Reborn As Noble

Garius inclined his head, expression composed, his tone carrying the smooth edge of humility laced with quiet strength.

”Ah~ pardon my rudeness. It is not my place to boast, nor to parade such things before esteemed company.” His voice was calm, each word wrapped in a veneer of courtesy.

Then his eyes met Marquis Saten’s.

”But as Your Honorable Marquis surely knows... while the Pekko may be classified as monsters, they are far from ordinary beasts. They are unique, born only of Armand soil. Even their feathers carry worth beyond measure.”

He let the words hang a moment, then added smoothly, ”One feather from that golden king, should it be melted, could be forged into a bar of pure gold.”

Garius’s smile turned pure, serene, as though he were merely sharing a simple truth rather than delivering a crushing reminder of Armand’s supremacy. From within his cloak, he drew a single feather, long, radiant, and gleaming like molten sunlight.

”Like this one here,” Garius said calmly, holding it between his fingers. ”Already, this single feather could be trade with one gold bar. Yet its worth goes far beyond coin.”

He turned the feather slightly, letting the golden sheen dance in the light.

”When refined, it may indeed be melted into pure gold. But its true value lies in its nature. The core of a golden Pekko feather carries dense mana, Fused into a blade, it can transform a simple gold sword into a weapon that rivals mithril, capable of channeling spells without breaking. Wands carved with its fiber become conduits of flawless precision, amplifying the flow of mana. Even armor inlaid with these threads can shield against curses and elemental strikes.”

Garius’s smile deepened faintly as he tucked the feather back into his cloak with casual ease.

”So you see, Your Honorable Marquis Saten, the Pekko are not simply beasts. They are walking treasure troves, imbued with both wealth and power. A gift from Armand’s soil... and a reminder of why our land must never be underestimated.”

Garius’s tone remained polite, smooth as flowing water, but every word carried weight meant to press down on those listening.

”And not only that, Your Honorable Marquis,” he continued with a calm smile, his eyes drifting toward the silver Pekko beside Giddie.

”The silver one you see there... its feathers possess a magic property unlike any other. When imbued into silverware, they purify and strengthen the flow of mana within food and drink. Pardon my frankness, but in my household, every goblet, every platter, every knife and fork has been set with just two feathers, and it is enough to cover the entire estate.”

A murmur rippled among the nobles trailing behind the Marquis, their eyes darting toward the elegant silver Pekko. Some paled at the thought of such luxury woven into daily life.

Garius went on, still smiling as though discussing nothing more than the weather.

”Even our knights benefit. Most of Armand’s elite warriors fuse the feathers of regular Pekko into their gear. Look closely at the sheen of their mithril armor.” He inclined his head. ” Tell me if their sheen does not surpass the standard of your finest smiths?”

”Even the uniforms of my household maids are lined with Pekko feather fiber. To you it may sound indulgent, but to us, it is simply natural....our standard.”

His eyes shifted briefly to Alf and Erinnette, the two who stood nearest.

”And these two, my butler and my head of maids, wear fabrics enhanced further still. Every detail in my house is reinforced, because in Armand, we build not only for survival, but for supremacy.”

Garius let a faint smirk tug at the corner of his lips as he turned slightly, his cloak brushing against his side with the movement.

”That, Your Honorable Marquis, is the difference between Armand and every other region combined.”

He began to walk past, his steps unhurried, his composure unshaken. The nobles stiffened, some reddening at the quiet blow, others lowering their eyes.

Halfway along, Garius paused, tilting his head just enough for his words to drift back with a calm smile.

”Even their manure benefits the soil. Was it not your own fields, Your Honorable Marquis, that received processed Pekko fertilizer last season? If I recall correctly... your farms yielded nearly twice the harvest. A gift from Armand, one might say.”

”If memory serves... was it not your own overseer who boasted your yields doubled because of it?”

Garius’s smile remained calm, almost gracious, though the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

”That is why I choose what no other region, ah, forgive me, what no other land in this world possesses. A specialty born only of Armand. Perhaps the Pekko itself is the reason why our soil yields such bounty, why every harvest in Armand flourishes where others struggle.”

He let his hand trail lightly across Giddie’s neck, the golden feathers gleaming like living treasure. His voice lowered, refined, but carrying to every ear.

”Despite being called a monster, this bird is unlike any other. Have you ever seen a single street in my cities, a single road in my villages, a single courtyard in my estate... fouled with its droppings? Not once. Even in that, they show a refinement and intelligence beyond the beasts you rely upon.”

His gaze slid deliberately toward the lines of carriages crowding the courtyard, their horses stamping and snorting, tails flicking. The faintest smirk touched his lips.

”Ah... what a pity, then. The palace servants will no doubt have a long night ahead of them, scrubbing clean the mess those fine animals will leave behind.”

The nobles trailing behind Marquis Saten held their tongues, their eyes flicking between him and Garius, careful not to be caught in the storm between giants.

Saten’s lips curled into a thin smirk as he straightened his posture. He clapped slowly, deliberately, the sound sharp and mocking in the still air.

”My, my... what a marvelous tale you weave, Count Garius,” he said, his tone dripping with derision. ”Truly, you could pass for a bard rather than a lord. Such grand stories of golden feathers, silver wards, and birds that think better than men’s horses... ah, what a wonder.”

His smirk widened, eyes narrowing in challenge.

”One almost forgets we stand before a council, and not around a tavern hearth, listening to fables meant to dazzle the drunk and gullible.”

( End Of Chapter )