Chapter 456: This Is Not a Negotiation

Gawain sat at the head of the conference table, leaning back comfortably against the tall chair, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed the shifting expressions on the faces of every southern noble present.

He took in all their reactions—confusion, shock, silence, resistance, a hint of contemplation, and for a few, barely concealed anger.

These nobles themselves were essentially useless now. Their rule had crumbled to dust. Stripped of their lands and armies, these lords who once ruled from their castles were now worthless. Locking them up only wasted food; sending them to labor produced little wealth. Gawain didn’t believe that mere hard work or ideological re-education could fundamentally change these stubborn, slow-witted men. So, he cared little about their attitudes or their wishes.

But the “additional value” these nobles carried beyond themselves was useful.

When trying to build a new order atop a rigid, backward old system, the greatest and most common obstacle for pioneers was the stubbornness and backlash of the old regime.

Changing the customs and mindset of the common folk was difficult, but in this near-medieval society, the people were numb and utterly unfree. At worst, their ignorance made them slow to respond to orders, but they would never outright refuse a lord’s command. So, while reform and education were challenging, they were mostly a matter of time. The real problem was the “system” left behind by the old nobility.

The “scholars” and “retainers” who depended on the noble system, the mercenaries hired by the old lords—or even illegitimate or adopted children of the nobles who acted as lawless enforcers (legitimate supernaturals turned bandits)—and the exiled or oath-breaking knights who fled after the nobility’s collapse: these groups, all inevitably affected by the transition between old and new orders, were the biggest obstacles to social transformation. Their non-cooperation alone could cause huge headaches for the new administration, not to mention that some had already become violent threats to territorial security.

Gawain knew he was lucky. Compared to many other pioneers trying to build a new order, his greatest advantage was that he was not only the founder of the new system but also the highest authority of the old one. As one of the founding fathers of the Ansu Kingdom, he had ample “legal legitimacy” to set the rules of society. Even if anyone questioned him, he didn’t have to care.

Knowing this, he intended to maximize the power of his legal legitimacy. He would use lawful means to strip and transfer the old nobles’ rights, employing their own “legal claims” to ensure a smooth transition of the system, minimizing the old order’s backlash—or rather, their excuses for resistance.

Gawain could disdain the rules and order of the old nobility, but since people of this era recognized them, he could also use those rules without hesitation, as long as they served his purpose.

“Ladies and gentlemen, these documents aren’t that hard to understand, are they?” Gawain gauged the moment carefully. When he saw some nobles about to speak, he broke the silence. “If you understand them, then please sign.”

“Duke… Your Grace,” a slightly overweight middle-aged man finally stood first, unable to hold back, “Are you serious about what’s written in these documents?”

“Of course,” Gawain nodded. “What else would I be?”

He slowly rose, his gaze sweeping over each face calmly and deliberately. “Except for retaining your castles, all lands and properties attached to them belong to the duchy; all old privileges—including taxation, legislation, and conscription—are abolished, with all power transferred to the administration; laws will be unified, and all old private laws repealed… I’ve made everything perfectly clear.”

“My lord, we are willing to swear loyalty to you, but these terms… can they be negotiated?” Another noble dared to stand. “This is almost a complete upheaval of the order. Even for your authority’s sake, you should reconsider…”

They had at least learned to show respect and humility, but they clearly hadn’t grasped the situation.

“I think you’re mistaken about one thing,” Gawain said, his face almost expressionless as he calmly stated the facts. “What’s written in these documents is already in effect. The day the war ended, you lost your lands and properties. What you’re trying to hold onto is no longer in your hands. So I’m not here to negotiate—I’m here to officially notify you.”

The southern nobles stirred uneasily. Decades of imprisonment hadn’t fully erased their hopes, so when those hopes collapsed, even surrounded by guards and facing the ruler of the south, they couldn’t help but whisper among themselves.

Gawain simply waited patiently for their murmurs to die down.

When silence finally returned, he continued, “Sometimes, recognizing reality is more important than chasing after things you’ll never have. By signing this document, you can at least live with dignity. Your noble titles will be preserved, you’ll receive pensions to live comfortably, even relatively well. If you open your eyes and look at the starving, freezing people who lived under your rule, you’ll realize how lucky you are. You made grave mistakes, yet you still live in comfort. What more could you want?”

Faces along the long table twisted with discomfort. Some frowned in thought, others hesitated to speak. Finally, one man, pale and hollow-eyed, stood up, unable to hold back.

“Forgive me, Your Grace—I cannot accept this! I refuse to sign, even if it costs me my life! You cannot destroy our traditions and laws like this!”

He glanced at those beside him, his voice trembling with emotion. “Friends, we’ve already endured the worst. We have nothing left to lose. Our honor is all we have left. I… I’d rather take it with me to the grave…”

Gawain watched the man’s outburst and the reactions of the nobles around the table. It was exactly as he expected: nobles had a peculiar mindset. They could flee when shells rained down, abandon castles and people without hesitation when swords were at their throats, yet when it came to so-called “honor, bloodlines, and family names,” these spineless men would suddenly puff out their chests. This almost schizophrenic behavior was hard for outsiders to understand but perfectly fit the era’s context.

“Viscount Waynesneep, I hope I have your name right.”

Gawain’s sudden interruption silenced the man’s passionate speech. The nobles, who had been stirring again, quieted immediately and all turned to look at Gawain. He beckoned to the side, and a government official left the room. Moments later, the official returned carrying a small metal safe.

Gawain opened it and pulled out ancient documents—written on enchanted parchment, these copies were centuries old. Without magical preservation, they would have long since crumbled beyond recognition.

As he unfolded the papers, he casually remarked, “Viscount, this must look familiar, right? I’m sure each of your families has something similar, hidden deep in your castles, proving the legitimacy of your titles and lands, the antiquity and orthodoxy of your name—like this one.”

“Waynesneep, House Sneep, Viscount, Southern Noble, branched from the Spencer family in Ansu 476, granted the surname; Spencer family, Earl, Holy Spirit Plains Nobles, descended from ancestor Maximilian Spencer; Maximilian Spencer, Knight Lord, Earl, Knight of Gawain Cecil, enfeoffed in the first year of Ansu during the Harvest Moon, original lands west of the Gray Mountains in the south, later relocated to the southern Holy Spirit Plains due to the magical tide…”

“Then, here’s another document,” Gawain said, pulling out an even older, more fragile parchment. The protective magic on it was nearly spent; the parchment was severely weathered and corroded. “The enfeoffment charter of Maximilian Spencer—of course, a copy.”

He looked up, locking eyes with the middle-aged noble.

“Viscount Waynesneep, can you guess whose signature is at the bottom of this document?”

No one could have predicted this surreal moment. Even after all this time, the noble named Waynesneep had never connected the ancient family document, kept deep in his castle and only brought out when heirs inherited titles, with the living man before him. It wasn’t a matter of intelligence, but of mental limitation. He stammered, “D-Duke… Your Grace…”

“Viscount, you asked for tradition and law, so I’m giving you tradition and law. Maximilian Spencer was a clever and ambitious man. It’s a pity that one of his heirs cannot live up to his honor and achievements. Protecting the reputation of your followers is the lord’s duty. Therefore, I must strip you of your noble title.”

Waynesneep’s eyes widened, his mouth agape like a fish gasping for air. In that crushing blow, he faintly heard Gawain’s voice behind him: “…Mr. Sneep, you may leave now.”

The hall fell into a deathly silence. Gawain watched with satisfaction—targeting their greatest weakness was always the most efficient solution. Attacking nobles through their pride and titles was far more effective than any argument or reasoning.

For them, losing their title was worse than death.

Of course, he could do this because he first wielded overwhelming force. He forced these men to sit at the negotiating table; otherwise, even with every noble’s enfeoffment document in hand, his words would mean nothing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t actually want to do this,” Gawain said, raising his voice slightly after putting the documents away. “I’d prefer everyone to sign smoothly in a friendly atmosphere. So I must emphasize—each of your titles and family names, traced back several generations, ultimately belong to Charlemagne and the Dukes of the Four Borders. As the founding sovereign and the only surviving Duke of the Four Borders, I can strip every one of you of your noble titles. Even if your ancestors’ enfeoffment documents don’t bear my signature, I witnessed the enfeoffment ceremony seven hundred years ago. I can, as a witness, question whether any of you are truly qualified to inherit your family names—”

He didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear:

He could challenge the legitimacy of every title here. And if anyone objected… well, unless Charlemagne and the other three founding dukes rose from their graves.

The southern nobles wanted tradition and law?

This is Ansu’s tradition and law.

“Time’s up—ladies and gentlemen, the pens for signing are in front of you.”

(End of chapter)