Chapter 419: Foxy Nobles

After all, he just needed to ennoble some loyal subjects with simple family backgrounds who would work hard without complaint.

If his descendants proved unworthy, there were plenty of ways to reclaim the fiefs.

In the heartland of the empire, the lives of the nobility resembled a never-ending shadow war.

Here, there was no smoke and fire of the borderlands, no barbarian raids or plunder—only the roiling undercurrents of conspiracy and calculation beneath a tranquil surface.

For the sake of a single, unremarkable village, they would willingly spend years meticulously laying their plans.

It might be a remote hamlet with barren land and a sparse population, but in the eyes of a noble, it held endless value.

It could be a key node on an important trade route, hint at a hidden vein of rare ore, or perhaps simply sit on the border between the spheres of influence of two families.

Whoever controlled it would gain a slight edge in the great game of family power.

For this piece of land, nobles would dispatch trusted agents disguised as merchants, Warriors, or even beggars to infiltrate the village, win over the populace, and sow discord.

They would secretly fund one of the village families, encouraging them to vie for the position of village chief against others, all while pulling the strings from behind to ensure their puppet controlled the seemingly insignificant village.

At the same time, they would stir up conflict within that very family, making its members suspicious of one another in the fight for inheritance, thereby weakening the family’s overall strength and paving the way for their own annexation of the village.

A patch of forest in the imperial heartland could likewise trigger fierce competition among the nobles.

This forest might be just an ordinary wood, but its timber could be used to build houses, farm tools, furniture, and even weapons for the Militia.

Nobles would secretly dispatch logging teams, disguised as common Hunters, to quietly enter the forest, fell valuable timber, and then transport it away through clandestine channels.

They would bribe local officials to turn a blind eye to this illegal logging and might even frame other families, embroiling them in lawsuits that would consume their time and energy, leaving them unable to compete for the forest.

A small hill was even more of a prize in the nobles’ eyes.

It could hold rich mineral resources—perhaps iron, copper, or even a rare gemstone mine.

Nobles would hire geologists, disguised as explorers and adventurers, to secretly survey the hill.

Once valuable minerals were discovered, they would act immediately, secretly assembling teams of miners to begin clandestine excavation.

Simultaneously, they would spread rumors that the hill was infested with bandits and robbers, deterring less capable families.

Some might ask, ‘But wouldn’t the less capable families be uncompetitive anyway? Why bother deterring them?’

Ah, that’s a good question.

There’s a certain type of person who, if they can’t have something, doesn’t want you to have it either. The destructive potential of these minor families, therefore, is not to be underestimated.

The major families would also create trouble in the territories of their rivals, leaving them too preoccupied to contest the hill, while they quietly seized control from behind the scenes.

In the central regions of the empire, there were virtually no new opportunities left to exploit.

The land here had long been carved up by the various noble families, their spheres of influence interlocked and deeply entangled.

Every family was connected to others by a thousand different threads—marriage alliances, allies, enemies. The relationships were so convoluted that a single move could send ripples through the entire system.

No one dared to rashly resort to arms, for once war broke out, it would trigger a chain reaction, plunging the entire central region into chaos and ultimately leading to instability throughout the empire.

This was no exaggeration.

These were the unwritten rules of the imperial heartland. The closer one was to the imperial capital, Lukaron, the more “amiable” the nobles appeared on the surface, and the more mercilessly they schemed against one another in the shadows.

They would flatter each other at banquets while secretly poisoning their rival’s wine; they would publicly support one another while covertly fanning the flames of discord within their rival’s family.

They employed every conceivable plot and stratagem, all for the sake of acquiring more benefits and consolidating their positions in this seemingly peaceful land.

Baron Chase entered the room with heavy steps. A faint scent of medicinal potions hung in the air.

His eldest son, Charles, lay on the large bed, wrapped in white bandages. Blood still seeped gently from several wounds, staining the surrounding cloth red.

Baron Chase looked at his son’s pained expression, a trace of heartache on his face. He sighed and walked slowly to the bedside to sit down.

“Charles, you can’t keep getting tangled up with Altan.”

Charles frowned, a defiant glint in his eyes. “Father, I’m not inferior to him. I have the ability to take Altan’s head and restore our family’s honor.”

Baron Chase shook his head, his gaze deep and worried. “Son, things aren’t as simple as you think. That fellow Alvin… who knows if he’s plotting against us?”

Charles was taken aback, looking at his father in confusion. “Plotting against us? Father, are you saying Alvin deliberately set us up to clash with Altan so he could reap the rewards?”

“It’s very likely.”

Baron Chase nodded. “Moreover, regardless of the outcome of this conflict, there’s no benefit in it for us.

If we win, Alvin will become wary of us and might try to sabotage us in secret. Our family has grown too quickly these past few years. I don’t believe a local strongman like that Count can accept it.