Chapter 456 — Not a Negotiation

Gao Yang opened the box and took out an ancient document—written on enchanted parchment, a copy, and even so several hundred years old. Without the protection of magic it would long since have weathered and rotted beyond reading.

Opening the document, Gao Yang said, "Does it look familiar, my lord viscount? I believe every house here keeps something of the kind, in the deepest part of your castles, to prove the lawfulness of your titles and fiefs, to prove the antiquity and legitimacy of your surnames—this one, for example."

"Wayne Snape, of House Snape, viscount, noble of the Southern March, branched from House Spencer in 476 Ansu and took its surname; House Spencer, count, noble of the Holy Spirit Plain, descended from the forebear Maximilian Spencer; Maximilian Spencer, knight lord, count, knight to Gao Yang Cecil, enfeoffed in the Month of Harvest in the first year of Ansu, his original fief on the western slope of Grey Mountain in the Southern March, later removed, under the influence of the arcane tide, to the southern Holy Spirit Plain..."

"And then, here is another document," Gao Yang said, taking from the box a still older, still more fragile parchment. It was so old that the protective magic upon it was nearly spent, and the ancient parchment had badly weathered and corroded. "The letter of enfeoffment of Maximilian Spencer—a copy, of course."

Gao Yang raised his head and quietly looked into the eyes of the middle-aged noble across the table.

"Master Wayne Snape, guess whose signature stands at the end of this document."

No one could have foreseen such an absurd turn. Even after Gao Yang had been resurrected for so long, the noble called Wayne Snape had never connected that document—hidden deep in his family castle, taken out only when an heir received his title—with the living man before him. It was not a matter of intelligence but of the limits of one's direction of thought, and so now he could only stammer: "Your Grace... Your Grace..."

"Master Wayne Snape, you ask for tradition and law—then I give you tradition and law. Maximilian Spencer was a clever, striving young man, and I am sorry indeed to see that one of his heirs cannot bear the weight of his honor and his achievements. It is a lord's duty to protect the reputation of those who follow him; therefore I am compelled to strip you of your noble title."

Wayne Snape's eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping on dry land. Struck at his weakest point, he heard dimly Gao Yang Cecil's next words: "...Master Snape, you may leave now."

The hall fell deathly still. Gao Yang surveyed the result with satisfaction—the right remedy for the disease is always the most efficient cure; striking at the nobles' greatest weakness works far better than any reasoning or debate.

To them, the stripping of a title was more terrible than death.

Of course, he could do this only because he first held overwhelming force, and used that force to compel these people to sit at the negotiating table. Otherwise, even if he held the letters of enfeoffment of every noble in the realm, his words would have been useless.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in truth I do not wish to do this," Gao Yang said, raising his voice a little as he put the documents away. "I would far rather have you all sign smoothly, in a pleasant atmosphere. So I must stress one thing here: the titles and surnames of every person present, traced back some generations, ultimately rest upon Charlie Morn and the Four Dukes of the Realm—and as the founding sovereign and the only one of the Four Dukes still living, I can strip every one of you of your noble title. Even where the letters of enfeoffment of your forebears were not signed by my hand, I was a witness to that great ceremony of enfeoffment seven hundred years ago, and as a witness I can question whether any one of you is fit to inherit your surname—"

Gao Yang left the rest unsaid, but his meaning was clear enough:

He could question whether every title here was lawful; and if anyone wished to object... then Charlie Morn and the other three founding dukes would have to climb out of their coffins.

The Southern March nobles wanted tradition and law, did they?

This was the tradition and law of Ansu.

"The time is about right—ladies and gentlemen, the pens for signing are before you."