Chapter 605 - 368: The Nobles Who Were Played for Fools

Chapter 605: Chapter 368: The Nobles Who Were Played for Fools

Marquis Fernandez stared at the screen, furious.

’Wait, what was the meaning of that Dragon Claw making a "V" sign at the camera?’

"This—this is a blatant threat!"

To a considerable number of nobles, losing their title was worse than death.

Losing one’s life meant only that an individual had reached their end. But losing one’s title meant the honor of a family, built over generations, would end at his hands.

And a noble title, the ultimate security blanket of the old system, was not so easily lost.

Generally, it could only be lost in one of three ways.

First, by committing a felony. However, nobles were rarely brought to justice for their crimes, so it was exceedingly rare for one to lose their title this way.

Second, by committing treason—and simply surrendering didn’t count. One had to defect and join the new Monarch in fighting the old one. This was precisely why these nobles had surrendered so readily when the Northern Legion had come to their gates.

The third and final way was to be unable to fulfill the obligations of a noble, which resulted in automatic forfeiture of the title. For example, if one’s last remaining fief was occupied by a Dragon, rendering them unable to protect their lands, provide taxes, or answer the Monarch’s call to arms.

After all, under the feudal system, that land was entrusted to you for management. To not even possess the ability to manage...

Figxin replied calmly, "Marquis Fernandez, please mind your words. You are slandering me with baseless accusations of threats. Such behavior is entirely contrary to noble virtue."

Marquis Fernandez’s face was turning purple, and it looked as though he might pass out from sheer rage at any moment.

"You’re clearly ordering the Dragon Race to surround my castle!"

"And how can you prove I’m the one directing the Dragon Race? Who could possibly command a Giant Dragon? A dragon infestation is always a sad, unfortunate accident. Fernandez, this is your last chance. Sign your name on the document."

As it turned out, most of a negotiation is handled away from the table. It’s difficult to get results from talk alone, but when one side holds all the chips, the remaining steps are much easier.

A dead silence fell over the conference room, as if not speaking could somehow halt the proceedings.

Finally, after a stalemate that lasted several minutes, Marquis Fernandez realized he had no room to maneuver. With a slightly trembling hand, he signed his name on the document.

"I have never met a member of the Royal Family as shameless as you!"

Though he had been utterly defeated, he still had to make a verbal show of the backbone he didn’t actually possess.

"Come on, hurry up and present Marquis Fernandez with a banner! ’Vanguard of the Noble Reforms.’ We’re commending him for being the first to voluntarily sign the reform document. Such progressive thinking! Photographer! Get over here! Don’t look so stern, Marquis, smile! This picture is going on the front page of tomorrow’s paper."

Unfortunately for him, in a battle of words, Marquis Fernandez was no match for Figxin, who had learned from Zog.

And Figxin didn’t just have sharp words; she had a silky-smooth combo to follow.

With lightning speed, the guards shoved the banner into the Marquis’s hands. The photographer, with quick eyes and deft hands, snapped the picture. Their movements were so swift and fluid they were clearly rehearsed, perfectly capturing the Marquis’s expression—a frozen tableau of anger, humiliation, and despair, tinged with the confusion of someone who hadn’t yet processed what was happening.

If a list of the one hundred greatest photographs in history were ever compiled, this picture, regardless of its artistic merit, would surely be included for its historical value.

It would also appear alongside that newspaper report in future history textbooks, probably in one of those little sidebars next to the main text with a different background color, labeled "Primary Source Reading."

Upon realizing these likely future events, Marquis Fernandez suddenly found his anger dissipating, replaced by a profound sense of grievance.

This feeling of injustice took him back to his childhood. His parents were forcing him to attend the wedding of a distant relative he didn’t even know, but on that very day, he had made plans to go catch frogs with the chef’s son.

He had locked himself in his room, thinking he could hide, but his parents had keys to every door. Later, he was slapped, stuffed into the carriage while crying, and he and the chef’s son never went to catch frogs together again.

He understood now. This was the powerlessness one feels in the face of an unstoppable force.

After he, the most prestigious Marquis in attendance, gave up resisting, the other nobles stopped struggling and signed the documents one after another.

At the end, a group photo was also taken. Compared to the picture of the Marquis and his banner, this one was considerably more formal.

Figxin sat primly in her chair. Before her, seated at two long tables, dozens of nobles, major and minor, silently signed their full, lengthy names on the documents, symbolizing a corner of the high walls of the old aristocracy being kicked in.

This photo was much more suitable for the main text of a history book.

After the meeting, there was a celebratory banquet.

It was a banquet to celebrate the nobles’ entry into a new era, but Figxin didn’t stay for it. One could only imagine how awkward the atmosphere would be.

The nobles would have needed a truly transcendent state of mind to be able to stomach any food at that banquet.

If it had been up to Figxin, she wouldn’t have held the banquet at all. It was her mentor and advisor, Zete Mage, who had strongly insisted, saying that the proper etiquette and procedures for a negotiation had to be observed.

’I sincerely hope they manage to eat a little something, even without me there. It took a lot of effort to prepare.’

After the public meeting, there was an internal one.

Zog sat in a leather chair, stroking a Cat with his claw. The Cat was terrified and wanted to run, but unfortunately, a Dragon’s reflexes are seven times faster than a Cat’s. No matter how uncomfortable it felt, it couldn’t escape.