Chapter 143: The Tumult of Darcy

Silence filled the room as the major nobles felt a chilling sense of familiarity with the scene before them.

They had gathered once in the capital, and each had convened with their neighbors during the eastern upheaval. Now, they were doing it yet again. In the span of a mere year, they had attended three such meetings, not to mention countless smaller, clandestine gatherings.

The first time, a Grand Duke of the East had suddenly appeared, using the King and the Hunters Guild to pressure them, nearly pinning the blame for colluding with a heretical cult squarely on their shoulders. This time, the King had gone mad for no apparent reason, launching a bloody massacre across the territories surrounding the royal capital with complete disregard for the kingdom's stability, slaughtering nobles indiscriminately.

Without noble lords, how could anyone wield the sheer power required to govern such vast territories? Those foolish commoners could not comprehend orders unless driven by whips and swords, constantly scheming only to shirk their labor.

Once the control of the lords was lost, the territories would descend into absolute chaos, maintaining a brief, fragile peace in the short term. But if left too long, the surrounding regions would spiral into total disorder, transforming everyone into beasts governed by the most primitive laws of the jungle.

Soon, the populace would fracture into groups of varying sizes, resembling savage tribes. By that time, it would be difficult for the kingdom to exert any control. While the might of the knighthood could certainly suppress them, it would allow the rabble to taste the fruits of rebellion and teach those animals how to fight back.

A vast nation is founded upon absolute power, but it cannot be sustained by pure force alone.

"From the current state of affairs, the Grand Duke of the East did not cure the King; he merely restored the King's vigor." Count Mahey walked step by step to the head of the long table, seated himself in the chair, and drained his glass of cola in a single gulp.

"He gave the King the strength to go mad."

He picked up the bottle opener adorned with red and green gems, gently pried open the crystal-clear glass bottle, and poured more cola into his goblet.

His posture was elegant, his demeanor impeccably poised, perfectly aligned with aristocratic etiquette. The early nobles of Dawn had possessed little martial virtue, but the later generations had perfected every conceivable bad habit.

If their ancestors could witness this scene, they would undoubtedly rise from their coffins in absolute rage to bestow upon them the loving care of their forefathers.

Yet this could not entirely be blamed upon them. As the saying goes, subjects emulate their superiors; since the King indulged in such grand entertainment, what was wrong with them enjoying themselves a little too?

(The bottle opener is made of iron and plastic gems, costing twelve cents to produce and retailing for one hundred gold coins.)

Count Mahey watched the bubbles rise toward the rim, inside of which a black rabbit was incessantly counting money.

A noble-exclusive bottle opener, featuring exquisite lace trimming and crystal-clear plastic gems, yours for only ninety-nine gold!

The tax on vanity was indeed the easiest to profit from. Though these nobles knew the pricing was absurd, they swallowed their pride and bought it anyway just to maintain their social standing.

Bang!

A noble slammed his fist onto the table in rage and declared, "Let's fight him to the death! We're dead either way! Since the King wants to go mad, we'll humor him in his madness just this once!"

"Absolutely not," an older noble nearby replied, shaking his head. "The King is mad, but we cannot afford to follow suit. Otherwise, the Kingdom of Dawn will completely collapse, and the surrounding nations will undoubtedly launch a massive invasion."

Having lived for sixty or seventy years, he was neither as impulsive as these men in their thirties and forties, nor as panicked as the others.

Hearing the elderly noble's words, the nobleman who had just struck the table glared at him and shouted, "We've reached this point, and you still care about the kingdom?! If the King doesn't want this country, then we shall grant his wish and let Dawn perish because of him!"

"The King is nearing his end; he can afford to go mad, but we still have many long years ahead to enjoy our lives. Young noble, remember your identity—you are a nobleman of the Kingdom of Dawn! Without this country, we are nothing. If the King has gone mad, we shall replace him, but this nation must never be destroyed!"

The elderly noble widened his eyes, glaring with irritation at the young man.

The rest of the company nodded in agreement, recognizing that the fall of the kingdom would benefit no one.

They were only nobles because of the Kingdom of Dawn. Once outside its borders, no one would acknowledge their status, let alone grant them the so-called privileges of nobility.

An aristocratic identity required the state as its guarantor; if the state ceased to exist, that status would vanish along with it.

"We must not allow the King to run amok."

"Then whom shall we put forward as King? Erika, Giniss, or...?"

"I nominate Her Royal Highness Princess Erika. Of noble birth, pure bloodline, and educated from childhood in the most orthodox aristocratic traditions."

"Reasonable."

Within a few brief exchanges, all eyes shifted to the other end of the table. Seated there was a man with graying hair, dressed in black noble attire embroidered with gold threads, exuding an aura of supreme dignity.

Grand Duke Carter, currently the only person capable of stopping the King.

"Gentlemen, Erika is not suited to become the Lord of Dawn," Grand Duke Carter refused flatly.

Had this been earlier, he might have entertained a sliver of ambition, but after the royal succession manifesto, that inkling had been utterly extinguished.

"The Grand Duke is being too modest. In my view, Princess Erika is undoubtedly the most suitable candidate."

"Indeed, absolutely. The First Prince colluded with a heretical cult, and the Sixth Princess knows only how to play merchant tricks; neither is fit to be monarch. The Second Princess is tyrannical and unreasonable—she actually dared to clash with the King back then and has already been banished from the kingdom, making her entirely unqualified for the throne. The Fifth Prince actually believes in foreign teachings; how could such a person ever become king?"

"Well said. At present, only Princess Erika can shoulder this heavy burden."

These people—were they truly this foolish, or were they simply unwilling to face reality? Or perhaps, in their eyes, Olina was not a princess at all.

Grand Duke Carter shook his head inwardly and spoke, "If you ask me, there are only two people currently capable of holding the throne: Her Royal Highness Princess Irene, and Olina."

He had no intention of continuing to bicker with them.

"Grand Duke, what kind of nonsense are you speaking? How could a lowly wretch born to a mere whore possibly be qualified to become monarch?"

"Yet that is the reality." Grand Duke Carter tapped the table lightly, emphasizing his tone. "Currently, the only ones who can take the throne are these two, and it can only be them. Anyone else will find the seat impossible to hold."

"Princess Irene reached the upper three tiers at a young age, crushing all others in strength while commanding the support of the royal knights. Princess Olina is backed by the Grand Duke of the East, boasting the strongest military might. Do you truly believe that if Erika sits on the throne, these two factions will agree?"

"This..." The nobles exchanged glances, looking at one another in dismay.

Grand Duke Carter continued, "Through a normal royal succession, the others stand even less of a chance against these two princesses. The Sword of Dawn will definitely choose between them. Daydreaming about seizing the throne through irregular means will only give them a pretext to strike. When that time comes, which of you can withstand the army of the Eastern Grand Duke, and who among you can defeat the Royal Order of Knights?"

Grand Duke Carter's words fell like a basin of freezing water upon the hearts of every noble present.

"But Grand Duke, you heard the succession manifestos of those two women. If we let them ascend the throne, our deaths will only be all the more horrific," a noble said timidly.

This was precisely why they had overlooked Olina and opposed Irene. If either of these two were even slightly normal, they would be dropping to their knees to swear allegiance right now. Whether their bloodline was noble enough or whether there were issues with their birth was completely irrelevant at this point.

Yet alas, each was more unhinged than the last—Olina, in particular, was an absolute, raving madman who had personally slaughtered the nobles within the Eastern Territory.

"Gentlemen, I have a method that satisfies all concerns," Count Mahey said with a smile.

Doubtful gazes turned toward him, Carter included.

Under the current circumstances, how could there possibly be a solution that pleased everyone? The King had little time left, leaving no room for negotiation whatsoever. Either they compromised, cooperated with the kingdom's reforms, and endorsed a new monarch's ascension—

From Carter's perspective, they actually had only one choice left: to support Her Royal Highness Princess Irene's ascent to the throne, surrender their aristocratic status, and become civic officials akin to those in the royal capital, foregoing hereditary privileges.

On the surface, they would no longer be nobles, but in reality, they would remain aristocrats, albeit living less comfortably than before. As long as they demonstrated sufficient value, Princess Irene's magnanimity meant she would not harm them. The other claimant was a different story entirely; assuming her threats were true, the moment she took the crown would mark their execution day.

Perhaps her words were merely spoken in anger, but Carter dared not gamble on that possibility.

"Since Dawn can no longer hold us, why don't we change locations?" Count Mahey raised a finger and pointed in a certain direction outside the window. "To Cixian, for instance."

"What?!" someone gasped in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I am not mad; I merely wish for all of you to have a better option. Since the King refuses to let us live, let us not be blamed for our lack of loyalty," Count Mahey said.

Cold light flashed in Carter's eyes as he spoke, "Mahey, do you realize what you are doing? You are betraying your own family and violating the honor of your ancestors."

Cixian—a desert realm that had once been a vassal state of Dawn. Much like any powerful nation, Dawn had always cultivated smaller states as subordinates for various reasons, and at the height of its glory, the Kingdom of Dawn had stood as one of the premier nations among humankind.

Countless minor countries had depended on Dawn; some perished as Dawn declined, while others turned traitor. Cixian was one of them, and certainly the most rebellious of the lot.

For the past century, it had frequently invaded Dawn, constantly harassing the borders and abducting Dawn's subjects to serve as slaves.

The nobles of Dawn looked down upon this barbaric nation—where slavery, gladiatorial arenas, and skull goblets were rampant—deeply from the bottom of their hearts.

"Oh, my esteemed Grand Duke Carter, I trust my ancestors will understand my actions; I am driven to this with no other choice." Faced with Carter's icy glare, Count Mahey showed no trace of fear.

"Since we must stay somewhere, why not choose a far more powerful nation? The Kingdom of Cixian boasts immense national strength, making it a very fine choice."

Grand Duke Carter raised his hand toward Count Mahey, spiritual light flickering in his eyes as arm-length icicles formed instantly, carving blue arcs through the air.

The attack was so sudden and of such ferocious speed that none of the others had time to react.

Just as Grand Duke Carter thought he was about to succeed in slaying this traitorous wretch, his icicles abruptly halted.

Clumps of strange sand wrapped around his conjured icicles, freezing them rigidly in mid-air.

At that moment, the door suddenly swung open, and earth-yellow streams crept into the room—no, it was sand flowing like water.

A figure, elevated by the support of the sand, drifted into the chamber.

Tall and lean, wearing a golden mask and bare-chested with brown-yellow skin, the figure was draped in all manner of golden ornaments, easily numbering over a hundred pieces in total.

Most striking of all was the gigantic gourd strapped to his back, radiating a terrifying spiritual aura.

The King of the Kingdom of Cixian, Dasitumeng.

Dasitumeng looked at Carter and said, "I grant you permission to withdraw your fatal intent."

"Hah, since when has my status ever required your permission?" Carter scoffed dismissively, rising to his feet to look toward the other nobles.

"If you still retain even a shred of aristocratic dignity, die here today."

The moment those words faded, the sand drifting across the floor instantly engulfed Carter. A single breath later, the sand settled and the seat was entirely vacant, leaving behind only a yellow-brown humanoid paper cutout.

Dasitumeng controlled the sand to carry the paper cutout into his hand, accepted the paper, and looked toward the remaining nobles. "He was a mere puppet, but you are flesh and blood. Do you choose your life or your dignity? Decide for yourselves."

The next day, a massive army marched out of the desert.

They rode humpbacked beasts with brown fur, wearing sand-veil masks and wielding iron lances.

They entered the cities of the Kingdom of Dawn without encountering any resistance.

They burned, looted, and pillaged with utter lawlessness, locking chains around everyone's throats. They violated women until death, turned children into drinking vessels, and tore countless families apart.

Frantic, bloodthirsty shouts echoed through the cities, accompanied by the wails of women, shrill screams, and the cries of children.

A few knights drew their swords in righteous fury; a few monster hunters struck out in wrath. Yet they were ultimately too few, powerless to turn the tide.