Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 75: The Meeting

A sharp knock echoed against the doors of the study.

Arthur looked up from the spread of documents before him—ledgers, proposed trade treaties, and several handwritten notes detailing ongoing tax collection reports from the southern region.

The door opened with a creak. Ken stepped in, armor clinking lightly with each stride. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing with a clenched fist across his chest, "the envoy from Chronos has arrived in Eldoria. He should be at the castle gates within the hour."

Arthur set his quill down and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

"Lucien Vale," he murmured.

"Yes, sire," Ken confirmed. "Accompanied by four knights. The guards at the southern gate let them through without delay, as instructed."

Arthur nodded. "Good. Let them feel welcome—but not comfortable."

He rose from the chair and walked over to the tall windows that overlooked Castle's inner courtyard. From here, he could see the last preparations being made.

"Make sure the great hall is set for formal reception," Arthur said, hands behind his back. "But not too elaborate. I want them to be reminded this is a sovereign kingdom—not a subject court."

Ken hesitated. "Should we include the full council?"

Arthur turned. "No. Just bring Chancellor Reinhardt and Captain Klein. This isn't a court session—it's diplomacy."

During the past few months, Arthur had grown increasingly fond of Reinhardt—not for flattery or blind obedience, but for the man's rare gift of plain speech. In a court where words were often gilded and intentions masked, Reinhardt's blunt honesty had become a steady anchor.

And Arthur valued that. In Reinhardt, he had found someone who could cut through layers of protocol and tradition without ever overstepping his bounds. The Chancellor had a rare talent: the ability to speak uncomfortable truths with measured tact—challenging the king when necessary, but never undermining him.

And today, with Chronos's envoy walking through his gates, Arthur knew he would need nothing less than clear minds and steady hands.

"As you wish," Ken replied with a quick bow.

Arthur paused, then turned back toward his desk. He reached for a worn leather folder resting atop a stack of correspondence.

"And one more thing," he added. "Send word to Owen. I want him to bring a printed copy of The Basics of Trade and Theories on Economics "

Ken raised an eyebrow. "Shall I tell him anything else?"

Arthur nodded. "Remind him of what I had him prepare for this meeting. He'll know what I mean."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Ken bowed and turned to leave, the soft echo of his boots gradually fading down the corridor. Arthur stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the leather folder in his hands. It held more than parchment and ink—it carried weeks of careful strategy, layered contingencies, calculated projections, and speeches marked with his own annotations. Every page was a thread in the tapestry of what came next.

Every word had been chosen with purpose. Every point had been sharpened for the discussion to come.

After a quiet moment, Arthur exhaled, closed the folder, and tucked it under his arm. Then, with calm steps and a composed expression, he left the study and made his way toward the great hall—where the envoy from Chronos would soon arrive, and where the true negotiation would begin.

…

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open with a solemn groan as Lucien stepped inside, his boots clicking sharply against the polished stone floor. Behind him, the four Chronos knights fanned out with disciplined precision, flanking the entrance as he advanced alone.

At the far end of the hall, Arthur seated onto the throne.

Lucien's stride faltered—just for a breath—but he recovered quickly. Still, his eyes narrowed as he took in the figure before him.

This... is Arthur?

The last time Lucien had laid eyes on the young king, Arthur had been a walking embarrassment—a bloated, sulking figure swaddled in brocade and insecurity. He'd been soft, physically and mentally; a pampered royal more interested in pastries than politics, a boy drowning under the weight of a crown too large for his head.

But now?

Lucien's eyes moved over the man siting calmly before him.

Arthur stood with the kind of stillness only confidence could buy. He was no longer soft—his body had shed its excess, honed into something lean and purposeful. Not the bulk of a warrior, but the balance of a man who trained his body alongside his mind. His royal attire was stripped of embellishment—dark, fitted, elegant. No gold-threaded embroidery. No jeweled cuffs. He wore power like a tailored coat: subtle, clean, and unmistakably his.

And then—his gaze.

Lucien almost recoiled, though he hid it well behind years of diplomatic polish.

The glassy, unfocused eyes of a boy once drowning in alcohol were gone. What stared back at him now was steady. Composed. Cold, even. Eyes that didn't dart around the room in search of reassurance. Eyes that calculated. Eyes that commanded.

Steel, Lucien thought grimly. The boy's eyes have found steel.

He had heard the rumors, of course. Gossip among merchants, hushed speculation in courtrooms and taverns. That Arthur had changed. That he was attending his councils, training in the yard, demanding new reforms. Lucien had laughed them off. What king didn't go through a brief phase of rebellion or idealism before settling back into royal complacency?

But this... this was no phase. He's not just changed. He's transformed. Lucien thought to himself.

Arthur inclined his head—not deeply, but just enough to mark courtesy without deference. He did not rise from a throne, nor make any motion to diminish himself. It was not the greeting of a lesser king to a greater kingdom.

It was the welcome of a ruler meeting an equal.

"Envoy Lucien Vale," Arthur said evenly. His voice was measured. Crisp. "Welcome to Keldoria."

Lucien's practiced smile returned, smooth as silk.

But inside, unease coiled in his chest like smoke curling beneath a door.

What had this boy-king become? And what kind of game was he playing?

He stepped forward with the grace of a seasoned envoy, cloak flaring slightly at his heel. His bow was elegant, his tone light.

"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, his voice warm and well-practiced, laced with just the right amount of admiration to keep the atmosphere cordial. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you again. I must say, you are almost unrecognizable from the last time we spoke."

He let the compliment hang a beat, then added with a subtle smile, "And I do mean that in the best way. You've become rather… distinguished. If I may be bold, I daresay there must be a trail of hearts left behind in your court."

Arthur chuckled softly—not the laugh of a boy flattered by praise, but the amused hum of a man who recognized courtly tactics when he heard them.

"Thank you, Lucien Vale," Arthur replied, his voice composed and even. "But I'm afraid the only thing I'm courting these days is national reform. The hearts of maidens will have to wait."

Lucien's smile never faltered, but inwardly he took note of the king's reply. No blush. No arrogance. Just a firm redirection back to matters of state. It was a response meant to remind him: this Arthur was not one to be flattered off course.

"Well said, Your Majesty," Lucien replied, inclining his head with courtly grace. "Then let us set aside talk of hearts… and turn instead to the matter at hand."

He took a step forward, eyes watchful. "After all, it is no small thing to receive a summons addressed to the King of Chronos himself. Some back home might consider it… overly bold. Others might say presumptuous."

His words were delivered with impeccable politeness, wrapped in velvet—but each syllable carried the faintest edge of reproach, like a knife hidden in silk.

"But His Majesty Brandon Rivas, in his wisdom, allowed me to come in his stead—curious, I suppose, to hear what caused young King Arthur Tesla to make such a request."

Lucien studied Arthur closely, watching for a flicker of doubt, an opening—anything that might suggest the king was still a boy in borrowed robes.

It was a test. And if Arthur flinched, even for a moment, Lucien intended to press that advantage.

Arthur's gaze didn't waver.

He stood seated, hands clasped behind his back, chin held high. If Lucien's words had been meant to draw blood—some hesitation, some self-doubt—they found no purchase.

"Then I must thank King Brandon for his restraint," Arthur said calmly, his voice smooth, deliberate. "I had hoped he might come himself. I thought it was time we spoke directly, king to king."

Arthur knew how presumptuous it had been to summon the ruler of a far larger and stronger kingdom. He knew Lucien would pounce on that misstep. But offering an apology here—especially before negotiations had even begun—would only grant the envoy leverage. And Arthur had not come this far to play from behind.

"But I understand," he continued, with a faint shrug that carried neither offense nor submission. "He has a vast realm to govern, and countless affairs to attend to. That he entrusted this discussion to you, Envoy Lucien Vale, speaks to the importance Chronos places on this meeting."

Lucien's lips retained their courteous curve, but his jaw tightened—barely visible.

Arthur hadn't flinched. Hadn't apologized. And worse—he'd turned a presumptuous act into a gesture of respect, reframing it as a compliment toward Chronos. The verbal blade Lucien had honed found no mark. Instead, it was parried cleanly and returned with finesse.

Not just sharper. He's practiced, Lucien thought grimly.

Arthur's voice broke the momentary silence with calm clarity. "As for the matter at hand, perhaps it would be best to begin with the questions your king has entrusted to you. Once those are addressed, I'll explain why I requested this meeting in the first place."

Lucien inclined his head with slow deliberation. "Very well, Your Majesty. Then allow me to begin with a question that has reached even the ears of our court scholars and trade envoys alike."

He stepped slightly to the side, placing himself squarely in Arthur's line of sight.

"Why did you change your kingdom's tax structure?" Lucien asked, voice still measured, though the curiosity behind it was genuine. "By all accounts, Keldoria's previous tax system was stable—crude, perhaps, but time-tested. And your reforms, from what we've heard, lean… populist."

Arthur didn't bristle. He remained seated, his hands resting easily on the arms of his throne.

"Because stability," Arthur said plainly, "is not the same as sustainability."

Lucien raised a brow.

Arthur continued. "The old system bled the poor and pampered the powerful. It kept the kingdom upright, yes—but only just. And it left no room for growth, only stagnation. I needed a system that wouldn't crumble. So I adjusted the burden."

Arthur paused for a moment and continued, "I lowered the pressure on those who struggle to survive, and balanced it by tightening the gaps where wealth slipped through untaxed. Not out of generosity, but necessity."

Lucien folded his arms behind his back. "A bold strategy. But boldness invites resistance. Which leads to my second question, Your Majesty."

Arthur nodded once, permitting him to proceed.

Lucien's gaze sharpened. "How, exactly, did you manage to pass such sweeping reforms without sparking rebellion? We both know the noble houses are not known for their… humility."

Arthur allowed himself the faintest smile. "They aren't. But neither are they suicidal."

That earned a faint twitch at the corner of Lucien's mouth.

Arthur went on, voice measured, but firm. "I didn't force the reforms overnight. I prepared the ground—introduced transparency, built regional offices, quietly exposed corruption where it suited me. I reminded them that a state on fire burns noble manors, too. And I made it clear that order would be maintained—by sword or statute, if need be."

He leaned back, expression cool. "Most bent. A few snapped. None succeeded."

Lucien was quiet, digesting the response. Arthur had offered just enough to answer the question—without revealing names, methods, or the full scope of his control. It was a political answer. But a confident one. freewёbnoνel.com

And it left Lucien with a troubling realization.

He didn't just survive the nobles. He outplayed them.

Arthur's eyes met his again, calm and waiting.

"Shall we continue?" Arthur asked.

Lucien's smile thinned, but he nodded.

He continued with a series of follow-up questions—pressing for details on revenue projections, the stability of trade routes, and how Arthur's reforms were being received in the provinces. Arthur answered each with the same composed precision: never evasive, but never fully revealing. He struck a balance that was infuriatingly diplomatic—open enough to satisfy protocol, but too guarded to yield anything actionable.

After several exchanges, Lucien finally dipped his head in acknowledgment.

"That addresses everything my king wished clarified. For now." He let the pause linger, his tone implying the conversation was far from over. "So then, Your Majesty... what is it you wished to discuss that was so urgent it warranted a personal summons to Chronos's court?"

Arthur leaned forward slightly, resting one arm along the edge of his throne.

"I'll speak plainly, Envoy Lucien Vale," Arthur said, his voice shedding all ceremonial softness. "As of this year, Keldoria will no longer pay the one million gold nor any remaining dues owed to the Chronos."