ten seconds long. "The town councils and the commercial reform are the inevitable direction of development, but I understand each of your concerns—so none of this will be forced upon any one of you. The town council pilot program will be chosen from among the northern lordships and the Crown's own domains; the commercial reform will be the responsibility of Grand Duke Franklin's Duchy of the West."

Boyu Franklin, bearing a hint of scholarly refinement, inclined slightly forward in acknowledgment of Victoria's words.

The nobles, great and small, in the long hall were silent for a moment, then one by one they wore looks of relief—but they dared not show it too plainly or extravagantly, so they could only strive for reserved and humble smiles, and mask their true thoughts with a jumble of praises and salutes. Their skill at concealment was beyond question: those flowing, graceful gestures of humility and those heartfelt words of praise all bespoke their competence as nobles—yet Victoria Wilde had seen through these masks since she was a girl.

Keeping her face frozen was already the greatest courtesy she could show these people.

She sat down, but beside her Duke Boyu Franklin rose to his feet and continued: "None of the new policies will be imposed by force, but there is one thing I must state in advance—please remember that one of a noble's virtues is to keep his oath, so do not forget the decisions you make today. Those who oppose the building of new-style factories on their own lands here today must, should they wish to build factories in the future, pay the Crown a redemption fee of thirty percent without condition; this is to redeem the right to build factories that you relinquish today. Those who refuse here today to let roads connect to their lands will find that any road the kingdom builds hereafter will bypass them, unless they redeem the road as they would redeem the right to build factories. Those who refuse here today to sign trade agreements shall not establish any new-style chamber of commerce or company for ten years—unless they redeem the right to commercial reform."

The Duke of the West stated these conditions one by one with a calm face, and his tone and expression soon left the nobles, who had just begun to secretly rejoice, perplexed and uneasy.

They knew what was being discussed here today—a great heap of heterodox, shocking things, strange rules transmitted from the Southern Region. The Regent Duke demanded that the nobles give up a portion of their privileges, demanded that all obey the Crown's administration, that they open new-style factories on their own lands, establish town councils that could threaten a lord's rule, build roads, found companies... Taken one by one, these things were all thoroughgoing threats and deprivations.

Yet the Duke of the West called them "rights," and declared that every noble who raised an objection here today had relinquished these "rights"—and even said that should anyone one day wish to build a factory, found a company, or build a road, they would have to spend money to redeem these "rights"?

This bizarre, absurd notion was truly hard to comprehend.

The people in the long hall fell silent in their confusion, and discussed in low voices in their confusion. Some seemed to have more or less grasped it; others seemed cowed by the Duke of the West's manner, and cautiously summoned their attendants, wrote notes, and passed them to the Duke—but more simply spread their hands and shook their heads—

Who would want such "rights"? The right to carve flesh from one's own body?

The clamorous meeting ended, and the nobles dispersed. Soon, in the vast long hall, apart from attendants and guards, only the two Regent Dukes and the nominal Crown Prince remained.

"This is the first time I have seen you angry," Victoria said to Duke Boyu with a touch of feeling. "I thought you would never lose your temper on an occasion like this."

"I am indeed angry, but I am also in earnest," Boyu said, seated in his chair, weariness on his face. "This can sow confusion in some, and at least they will think it over a little more; and the others... at least one day they may bring some small contribution to the kingdom's treasury."

Victoria frowned. "How many were swayed?"