Reborn As Noble

Chapter 822: The Waste of Hours ( 822 )

Are those nobles really that stupid? They scramble to expand their so-called opportunity, yet the reports I’ve read say otherwise. Half of them, especially those ranked below Father, can’t even keep their own regions alive.

Hunger festers in their villages, homeless litter their streets, bandits roam unchecked along their borders. Roads crumble, trade stalls, and disease gnaws at the poor.

And from those same reports... I’ve read how they treat their people. Tax rates driven sky high, overseers and stewards twisting laws to line their own pockets. Farmers stripped of seed grain, craftsmen forced into debt, widows and children crushed under levies.

And still, they sit here dreaming of more territory. What use is grasping for new soil when the ground they already own crumbles beneath their feet?

No wonder the reports say people from those regions keep coming into Armand. Fleeing hunger, fleeing cruelty, finding safety under Father’s rule.

And that’s where the problem starts. Not because we can’t support them, we can, and we already do. But every region has its own laws of citizenship.

And when desperate people abandon their lords to live under Armand’s banner, these nobles twist it into accusation. Claiming Armand is stealing their people, draining their lands on purpose.

I’m sure these shitty nobles will soon spit that out, using it to attack Father’s words in this council.

The hall had grown heavy with droning reports, one of the marquises reading off parchment in a flat voice, meant only to waste time. Pages shuffled, meaningless words filled the air, and still the real matter remained untouched.

Garius shifted, his elbow propped against the armrest, cheek resting on his knuckle, eyes half-lidded in quiet disdain. At last, his voice cut through the chamber, sharp and unyielding.

”Can you all stop this charade?” His words cracked the rhythm of the report, silencing the hall.

”Endless recitations, thinly veiled excuses, are you here to govern, or to buy time, evading the one matter that weighs heavier than all else?”

He straightened slightly, his gaze sweeping across the chamber, calm yet edged with iron.

”I have a people to rule. A region to safeguard. My time is not coin for you to squander on petty delays. Did I not say earlier, we are here to decide the crown? Or perhaps you all lack the spine to face it directly. Is that it?”

Gasps rippled among the lower nobles, but Garius’s tone only hardened, his smirk cold.

”You posture as rulers, yet what do you care for family? For the people under you? While you warm yourselves with tavern women and mistresses in silk sheets, I stand with wives of grace and strength.”

His gaze narrowed.

”So cut the crap. Speak to the matter, or admit before this council what you truly are. Lords without discipline, fathers without legacy, rulers without worth.”

Duke Kimar leaned back in his seat, folding his hands with the air of a man cloaked in patience. His voice flowed smooth and calm, laced with false wisdom.

”Please, Count Garius... refrain from such harshness. The council must move with care, not haste. Surely, anger serves no one here.”

Garius gave a low chuckle, raising his head from his knuckle. His smirk carried no warmth, only the polished edge of a man who weighed every word.

”Ah, pardon my tone, Your Grace. But understand this, patience is not an endless well. Each moment consumed with useless matters is not merely time lost to me. It is coin stripped from my people, wealth withheld from my region, the breath of labor wasted. While we sit here circling shadows, my farmers toil, my traders wait, my land expects. And I will not have their hours, hours earned in sweat, squandered so cheaply.”

He lifted his glass lightly.

”For you, these delays may be sport. For me, every moment has weight. Patience is virtue, yes. But patience spent on emptiness is nothing but theft from those who depend on us.”

Garius set his glass down with unhurried grace, his gaze sweeping the chamber as though measuring every man present.

”So please, Your Grace, and all gathered here, do not waste more of my time. My time, forgive my bluntness, is worth more than coin or jewel. For unlike treasure, which sits idle in vaults, every breath I spend away from Armand is taken from the hands of my people, stolen from their fields, their trade, their peace. That is the true wealth of a lord, his hours, given back to those who rely upon him.”

He leaned back slightly, one hand resting at the stem of his glass.

”So, if you all are able, let us cease circling shadows and begin the true matter before us. The crown, the throne, the burden of this realm. That, and that alone, is the purpose of this council.”

Duke Kimar’s smirk lingered. Inside, his thoughts burned with hunger.

At last... he speaks it aloud. Yes, Garius... this is the path I have been waiting for. Let the council look, let them listen. Soon the throne itself will call to me.

He lifted his hand gracefully, palm open toward the chamber. His voice rolled out smooth and resonant, the tone of a seasoned noble cloaked in false wisdom.

”Very well,” Kimar declared, his eyes sweeping across the ranks of lords and heirs.

”Since Count Garius speaks with reason, let us heed his words. We shall lay aside matters unworthy of this chamber, matters too small for a council of crowns. It is fitting, then, that we turn to what truly deserves our voice and judgment.”

His smirk deepened, but his tone remained polished, every syllable dripping with measured respect.

”Let us respect Count Garius’s clarity of need, and move directly to the heart of our purpose, the matter of the throne, and the one who shall bear it.”

Duke Kimar remained seated at first, feigning calm, one hand lazily stroking the stem of his goblet as though savoring the weight of each word before it left his lips. His voice, when it came, was smooth, noble, and deliberate.

”Honorable members of this council,” he began, his tone heavy with the gravity of false concern,

”We are gathered here not for pageantry, but to decide the fate of the kingdom itself. A burden heavier than any crown, for it will decide not only the throne, but the survival of our people.”

”Our last remaining heir... a princess of noble blood, yes. But still only a girl. Young. Untested. In the matters of governance, of diplomacy, of war... untouched by the fire that tempers rulers.”

Kimar spread his hands wide in solemn gravity, his eyes sweeping the chamber with the practiced calm of one appealing to reason.

”Would we not be remiss, even reckless, to burden her shoulders with the weight of a crown she is not yet prepared to bear? In these turbulent times, and unrest stirs in our lands, we cannot afford inexperience.”

( End Of Chapter )