Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 322: Chapter Three Hundred And Twenty One

"The King’s guards and generals," the Chancellor continued reading, "now have the right to search any noble properties, stop any private carriage, open any sealed crate, and seize any unauthorized weaponry found within the borders of Daril."

The Chancellor finished reading. He rolled the parchment up and stepped back.

The council chamber went dead silent for exactly three seconds.

The wealthy nobles stared at the King. Their brains processed the new law very quickly.

It became immediately, terrifyingly clear to some of the nobles that this decree wasn’t just about finding smuggled weapons.

The Duke of Westbury started sweating profusely.

"If the King’s guards can search my private ships without warning," the Duke thought to himself, his mind filled with panic. "They won’t just find weapons. They will find the hidden crates of untaxed gold! They will find the illegal luxury goods I bring in from the islands! They will see my shady bookkeeping!"

The Earl of Dorchester looked exactly the same. He swallowed hard.

"My secret shipments," the Earl panicked internally. "All my hidden wealth. The guards will find everything. We use those exempt routes to stay rich and avoid paying the royal taxes!"

The nobles realized that their bottom line, their wealth, and their dirty secrets were unavoidable threat.

The room exploded into controlled chaos once again. But this time, it was much louder and much more desperate.

The factions of nobles quickly presented their loud arguments. They did not mention their illegal gold. They used noble honor as their shield.

"Your Majesty, you cannot do this!" a tall lord shouted, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. "This violates centuries-old pacts between the Crown and the Lords! Our ancestors agreed that noble property is private!"

"This will ruin our trade!" the Duke of Westbury yelled loudly, his face purple. "If your guards delay our shipments to search every single barrel of wine, the goods will spoil! The merchants will leave our kingdom!"

The Earl of Dorchester pointed a shaking finger at the King.

"It is a huge insult to our honor!" the Earl declared dramatically. "You are treating us like common criminals! You are treating us like street thugs in the lower city!"

An older lord at the back of the room stood up. He threw his arms wide open.

"If a King does not trust his Lords," the old man shouted loudly, trying to shame the King, "then the kingdom is already fallen!"

Everyone had something to say. Everyone was yelling. They argued about taxes, honor, ancient laws, and delayed trade. They refused to accept the invasive searches.

Damon sat quietly and watched them complain. He found it pathetic. These men cared more about their hidden gold coins than the actual safety of their own families.

King Leonel sat silently for a few minutes. He let them vent their fury.

When the shouting finally began to die down, the King slowly reached his hand out. He picked up the strange musket from the canvas.

He held the weapon up in the air for everyone to see.

"Honor," the King said softly. He scoffed lightly. "You speak to me of honor and trade delays."

The King slammed the iron weapon back down onto the table with a loud, violent CRASH.

The nobles jumped in their seats. They stared at the King.

"Let me remind you of the harsh, brutal reality sitting right in front of your faces," the King commanded strictly. His voice was booming. He glared at the fat Duke and the angry Earl.

"If you refuse these searches," the King warned them, his eyes flashing with fire. "The smugglers will continue to bring these weapons into my kingdom. They will sell them in the dark alleys."

The King pointed a firm finger around the room.

"Imagine this," the King painted a terrifying, vivid picture. "Imagine what happens when the angry peasants, the mercenaries, or a rival political faction get their hands on a large, steady supply of these weapons."

The nobles swallowed hard. They listened closely.

"Your private, expensive estate guards," the King continued, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Your men who are armed with swords and bows. They will be massacred in seconds."

The King looked at the Duke of Westbury.

"These weapons do not care about your noble blood," the King stated coldly. "They do not care about your ancient pacts. When the peasants rise up, these iron pipes will shoot metal balls straight through the thick wooden doors of your mansions. They will shoot straight through the stone walls of your manors. You will die in your sleep."

The King leaned back in his tall chair. He offered them a very simple, final choice.

"So," the King said calmly. "You have a choice today, my lords."

He held up one hand. "You can accept the minor financial inconvenience. You can accept a small loss of your pride. You can submit to the Crown’s searches, and we will find these weapons and destroy the enemies."

He held up his other hand. "Or, you can keep your pride. You can keep your hidden trade routes. And you can face an armed, violent peasant uprising that will destroy your families and burn your estates to the ground."

The King lowered his hands. "Choose."

The council chamber fell into dead silence.

The wealthy nobles looked at the musket resting on the table. They imagined angry peasants breaking down their doors with fire-breathing weapons. They imagined their steel armor shattering into tiny pieces.

The fear of death was much stronger than their love for gold. They valued their lives over their pride.

The Duke of Westbury slowly lowered his eyes to the table. He took a heavy, defeated breath.

The Earl of Dorchester slumped back into his chair. He looked beaten.

One by one, the powerful lords around the table slowly bowed their heads in submission.

"We accept the decree, Your Majesty," the Duke of Westbury mumbled quietly.

"We accept," the other lords murmured grudgingly.

The King nodded his head once. "The law is passed. The searches begin as soon as possible."

The meeting was officially over. But as the lords began to stand up to leave, the atmosphere in the room became toxic. The nobles had surrendered, but they were furiously angry.

Lord Ryde stood up from his chair. He looked at the King, and then he looked at Damon.

Lord Ryde thought to himself, his internal voice filled with bitter hatred.

"You take our wealth, and stripped us of our pride and honor," Lord Ryde thought, his eyes narrowing sharply. "You push us too far, King Leonel."

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