Chapter 816: The First Strike ( 816 )
Garius rose slowly, his movements dignified and measured. With effortless grace, he handed the glass back to Alf, who received it with a polished bow.
Turning his gaze across the gathered nobles, Garius’s smile lingered.
"Ah... I believe I have spoken at length," he said smoothly, his tone light but with a clear edge of mockery. "Perhaps too much. One might almost think I should charge for such lessons, for wisdom, after all, is far more costly than coin."
The heavy toll of the great bell rolled across the courtyard, deep and resonant, cutting through the murmurs of nobles and servants alike.
Garius turned his head slightly, his expression calm.
"Ah... it seems the council is about to begin," he said, his tone measured yet carrying that subtle sting. "And here we have spent far too much time on... explanations, posturing, and trifles that add nothing to the realm."
He let his eyes drift briefly over Marquis Saten, then to the circle of nobles who had gathered, before settling forward once more with a faint smile.
"Perhaps it is fitting. Let the bell remind us that the weight of this kingdom is not carried by arguments of carriages and coin, but by those who still value order, wisdom, and discipline. The rest... is little more than noise."
With that, he adjusted his posture and began walking toward the council chamber.
Javier’s eyes followed Garius’s back as their father moved with steady steps toward the council chamber. He glanced at Marcellus and Cedric, his tone half-mischievous, half-serious.
"Father is going. I think we should be going as well," Javier murmured, tugging lightly at his gloves.
Marcellus smirked, straightening his posture as if to hide his earlier grin. "Naturally. The last thing I want is Father turning that glare of his on us."
Cedric gave a short chuckle, resting one hand on the sword’s pommel.
"Agreed. I’d rather face a thousand soldiers than that look from him."
The three brothers fell into step, their banter quiet but their movements sharp, following in their father’s path toward the council.
The royal guards stood tall as Garius and his group approached the towering doors. Their fists struck their chests in unison, voices ringing clear.
"Count Garius of the Armand Household. It is our honor to receive you."
Garius offered a calm, warm smile. "There is no need for such formality."
One guard, still bowed, looked up with respect. "Count Garius, forgive my boldness, but may I ask... will all those behind you come inside? Your sons, and the attendants as well?"
"Yes," Garius replied without hesitation, his tone composed, eyes steady. "They go with me to learn. Politics, councils, the weight of governance, these are lessons they must see with their own eyes."
"Ah... pardon our rudeness, Count Garius." The guard struck his chest again, then stepped aside. "Please proceed inside."
The massive doors swung open, and the Armand household entered.
Inside, the council chamber buzzed with murmurs. Nobles filled the seats, their silks and crests a patchwork of colors.
Javier and his siblings moved as one, walking to a row of reserved seats directly behind their father’s chair. The distance was intentional, close enough to observe, but far enough to show they were heirs, not yet rulers. Javier leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the chamber, then returned to Garius.
Their father stayed standing behind his chair, regal in posture. Alf and Erinnette moved with silent precision.
Without hesitation, Alf removed every utensil, cup, and plate laid out by the royal servants, placing them aside neatly. Erinnette followed, setting out replacements, polished silverware, fine crystal catching the light, and a carved wooden cup bearing the Armand crest.
The nobles noticed. Whispers ran along the edges of the chamber, glances exchanged. Some frowned at the audacity, others smirked in quiet recognition.
Only after Alf and Erinnette had stepped back, Garius sit down in his chair. His hand rested on the carved cup, his expression serene, unshaken.
From the front of the long council table, a voice broke the murmurs, rich with mockery.
"Oh ~ what a sight indeed, Count Garius."
Duke Kimar leaned back in his chair, one hand on the armrest, the other swirling wine in his goblet. His lips curved into a smirk as his gaze swept the scene, the cleared utensils, the replaced cups, the quiet efficiency of Alf and Erinnette.
"To think the royal attendants take pains to provide for us with the utmost respect, yet you..." His eyes gleamed, sharp and condescending. "You set their work aside as though it were beneath you. How cautious, how very... distrustful. Almost as if you believe poison drips from every cup."
A ripple of uneasy laughter ran among a few nobles nearby, while others watched, waiting for Garius’s reply.
Kimar tilted his chin, voice smooth, every word coated with scorn.
"Tell me, Count... is this your way of honoring the king’s hall? Or is it merely the habit of a house so used to looking inward, it has forgotten how to accept courtesy from others?"
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the chamber, even the lowest-ranked nobles joined Duke Kimar’s mockery.
"Paranoia suits him."
"Even a baron trusts the palace’s service more."
"Perhaps Armand thinks himself above our courtesy."
Garius did not rise. He simply turned the carved Armand cup in his hand, letting the crest catch the light, and smiled with composed calm.
"Ah, pardon my rudeness, Your Grace," he began smoothly, inclining his head toward Duke Kimar with flawless courtesy. "I have attended this council more times than I care to count, always in this same seat. Never once did I slight the royal service, certainly not when my dear friend, King Edmund, presided from that chair."
His eyes narrowed just a touch, the smile on his lips still calm but edged with subtle weight.
"Unless, of course, there were certain occasions I was not invited to attend. But surely, Your Grace, you would know more of those than I."
The chamber quieted, the chuckles dying one by one as Garius’s words sank in. He set the cup down gently before him, his voice steady, each word like a precise blade.
"Tell me then... during the reign of the late King Edmund, did I ever conduct myself in such a manner? Not once, am I right, Your Grace?"
( End Of Chapter )