Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

As the heavy doors closed behind Lucien Vale, silence swept across the grand throne room.

For a few moments, no one moved. No one dared.

The air still held the weight of everything that had just transpired—the tension, the unspoken threats, the audacity of a young king who had just stood his ground against the mighty Kingdom of Chronos.

Arthur Tesla remained seated on his throne, posture relaxed yet unshakably regal. His eyes swept across the chamber, meeting the gazes of those who remained—Klein, the ever-watchful aide; Chancellor Reinhardt, whose expression was that of shock from what he just head; the royal knight stationed by the pillar; and the scribes, still holding their quills, visibly shaken.

They were all thinking the same thing.

He threatened Chronos. He provoked them… and got away with it.

Not only that—he had turned the envoy into a messenger, dismantled the facade of diplomacy, and seized control of the narrative. What they had witnessed today was no ordinary political exchange.

It was a statement.

Arthur finally broke the silence, his voice calm and authoritative. "Scribes," he said, not raising his voice but commanding their attention instantly, "hand over everything you've recorded to Klein."

The scribes bowed quickly and began gathering their scrolls and notes, their hands slightly trembling. It was rare for Arthur to allow open documentation of a royal audience. Most internal meetings were kept private, with no records beyond verbal testimony.

But this was a formal diplomatic discussion between two kingdoms. By tradition and protocol, it had to be documented—for history, for reference, for leverage.

Yet Arthur wasn't one to leave loose ends.

He had required every scribe, knight, and attendant present to sign a magic confidentiality contract before the meeting began. A binding oath of silence—any attempt to leak or discuss the contents of the meeting would result in al backlash that would leave no room for treachery.

Even so, Arthur knew he could not control what Lucien or Chronos might reveal. He wasn't naïve. Information traveled fast—especially through spies and whisper networks. There was always a chance the conversation would leak.

But if it did?

So be it.

Whether the discussion became public or not, Arthur would be in control of what came next. If Chronos chose to escalate, he had a pretext to ally with Elysia. If they backed down, Keldoria would strengthen its position—and Arthur's reputation as a monarch who would not bend would spread like wildfire.

Still… What irritated him most wasn't diplomacy.

It was the aftermath.

Ugh, Arthur sighed internally. Now I have to prepare an explanation for the noble council.

Every few months, Arthur was expected to meet with the nobility to report on kingdom matters, address concerns, and—occasionally—feed their egos. Most of the time, it was harmless posturing. But if word got out that he had captured Chronos' knights and mages, the questions would flood in.

And Arthur hated questions.

He could lie, of course. Or obscure the truth, redirect the narrative. The nobles never had the full picture anyway. As long as he fed them something convincing enough, they would accept it.

I'll just say it was a national security issue, he thought dryly. They love that phrase. Makes them feel protected without needing to understand anything.

The real issue was ensuring the narrative didn't spiral.

The scribes approached Klein and handed over their documentation. Klein received them without a word, his expression as neutral as ever.

Arthur straightened slightly in his seat.

"Everyone," Arthur said, his voice cool and commanding, "you may leave the great hall. That includes the scribes and the guards."

Arthur then added, "By the way, sent word to Ben, head of taxation, and Owen, head of Defence and Technology. Tell them I summon them at once."

Everyone nodded and one by one, they bowed and began filing out, their minds no doubt spinning with what they had just witnessed—but bound by magic to never speak of it unless given permission.

Soon, the room was empty, save for the three person in the great hall. Arthur, Klein, and Chancellor Reinhardt.

As the doors shut behind the last scribe, Arthur exhaled, leaning back on his throne.

"Now then," he said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. "Let's wait for Ben and Owen before we talk about what comes next."

After sometime, Ben and Owen soon enter the great hall.

They then give a brief greetings and customary bows then took their positions before the throne.

Arthur didn't waste time.

He began to recount the meeting with Envoy Lucien Vale—every word, every shift in tone, every calculated pause. He made no attempt to sugarcoat his actions: the refusal to pay the tribute, the execution of the guard, the threat of allying with Elysia.

Ben's brows furrowed deeper with every sentence. Owen's eyes widened, jaw tightening with disbelief.

Arthur could see the ripples of shock playing across their expressions. It wasn't surprising. The only person who had known of Arthur's decision to reject the payment and prepare for the possibility of war was Klein—and even he had been caught off guard when Arthur personally ordered the knight's execution.

Arthur didn't enjoy blindsiding his own ministers, but clarity came from control. And today, control has been his greatest weapon.

After laying out the sequence of events, Arthur leaned forward once more, his fingers steepled before him.

"That brings us to now," he said. "We must prepare while we wait for Chronos's response. Given the distance and politics involved, it should take at least a month before Lucien returns."

He turned his head toward Klein.

"Have you deployed the troops as I instructed?"

Klein stepped forward with precision. "Yes, Your Majesty. As per your command, our units are already in motion. Capture orders have been issued across all five regions. Additionally, I've informed Duke Richard and Duke David which they've agreed to hand over all Chronos-affiliated personnel within their dukedoms."

"Good," Arthur said with a curt nod. "No delays. I want them in custody before Chronos even has time to craft a response."

He then turned to Chancellor Reinhardt, who had remained silent until now.

"You'll handle the nobility in the meantime," Arthur instructed. "If any noble demands an audience with me, tell them I'm unavailable this time. If they pressure you for information, inform them that you're under orders not to disclose further details. And remember—don't overstep. Say only what is required. No more."

Chancellor Reinhardt bowed deeply. "Understood, Your Majesty. I will manage the council's curiosity to the best of my ability."

"See that you do," Arthur replied, before shifting his gaze to Ben, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Any signs of rebellion? Tax evasion? How are the tax officers performing?"

Ben cleared his throat and began his report.

"There are a few minor disturbances," he said. "Mainly from low-tier merchants who are unhappy with the new tariffs. Now that foreign products are taxed more heavily, they're struggling to maintain profits. However, our local businesses are thriving."

He paused before continuing, "In fact, many of them are investing in their own workshops—improving tools, training workers, and expanding output. As a result, our local goods are now matching the quality of imports. And with minimal difference in production costs, they're competing directly."

Arthur's expression softened slightly with satisfaction.

"That's progress," he said. "However—what categories of goods are showing the most improvement? And more importantly, how are they setting their prices?"

Ben blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Right now, the most significant improvements are in potions," he replied.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and his tone turned colder, sharper.

"I'm not asking for a surface-level summary, Ben," he said, voice low but pointed. "I want patterns. Who is controlling the pricing structures? Are the merchant guilds manipulating supply to drive up costs? Are they undercutting competitors to form monopolies? Or are they maintaining stability for long-term trade?"

He paused, then added with emphasis, "And another thing—if our local manufacturers are producing these goods at significantly lower costs but keeping prices artificially high to match foreign products… then that's exploitation, not growth."

Ben's posture straightened, face hardening as realization set in.

Arthur continued, "Tariffs are tools. They exist to protect our people and foster domestic development—not to create feeding grounds for greedy merchants. If locals abuse the protection we've given them, the ones who suffer will be the common folk."

The words struck deep, and Ben gave a slow nod, a newfound urgency in his voice.

"I understand. I'll have a comprehensive report prepared on price trends and guild influence across all major markets. I'll also initiate an investigation into price manipulation—especially in the Western and Southern provinces where we've seen the fastest growth."

He glanced up at Arthur. "And if necessary, I'll adjust tariffs accordingly to restore market competitiveness."

"Good," Arthur said, voice flat but firm. "I want names, numbers, and recommendations. No generalizations."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Without missing a beat, Arthur shifted his gaze to the man beside him.

"Owen," he said. "Update me on the progress of the blast furnace construction."