Reborn As Noble

For a moment, neither man spoke. The royal advisor drew a slow breath, then leaned forward, his tone gentle, yet edged with seriousness.

”There is a way, Your Royal Highness,” he said quietly. ”But it comes with great risk, and would be nearly impossible if you were not protected by a powerful house. If your only support came from a lesser noble, it would not be enough. Your enemies would seize the chance to crush you before you could take a step.”

He met her gaze with calm conviction.

”But since Lord Garius himself has promised his backing... this path, though difficult, becomes possible. If you are willing to bear the sacrifice, if you are ready to accept the consequences, then yes, there is a way out. It may not bring you the crown... but it will let you choose your own fate, free of war and free of chains.”

He paused, letting the words settle, watching her face for understanding.

”It will not be easy, Princess. But with Count Garius’s protection and backing, no other nobles dare to make a move on you after this.”

Meanwhile, in the main hall, the murmur of nobles still lingered like smoke after a fire.

Garius strode back toward the council table, his steps unhurried yet steady, each movement carrying the weight of command that silenced whispers as he passed. Alf and Erinnette walked slightly behind him on either side, their presence as constant as his shadow.

Javier followed a step farther back, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded in thought.

Wonder what father planned after this?

He’s already given Kliatana her choice...

But knowing how father thinks and plans, I’m sure he won’t stop with two options. Always another layer. Always another plan tucked beneath the one he speaks aloud.

Javier exhaled slowly.

Whatever... I’m sure every plan he prepares, one will bear fruit.

One thing I know for certain: that father doesn’t care about the crown at all. He has the power and strength to take the crown by force, but he never uses it.

For him, it’s just a trinket of gold and ceremony. Since knowing father, he cares more about his own land.

Well... if they ask me? Crown for the Human Kingdom?

Heh. Hard pass.

First of all, too much etiquette. Too many rules. I’d die of boredom before any assassin even made it through the door.

Second... paperwork.

Lots of it.

This kingdom’s still a mess after the war. Infrastructure ruined. Cities needing to be rebuilt. Taxes all over the place. Reforms. Budgets. Reconstruction plans.

So yeah. A mountain of paper, ink, and headaches.

Being king of that?

No thanks.

I’d rather clean Pekko dung with my bare hands than read through ten scrolls about ”agricultural fund allocations in the southeastern provinces.”

The nobles shifted as Garius returned, some trying to read his face, others pretending not to notice his approach.

He took his seat with deliberate calm, resting one hand lightly on the armrest, the other upon the table. His gaze swept the chamber, polite, unhurried, yet sharp enough to still the air.

”Ah,” he said at last, tone smooth, courteous, yet edged with something deeper. ”It seems my brief absence has already given birth to whispers. Shall I assume the council could not contain itself for even a single moment without turning to speculation?”

A few nobles stiffened. Others forced smiles.

Garius’s lips curved faintly.

”Worry not,” he continued, voice even. ”The law has been spoken, the crown placed. I will not contest it. But...” His eyes swept toward the Keeper of Royal Law, then to Kimar. ”...perhaps some among you would prefer the matter remain unfinished. For while the crown may rest upon one head, the realm itself still trembles.”

Duke Kimar leaned back slightly, the corners of his lips curled into a polite smile. But the weight behind his words was clear.

”My~ Count Garius... surely your private discourse was not to linger upon matters best left settled. One would not wish to appear as though plotting to unseat a crown before it has even been placed.”

Garius didn’t blink. He offered only a slight nod, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

”Ah, Your Grace, forgive me. How many times must I remind this chamber? The crown of the Human Kingdom has never once been in my sight.”

He picked up his adamantite glass, turning it lazily in one hand.

”To Armand, a crown is but a symbol. Wealth, stability, and strength are not found in a circlet of gold, but in the prosperity of one’s people.”

His gaze moved across the room. Not rushed. Not hostile. But heavy enough that several nobles lowered their eyes.

”This kingdom will soon bleed its coffers dry to rebuild what war has stripped away. Roads, fields, homes, and walls, all must be raised anew. And that burden, heavy as iron, will rest upon the next ruler’s shoulders. Surely, that is no prize to envy.”

The smirk on his lips deepened.

”Even here, in this hall, the difference is plain. The garments upon my shoulders, the glass in my hand, the wares my house provides for my use.”

He set the glass down slowly.

”So I assure you, Your Grace, when I say the crown does not tempt me, it is no false modesty. Why would I covet what weighs your realm down, when I already hold what keeps mine steady?”

Duke Kimar’s smirk lingered as he leaned forward, one elbow resting upon the table, fingers brushing thoughtfully against his chin.

”So then... may we all rest assured, Count Garius, that your private discourse with Her Highness bore no hidden aim? No quiet suggestion to unsettle the will of this council, no whisper of defiance beneath the law already sealed?”

Garius inclined his head.

”Ah~ Your Grace, I do wonder... how many times must I repeat myself before even you grow weary of the sound? I believe I have said it often enough that my throat grows parched from the telling.”

He reached for his glass, lifting it with unhurried grace. Alf stepped forward silently and refilled it with Armand’s own deep vintage, the crimson surface catching the chandelier’s light.

”The matter is plain. The council has cast its vote, the law has spoken, and all here have nodded their assent. Who then am I, Count of Armand, to contest what has already been sealed? To belabor such a settled affair would be tiresome indeed. Surely, Your Grace, you do not mistake me for a man so foolish as to wrestle over what I find utterly unworthy of contest?”

His smirk curved, voice still calm and courteous.

”Let us not insult this chamber by circling endlessly around a question already answered. The crown is yours, Your Grace. Do wear it well.”

( End Of Chapter )