Draped in opulent robes, the nobles sat with an air of forced composure, their faces betraying a mix of ambition and unease. A sharp tension filled the chamber. These lords had secretly collaborated with the Pamir Empire during the war, seeking to profit handsoly from the conflict.
Yet their plans had been completely derailed. Michael's capture of the empire's crown prince and tribal chiefs had brought the war to an abrupt and unexpected end. In retaliation, the empire turned its ire toward the northwestern nobility of Rania.
The nobles now sat in frustration, venting their anger at Michael. Their clandestine arms deals with the empire had been disrupted, leaving them without paynt. Worse, the empire's fury now lood over them.
"Had we only had more ti," one noble lanted, pounding the table in frustration. "The profits from those smuggling ro utes would've been imnse. We could've used that money to buy slaves from the empire's brokers and replenish our dwindling population."
With their territories ravaged by continu ous warfare, the nobles had grown reliant on slaves to maintain their fiefs. The longer the war dragged on, the greater their profits grew—at the expense of their people's lives.
Scowling, one noble finally spoke.
"The trade routes we established with the empire have been devastated by this war. Now they refuse to resu trade until we return the crown prince and tribal chiefs."
Another noble, his arms crossed tightly, added, "What a disaster. This war should've dragged on for years, grinding to a stalemate as wars often do."
A third noble sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.
"Exactly. As soldiers grew weary and supply lines strained, our profits would've only increased. And now…."
The chamber fell into sullen silence. The gathered lords exchanged glances of shared resentnt, their expressions heavy with disappointnt. O ne noble muttered bitterly, "All the goodwill we cultivated with the empire has been for nothing. Years of careful diplomacy—gone in an instant."
Another, clenching his fist in anger, growled, "And it doesn't stop there! They're pressuring us to demand the release of their crown prince and chiefs. Public sentint is turning against us. They're making us scapegoats!"
Frustration simred across the room. A noble slamd his fist on the table, his voice trembling with rage.
"How is this fair? We didn't even capture them ourselves, and they're not even in our custody! How can they hold us accountable?"
Another noble, brushing his hair back in irritation, sneered.
"The problem lies with that Count Michael. This is why you can't trust upstarts. If the war had dragged on, there would've been so much more to siphon off. But he doesn't understand that—so he went and ended it in one fell swoop."
The others nodded in agreent, so even voicing their disdain.
"Exactly! The man has no political sense. Doesn't he realize wars are an opportunity to eliminate rivals and maximize profits?"
One noble, managing a bitter laugh, waved his hand to redirect the discussion.
"Enough about him. The real issue is what to do with the stockpiled goods. And the shipnts we've already sent—they haven't even been paid for!"
"Can we at least demand paynt for what's already been delivered?" another asked hesitantly.
A noble across the table shook his head grimly.
"Do you really think they'll pay? They're already screaming for us to release the crown prince. They don't operate by the rules of common decency."
Another noble, exasperated, offered a harsh reality check.
"It's best to consider the goods already delivered as a loss. If we press them for paynt, they'll just threaten to expose the smuggling operation."
The chamber grew even more oppressive. Sighs of despair and frustration rippled through the gathering. A noble rubbed the back of his neck, groaning, "How did things co to this? Even the slave trade from the empire has dried up, hasn't it?"
"Don't even ntion it. The Pamir Empire's slave traders are in complete disarray. I've heard that entire minor tribes have vanished without a trace."
Another noble turned to him, eyes wide with shock.
"Is that true? I've heard rumors from a slave broker I know, but could it be happening across the entire empire?"
The first noble nodded grimly.
"Yes, it's true. Those brokers were all connected to the five tribal chiefs. Now, no matter how closely they monitor things, the smaller tribes are disappearing entirely."
At the far end of the table, a nervous voice interjected,
"I've heard the sa. Entire villages vanish overnight—one evening they're there, and by morning, not a single soul remains. This is a disaster."
The weight of the revelation deepened the gloom in the chamber. One noble let out a deep sigh, his laughter tinged with hopelessness.
"Oh dear, it seems this year's autumn harvest is ruined," one noble lanted, slumping back in his chair. "I had mobilized all my serfs into the army just to prove to the royal family how much this war has cost ."
It was one misfortune after another. Sighs echoed around the council chamber.
"You're not the only one," another noble grumbled. "I was counting on the death toll among my serfs to secure a hefty compensation from the crown…."
Their thoughts were filled with resentnt toward Michael, who had disrupted their profit-making sches. None of them paused to consider that their woes stemd from their own collusion with the enemy and illicit trade.
The nobles turned their gaze toward Duke Rochester, seated at the head of the table. They hoped he would offer so solution or at least reassuring words. Yet, the duke's mind was elsewhere, his anxiety poorly concealed.
Sensing his unease, one of his close aides cautiously asked, "Your Grace, you seem unusually preoccupied today. Has sothing happened?"
For the head of the northwestern faction to appear so distracted during such a crucial eting was a matter of concern. The duke quickly dismissed the inquiry with a wave of his hand.
"Nothing of consequence. I simply didn't sleep well last night."
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