Five permanent military fortresses in each duchy?
Almost all the dukes were quick to object.
Does our King of Knights have any idea what a permanent military fortress entails?
Building five permanent fortresses in each duchy would bankrupt their treasuries! It would be a disaster for the common people, too.
The dukes sat in silence until Duke Talbot of Le-Angoulême finally spoke up: "I object!"
"Go on." Lawn also frowned. Duke Talbot, as Richard's potential successor, was fundamentally anti-reform and had always had a strained relationship with Ryan. While he couldn't confront Ryan's unmatched reputation and power, opposing Lawn was no problem.
"First, our duchy lacks the financial and manpower resources to build five such fortresses. Second, I don't understand why we need these fortresses. We're well aware of the pressure from northern barbarians on our coastal regions, but we've had a thousand years of experience defending against them. We've already fortified all crucial locations. And third, maintaining such fortresses would require extensive funds and manpower. Who's covering these costs?" Talbot spread his hands. "I don't think it's a reasonable decision. Self-funded? Is Ryan serious?"
The other dukes nodded. Even Duke Bodrick added, "If each duchy has to build five permanent fortresses, that means the kingdom would need at least 400,000 laborers. Our recent census indicates a population of just over eight million. Are we going to conscript 5% of the population, all adult men? Who will farm the land?"
"Hold on, let me clarify." Lawn quickly intervened, "Ryan said to use the kingdom's collective strength. Each duchy contributes to building five fortresses along the kingdom's borders, not five per duchy."
"We're not concerned about the number," Duke Adalhard of Lyonnais said dismissively. "As you can see, Lyonnais is only just recovering from the series of wars we endured. We're still struggling to restore peace within our borders. The Great Bretonnian Canal was only completed two months ago!"
"Yes, we understand Ryan's intention. Building new fortresses would benefit our defense. But… is it necessary?" Duke Hagen of Gisoreaux echoed. "We've strengthened our existing defenses several times. With the peace Ryan achieved through negotiations with Emperor Karl Franz, our external defense pressure has dropped significantly. Not to mention the losses from the Eight Peaks Mountain expedition."
"Unachievable." Even Francois shook his head. "This doesn't align with our kingdom's current situation. Our resources are limited. Did Ryan mean for all five to be built simultaneously?"
"No, one at a time, starting with the foundation," Lawn replied.
Francois nodded. Wealthy as it was, Winford could manage constructing one fortress at a time.
"But that's unfair!" Talbot of Le-Angoulême erupted again. "Everyone knows the northern duchies barely reaped any rewards from the recent wars. We suffered greatly. I'm not saying Ryan has been unfair—he's always been just, and I trust he will be in the future. But we simply don't have the funds or the manpower now, and then we're asked to build fortresses out of our own pockets? This will drain not only us nobles but even the serfs. It's unachievable."
"Agreed, unachievable." The five northern dukes, including Duke Theodoric of Berleon, all shared Talbot's view. Lawn himself almost thought Ryan's idea was a bit excessive if not for Aurora's intelligence on the large-scale barbarian mobilization in the north. But without a clear and present threat, no one could justify this level of defense spending. Constructing these fortresses without immediate need would drain resources, with high maintenance costs and no direct benefit. Bretonnia's existing defenses were extensive and well-placed, constructed over a thousand years and carefully positioned to protect the duchies. Proposing even more defenses felt redundant.
For instance, if the barbarian threat level was 10 and Bretonnia's defenses were 20, building new fortresses would seem like overkill unless the enemy's strength were 30, 50, or more.
Sitting in his seat, Lawn pondered how to introduce the idea of an Obian expedition. Watching the dukes embroiled in heated debates, he remembered something Richard once told him:
"The king's position isn't one where you can sit and command the nobles. Rather, only when you have the loyalty of the nobles can you effectively lead the kingdom."
Lawn sighed deeply, feeling a wave of frustration. Since becoming regent, he realized just how hard it was to accomplish anything meaningful.
To reverse the decline of the kingdom, one must overcome a thousand years of Bretonnia's inertia.
Ryan, as the Knight King, had rescued the kingdom from crisis numerous times, recaptured Mousilon, defeated Matthew Bard in the Champion's Duel, brokered peace with the Empire, and achieved the miraculous victory in the Eight Peaks expedition. Despite all these tremendous feats and his unparalleled leadership, Ryan still encountered considerable resistance to change.
Lawn imagined that if he were king, he would likely end up like Richard: enthusiastic for a few years before meeting continuous roadblocks. Eventually, he would be drawn into a long power struggle with the knightly nobility and the Church of the Lady, spending his energy until a significant defeat, after which he might give up, becoming a passive figurehead for the nobles.
In the end, a person's fate depends not only on their efforts but also on the tide of history. Lawn knew he didn't have Ryan's ability to defy destiny and alter the course of events.
With the debate stalled, Lawn delegated some topics. Duke Berchmond, a direct descendant of Arthur, took responsibility for identifying and reassigning ineffective nobles to the Araby Expedition for "training." Berchmond, known for his sternness, even sent incompetent family members to work in monasteries.
Francois and Bodrick took charge of setting up grain reserves, given their experience and trustworthiness as Ryan's close allies and Grail Knights.
The two unresolved topics were the abolition of excessive taxes and the construction of five border fortresses, funded by the dukes themselves.
Lawn announced a temporary recess, with plans to reconvene at 3 p.m.
As the dukes left for lunch with their attendants, Lawn seized the opportunity to catch Morgiana, who was heading to her room for prayer and a quiet meal.
"Morgiana, might I have a moment?"
Morgiana paused, her emerald eyes fixed on Lawn's, her beautiful face expressionless. "If it's something important, you should have mentioned it in the meeting."
"It's crucial," Lawn replied seriously.
After considering his tone, Morgiana nodded. "Fine, follow me."
The two made their way to the Grail Chapel, where several Lady's Prophets were tidying the space. Morgiana gestured for Lawn to sit, her voice cold. "You may speak now."
Lawn shared the intelligence he had gathered, along with the information from Aurora and his reconnaissance on Obian. "Lady Morgiana, I believe this is an opportune moment to organize an army to strike Obian. The barbarians' defenses are weak, and we must investigate their movements."
"You should know, Regent, that Ryan expressly opposed an Obian expedition," Morgiana crossed one leg over the other, her brow furrowing. "As his appointed and trusted regent, is this how you manage internal affairs? Acting independently in his absence?"
"But the situation has changed, my Lady," Lawn insisted. "The barbarians' movements are strange. You know that when they behave unusually, something significant is happening. This intelligence strongly suggests we need to investigate."
"You need an entire expedition for a reconnaissance mission? Quite a grand gesture, Regent," Morgiana retorted sarcastically. "You think I'm unaware? The moment Ryan left, you all started making your own plans?"
"It's not about acting independently, Lady," Lawn replied sincerely. "We hope you could convey this to His Majesty. Could you contact him to seek his decision on this matter? I know you have a way of reaching him—am I correct?"
"You want to inform Ryan of this plan?" Morgiana raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, and also seek the Lady's approval…" Lawn hesitated, then added, "For a chivalric war."
Morgiana understood immediately, her golden eyebrows arching as she pressed her legs together. "Is this the consensus of the northern nobility?"
"Yes, it's what everyone wants." Lawn earnestly requested, "Please, relay this message to His Majesty, along with the nobles' views on the fortress project."
Morgiana was visibly displeased. She despised the feeling of being manipulated or pressured, except by Ryan. However, she acknowledged the truth in Lawn's words.
After a long pause, Morgiana finally nodded, though she looked deeply unhappy. "Fine. I will inform Ryan and the Lady. But whether they approve is beyond my control."
"Thank you!" Lawn felt relieved, knowing that he'd likely irritated the Lake Witch, and quickly excused himself.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the palace, a few dukes were gathered for lunch in the royal banquet hall.
Around the round table sat Francois, Berchmond, Hagen, and Bodrick, along with Bodrick's eldest son, Federmond.
In Bretonnia, dining at a round table symbolized the highest honor. The Grail Knights' prestige inspired admiration from the attending servants.
At the center of the table was a steaming pot of stewed bull sinews.
"Berch, I was curious what delicacy you had planned, and it turns out it's this," Francois remarked, bemused as he ladled himself a bowl of the stew
. "Is this it?"
"Not a fan?" Berchmond scooped a chunk of tender bull sinew and bit into it with gusto. "It's fortifying food! A knight must keep his lance strong, on and off the field. King Louis himself taught us that!"
"No, I just mean, it seems to be more about filling the stomach than anything else," Francois thought, wondering if Berchmond had been swindled again.
Berchmond had previously developed a taste for ox heart, which he enjoyed for several years. One day, a serf lamented that his court servants were forcibly collecting farm oxen, claiming it was for the duke's dining pleasure. Berchmond was baffled that such a cheap dish had caused undue hardship and vowed not to eat ox heart again until he could procure it without burdening his people.
But Francois, in contrast, had a strict reputation. Any attempt to deceive him would likely end with the guilty party drowned in a pit and stripped of all property.
The Grail Knights had learned some hard truths from their quests, such as nobility was not a birthright, nor was wealth predetermined.
"Ah, don't think about it too much; just enjoy it as beef," Berchmond shrugged, taking a few more bites. "But your son-in-law, honestly, does he ever sit still? We just wrapped up Eight Peaks, and he goes off to sea, then wants to cut taxes and build fortresses. Can't we just have some peace?"
"He's our king," Francois replied helplessly. "Ryan doesn't do things just for the sake of it."
"True, he's our king. But he's your son-in-law too!" Hagen quipped. "You got the benefits by marrying Sulia to Ryan, but now we're the ones who have to reduce taxes and fund fortresses? That's hardly fair."
"Exactly," Berchmond agreed, his mouth full.
Seeing his fellow dukes' sentiments, Francois put down his spoon. They all enjoyed the prosperity of the reforms, but none understood why Ryan couldn't let them savor it for a while. Why push for tax cuts and send underperforming nobles to the Araby Expedition?
"I hadn't planned on lecturing today," Francois sighed, shaking his head. "But may I ask, what are we to this kingdom, to the knightly realm?"
...Meanwhile, far to the north, in the Chaos Wastelands, the Northern Throne awaited.
Under the flickering Chaos Rift, four legions of Chaos Daemons assembled before the Eternal God-chosen's throne, each led by a powerful Greater Daemon.
Behind them, over 120,000 barbarian warriors covered the Chaos Wasteland as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of tribes had gathered here, ready to march south under the banner of the Eternal God-chosen, to claim unimaginable rewards in the name of the Dark Gods.
The ruler of the North, the Black Iron Raider, King of Norsca, Master of the Destruction Legion, Son of the Blood-red Sky, Slayer of the Blood God's Bride, Champion of the Four Gods, and the newly anointed Eternal God-chosen, Black Iron-Motkin, stood tall.
Hundreds of Chaos Champions and God-chosen waited beneath his throne, awaiting the signal to descend upon the south, spreading ruin upon the "weak" and "faithless."
To his left stood Hal-Eye of Eternity, a Sanctum Sorcerer of Tzeentch, who had come from the depths of the wasteland with a prophecy.
Behind Hal was Tza-Zanek, Champion of Tzeentch, who, though reluctant, stood ready to follow his god's will.
Hal stepped forward. "Lord Eternal, the vanguard army has assembled and is ready to depart."
"Leave command... to the Chosen Champion..."
_________________________
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