Upon hearing this, everyone shook their heads and sighed.
For them, the rise of ordinary people is not only a loss of economic benefits, but also a shake-up of their social status and dignity.
"The line between nobles and commoners is blurring," Earl Aiden Fallon said in a deep voice. "If this continues, we will lose control of the country."
Prince Jassim listened quietly, knowing that the nobles' anger was not without reason.
A new class of commoner property owners is rapidly emerging, and their existence threatens the interests and status of the traditional aristocratic class.
However, he also knew that it was unrealistic to completely stop this trend—after all, Myron Garnard's success was obvious, and the prosperity of the Sihanoukville Special Economic Zone had brought tangible benefits to the kingdom.
The candlelight cast long shadows on the stone wall, illuminating faces filled with anxiety and resentment. Their ancestors had once expanded the kingdom's territory, but now they watched helplessly as power and wealth slipped through their fingers to those "nouveau riche" who had no bloodline or tradition.
Prince Jassim slowly stood up. "We must find a way to balance this."
His words silenced the entire hall instantly, the firelight outlining his calm and dignified profile.
"Gentlemen," his voice was not loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly, "I hear your worries, and I understand your anger."
His gaze swept over every nobleman present—Thorn, Hall, Fallon, Mackey, Clanton… These names were once engraved on the kingdom's first battle flag, and had accompanied the former king in sweeping away the barbarians and building gleaming high walls.
"This country did not come into being out of thin air. It was your ancestors who paved the way across the wasteland with swords and blood, and it was your families who upheld the crown of Aldor with loyalty and sacrifice."
His tone became firm: "Therefore, the kingdom has a natural responsibility to uphold your honor and safeguard your interests. This is not a privilege, but a historical covenant."
The nobles straightened their backs, their faces showing arrogance.
"It must be acknowledged that Count Garnard's West Port Special Zone has indeed been effective, greatly alleviating the kingdom's financial pressure. Therefore, the vitality of emerging industry and commerce should not be stifled. We need silver coins, guns and cannons, and factories. These are things that ordinary people can make, and we need them to make them."
He walked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in his eyes.
"But the ancient order cannot collapse, and the dignity of the nobility cannot be trampled on. A kingdom without the spirit of nobility is nothing but a rich quagmire that will eventually decay."
He turned to face the crowd: "I will speak to the King and reaffirm the central role of the nobility in the kingdom's system. The distribution of power—taxation, official positions, fiefdoms—must reflect the weight of history."
He raised a hand, his tone calm and profound: "I will promote a new social consensus—to ensure the continuation of the dignity and glory of the nobility, and to allow ancient surnames to continue to enjoy the respect commensurate with their history; but at the same time, to provide opportunities for the lower classes to contribute their talents and labor to the kingdom, so that their efforts can be transformed into the vitality of the nation, rather than a subversion of the order."
He raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing a meaningful smile: "We do not reject change, but the direction of our change must be controlled by noble people!"
A round of enthusiastic applause erupted at the banquet.
...
Inside the Lord's office in Laketown, the fire in the fireplace burned quietly, casting a warm red glow on the heavy desk and the map of the North hanging on the wall.
The night wind outside the window beat against the stone window frame, making a low, mournful sound.
Paul Gleman sat behind his desk, holding a letter from Crystal Radiance in his hand. The sealing wax had been removed, and the edges of the letter were slightly curled, clearly indicating that it had been repeatedly unfolded and closed.
After reading the last line, a bitter smile slowly appeared on his lips as he gently placed the letter on the table.
"His Majesty said that after receiving my request, he immediately drafted an edict and even affixed the royal seal."
He glanced at his subordinates present, "but the ministers at the royal council opposed it, some even bringing up the old story of Giles' rebellion, leaving the king with no choice but to withdraw the order."
Paul pushed the letter out: "Take a look for yourselves."
Starting with Old Ford, the letter was passed around among the people.
Hansel took the letter and quickly glanced through it. His brows furrowed more and more, and a hint of wariness flashed in his eyes.
While his subordinates circulated the letters, he stepped back, leaned against the bookshelf, and unconsciously rubbed his chin with his fingers.
As a descendant of nobles raised in the Crystal Radiance, he knew Rodney XVIII quite well; the young king was a man who appeared gentle but was strong-willed.
Moreover, Paul's request was necessary in times of war and was well-founded. If he had been decisive, he would have pushed through the matter even in the face of opposition by declaring, "I have already made my decision"—but Rodney XVIII did not; he chose to yield to his ministers.
After reading the letter, the other subordinates in the office looked up one after another, each with a different expression.
"Based on my understanding of Rodney XVIII…" Hansel began in a low voice, "If His Majesty were truly determined, he wouldn't have brought it up for discussion at the Imperial Council; if he decided to respect the ministers' opinions, he wouldn't have stamped it first… unless he wanted to create a reason."
"I think the King is giving us a warning." Hansel looked directly at Paul, his tone grave. "He's not being pressured by the ministers; he just wants us to know that your power comes from him."
He paused, then lowered his voice: "My lord, His Majesty the King may have already begun to be wary of you."
The flames in the fireplace flickered, casting Paul's shadow long and tall on the map of the North behind him.
Suppressed anger quietly spread throughout the room.
"Absurd!" Bryce slammed his fist on the corner of the table, his voice low and indignant. "We stood up for the royal family against Abar's iron hooves, while they sat in the radiant hall drinking wine, rejecting the needs of the front lines simply because of suspicion?"
Victor sneered: "I bet Crystal Radiance would love for us to be as weak as possible."
Old Ford remained silent, but his eyes remained serious.
Just as the crowd was filled with righteous indignation, Paul raised a hand.
There was no scolding, no angry glare, just a gentle lift, and the whole room fell silent.
"Enough!" His voice wasn't loud. "I know everything you're saying, but you need to understand—your position determines your perspective!"
He slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the endless lights of thousands of homes in the lakeside town.
"If I were king, ruling over Crystal Radiance, with Veblen holding sway in the south and a powerful lord in the north holding considerable military power and enjoying popular support, requesting the right to conscript soldiers..."
He paused, his tone calm to the point of being almost cold, "I would probably hesitate, and I would refuse."