Reborn As Noble

Chapter 825: Plates of Law ( 825 )

Garius’s hand rose slowly, deliberately, as if to mark the moment in memory. His gaze shifted past his eldest sons, past the obvious heirs, and turned instead toward the back row where Javier sat.

”Javier De Armand,” Garius declared, his voice carrying with unshakable calm. ”Step forward. Sit at my side.”

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Eyes widened, fans froze halfway to lips, and even seasoned nobles struggled to mask their shock. Murmurs broke like waves across the chamber.

Not Marcellus? Not Cedric?

The weight of confusion and disbelief pressed on the council as every noble tried to decipher what Garius intended.

Javier rose with a long, drawn-out sigh, shoulders slouched for moment before he straightened himself. Behind him, Liana followed with quiet grace, her presence steadying yet sharp, as if reminding him not to disgrace himself under so many eyes.

Inside his mind, irritation bubbled.

Kih... I was perfectly fine at the back. Relaxing, yawning, drifting through boredom. And now this? Dragged into the spotlight to sit beside Father, under the watchful eyes of these bloated old fools. What a pain in the ass.

He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck.

This is exactly why I didn’t want the heir seat. But no. My oh-so-loving family all voted against me. Even Marcellus, who should’ve been the natural heir. Even Cedric, who would’ve made a flawless second.

No, they all smiled, all nodded, and shoved it on me, because I’m the youngest. Because it’s easier for them if I’m the shield, the distraction, the chaos.

Damn it... this is going to be long.

Javier reached the empty seat, standing tall now with all eyes fixed upon him. He inhaled once, steady, then placed his hand across his chest and bowed slightly, his movements measured, deliberate, echoing the same polished grace his father often displayed.

His voice carried clearly, smooth and composed, each word weighed with courtesy.

”I am Javier De Armand, son of Count Garius, and bearer of the Armand name. By my father’s will, I take this seat today, not as a voice, but as a witness. I wield the craft that shapes from thought into form, a skill not of inheritance alone, but of discipline and creation. I stand not only as heir to my father’s blood, but as heir to the strength and prosperity of the Armand lands.”

He lifted his gaze, calm yet unyielding, letting the chamber hear the weight beneath his politeness.

”For what is an heir, if not one who must ensure that what is built endures? Such is my duty, such is the trust placed in me.”

There. Formal, polite, and maybe enough to keep their mouths shut. Hopefully.

The chamber stirred with whispers the moment Liana stepped forward, her poise unshaken as she pulled the chair with quiet dignity, setting it for Javier before taking her place at his side.

Her presence, serene yet striking, drew more eyes than Javier’s introduction had. An elf, standing openly as maid to the heir of Armand, unheard of within these walls.

Duke Kimar’s smirk curved as he leaned slightly, voice smooth but carrying the faintest barb.

”Oh? Such a jewel at his side. To see an elf as a personal maid in our kingdom... rare indeed. I had thought such beauty belonged only to the House of Courtesans, where rarity is bought and spent.”

The chamber rippled with uneasy chuckles, a few nobles averting their gaze, others pretending to share in the jest.

Garius chuckled softly, resting his chin against his knuckles as though amused by a child’s comment rather than a duke’s provocation. His eyes gleamed with calm certainty.

”Your Grace, that is the difference between the Armand region and the rest of this kingdom.”

He let his words linger, voice refined yet sharp with truth.

”Of the fifty-two regions under this crown, only Armand rewards loyalty with dignity, skill with honor, and service with the pay it deserves. That is why we are called the finest region in this kingdom, and perhaps, if I may be bold, in all the world. For where others barter lives for coin, we build futures. And that is why those who serve in Armand do so not from necessity, but from pride.”

Garius’s chuckle deepened, his tone slipping into one of polite correction, smooth yet edged with quiet authority.

”Ah... but do not mistake her for a mere elf, Your Grace. She is no ordinary servant plucked from chance or whim. The one standing behind my son is of noble blood herself, niece to none other than Queen Mylezra of the Elven Kingdom.”

The chamber stilled. A ripple of surprise coursed through the nobles as whispers rose and fell like waves against stone walls. Elven royalty within human halls was more than rare, it was unheard of. To see her not seated in splendor, but standing with quiet devotion as a maid, unsettled more than a few hearts.

Garius let the silence breathe, his smirk faint but steady.

”So when you look upon her, do not see rarity alone. See the bond between kingdoms. See loyalty that is chosen, not compelled. That is the difference, Your Grace. In Armand, even those born to crowns may serve, not out of degradation, but out of trust.”

Garius leaned back slightly, his smirk calm, the polished tone of his voice rippling across the chamber like a gentle current that carried iron beneath the surface.

”Ah... let us not tarry on ornaments and gestures. Time is precious, and so are the burdens waiting beyond these walls. If we are gathered to decide the crown, let us proceed without delay. Surely, none here would wish to see the people suffer while we linger on ceremony.”

The words were polite, noble, yet the hint was unmistakable, every passing moment spent on pretense was a theft from duty itself.

Duke Kimar’s lips curved, his own tone smooth as silk, masking the hunger that burned beneath.

”Indeed, Count Garius. Let us not squander the council’s strength on trifles. What is before us carries weight far greater than words or wine. The sooner we conclude, the sooner this kingdom may find the stability it so dearly needs.”

A murmur of agreement followed, nobles nodding as though they shared the wisdom, though their eyes betrayed the true alignment of their hearts.

Then the Keeper of Royal Law rose, slow and deliberate, his robe sweeping the stone like a tide. The lacquered box gleamed in his grip, clasps of steel etched with runes glinting under the chandelier’s light.

He walked the chamber’s length with the gravitas of history itself, placing the box upon the council table with a hollow thud that silenced every whisper.

The lid opened, revealing the stacked plates of gold, sigils faintly glowing, binding not to man, but to law. The Keeper’s voice rang out, solemn and steady:

”By decree of the Royal Law, this council shall cast its will. Each noble present shall take one plate, bearing no mark, no name, save for the vote inscribed by his own hand and sealed by the binding rune.”

Eyes darted between Kimar and Garius. A tension settled, taut and heavy.

The attendants carried the box down the line. Marquises and barons reached in with stiff hands, their glances betraying the pull of Duke Kimar’s shadow.

The Keeper’s assistant halted before the duke. Kimar lifted a plate with poised fingers, tilting it slightly, already imagining it as a crown.

When the box reached Garius, Alf stepped forward in silent dignity. He received the plate with steady hands and set it before his master.

Garius did not rush, his palm resting lightly upon the cool gold. His smirk deepened, unreadable, as though the weight of the council meant less to him than the glass of wine at his side.

( End Of Chapter )