Chapter 103: The Second Meeting (Final)

"After all…" Arthur added with a thin, almost playful smile, "isn't this the very reason you came to Keldoria, Prince Edric?"

Edric met his gaze evenly, masking the weight of what he had witnessed moments ago with cool diplomacy. "Yes, Your Majesty. I've come under direct authority from my father—to witness your kingdom firsthand and finalize a new agreement between Chronos and Keldoria."

Arthur nodded slowly, resting his elbow against the lion-headed armrest of his throne. "Good. Then let us speak without pretense."

The atmosphere in the grand hall tightened once more. The awe of the mechanical marvels they had just witnessed still lingered in the minds of the Chronos delegation—but now, the tone shifted. The discussion returned to politics. Power. Consequence.

"The reason I rejected the previous tribute agreement," Arthur said evenly, "was because it was a sham. A setup designed to drain Keldoria while keeping us dependent on Chronos. It was never supported. It was extortion dressed as diplomacy."

His tone remained calm, but the weight of his words pressed down like iron.

"Now that we've cleared the air—and agreed that Keldoria will not be paying a single gold coin to Chronos—we can move on to a more delicate matter… your captured knights and mages."

Edric straightened slightly. "Yes. We would like to return them safely to Chronos. And on behalf of the kingdom, I assure you… such actions will not be repeated."

Arthur chuckled—quiet, sharp, and without warmth. It wasn't amusement. It was warning.

"Prince Edric," Arthur said as he leaned forward, "surely you didn't believe I'd simply release your soldiers… for free. Soldiers sent not in aid, but to infiltrate my walls. Soldiers who came not with honor, but with poisoned intentions. If I had not discovered Chronos's true plan, we wouldn't be speaking like this. Your kingdom would attack Keldoria as soon as we tried to act funny such as trying to cancel the agreement and I would not be sitting on this throne like we are now."

Edric opened his mouth, but Arthur raised a hand.

"Do not mistake my hospitality for ignorance," he said. "I believe in justice. And in consequence. Actions carry weight… and so does betrayal."

Arthur rose from his throne, his presence filling the hall like a storm gathering at sea.

"I will return your soldiers," he said, "but not as a favor. If Chronos wishes to reclaim its knights and mages… it will pay the price."

Edric's brow tensed. "Pay…?"

Arthur met his gaze without flinching.

"One hundred gold coins," he said. "Per knight. Per mage."

A stunned silence fell over the delegation. Even Lucien, so often the composed diplomat, faltered.

"That's—" Edric paused, catching the word before it left his lips. Outrageous—but saying it aloud would only weaken his position. He swallowed and rephrased. "That's a… significant price."

Arthur's smile returned, but now it bore the sharpness of a drawn blade.

"I'm certain it is," he replied smoothly. "But these are not mere footmen. These are trained elites—men and women who swore oaths to your crown and carried out covert aggression against mine. Surely you're not suggesting their lives are worth less than a bag of coin?"

Edric didn't respond.

Arthur stepped down from the dais, hands clasped behind his back, his tone shifting to something almost casual—but beneath the calm, the intent was clear.

"I could release them for free," he said. "But as I look at the projects this kingdom is building—roads, aqueducts, public housing, hospitals, printing facilities—I see that each silver, each laborer, each day matters. Chronos, after all, has tried to deceive Keldoria into paying ten million gold coins and even got a million… It's only fair they pay a fraction of what you have received."

More than anything, Arthur had already weighed the political math. The printing press demonstration had shifted the balance of power. After today, the nobles of Chronos would view Keldoria with new eyes—not as a fledgling kingdom, but as a rising star. Backing Arthur now came with far more reward than risk.

And Edric knew it.

To refuse Arthur's terms now would be a political disaster.

Arthur turned back to face the delegation one last time, his voice calm and resolute.

"So, Prince Edric. Will you pay the gold… or leave your people behind?"

Edric drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. The price was outrageous. One hundred gold per soldier—enough to fund a small fort or supply an entire battalion for a month or even a season. Even for Chronos, this was no minor expense.

But more than the coin, it was the implication behind the demand. Arthur wasn't just charging them—he was making a statement. A declaration of control.

Still, Edric was a prince. A statesman. And if Arthur expected him to fold without a fight, then he didn't know the bloodline of Rivas well enough.

"Your Majesty," Edric began, his tone measured but edged with steel, "surely you understand that a hundred gold per soldier, even for trained knights and court mages, is not a standard price. This could be seen by other kingdoms as punitive, not diplomatic."

Arthur's expression didn't change. He merely listened.

"I understand your reasoning," Edric continued. "But perhaps there's room for compromise. A gesture of goodwill between two nations hoping to maintain peace. Fifty gold per head—paid in full, without delay."

A murmur stirred through the Chronos delegation. Even Lucien gave Edric a subtle glance, both surprised and impressed by the opening bid. It was bold—reasonable on the surface, but still respectful.

Arthur didn't answer right away.

Instead, he stepped down from the last marble stair of the dais and moved slowly, almost casually, until he stood just a few paces from Edric.

"You're a capable negotiator," Arthur said quietly. "I see why your father sent you."

Then he smiled, but it was a smile without warmth.

"However… I am not haggling over cattle, Prince Edric. These men and women were trained to kill. They invaded under the pretense of diplomacy. They came to Keldoria not in peace, but with knives aimed at my back."

Arthur's eyes sharpened.

"They are not prisoners. They are liabilities that I have contained. And if Chronos wants them back, they will pay the price I set."

Edric's jaw tensed. "Even if it threatens the very alliance we came to secure?"

Arthur didn't blink.

"It won't. Because we both know your father would rather pay a fortune in gold than let it be known that Chronos abandoned its own loyal soldiers. If you return without them, the nobles will revolt. The military will whisper of betrayal. Your enemies will circle like vultures."

He took a single step closer, his presence pressing down like a mantle.

"One hundred gold. Per knight. Per mage. Non-negotiable. And you will leave here not humiliated—but respected. Because you did what a true prince should: protect his people."

Silence fell between them.

Edric stared at him for a long moment. There was no smugness in Arthur's gaze, no mockery—only unshakable resolve.

And, beneath it, the faintest glint of respect.

Edric exhaled through his nose and nodded once, slowly.

"…Very well. Keldoria shall receive the payment. One hundred gold per soldier. In full."

Arthur's smile returned—cool and victorious.

"Good. Then the first steps of our new alliance are now paved."

A faint shift passed through the air—like pressure released after a long-held breath. The matter of the captured soldiers had been the greatest point of contention… and it was now resolved.

After careful calculation and consideration, it was estimated that Arthur would receive over one hundred thousand gold coins in total. Enough to fund some infrastructure projects, expand the Firearms Corps, and—perhaps most importantly—send a clear message across the continent.

Keldoria would not be bullied.

And Arthur Tesla was not a man to underestimate.

Once the matter of the captured knights and mages was settled, the meeting shifted. The air, once heavy with tension, began to ease. The topic turned toward the path forward—toward trade, economy, and the reformation of the relationship between Keldoria and Chronos.

Neither side spoke as rulers asserting dominance. There was no gloating, no forced diplomacy. What passed between them was something different. Measured. Respectful. Real.

Chronos, long known for its aristocratic rigidity and controlled trade routes, had grown stagnant in its ways. Keldoria, under Arthur's rule, was a wildfire of progress—new infrastructure, new systems, new inventions. It had already begun to outpace its neighbors. To ignore that would be suicide. To resist it, foolish. To embrace it… wise.

And so, terms were drafted.

The new trade routes would bypass the toll-choked roads once monopolized by noble houses. Instead, Keldoria would open streamlined access through neutral border zones. Merchant caravans would be protected equally by both kingdoms, with standardized tariffs and protection clauses—something unheard of until now. Keldoria's goods—paper, books, industrial tools, etc. would flow into Chronos. In return, Chronos would open its storehouses of grain, medicinal herbs, and rare magical components.

It wasn't a simple alliance. It was the start of economic interdependence.

And beneath it all, a quiet understanding formed.

Edric, for all his political sharpness, had come to test a king. But he had met a visionary.

And Arthur? He had expected resistance. But what he saw in Edric was a potential partner—a man who, while born into old traditions, could adapt. Could learn.

By the time the last document was sealed and stamped, the sun was already low in the sky. The flickering torchlight danced off the marble columns of the great hall, casting long shadows behind the two nations' banners—Chronos and Keldoria, side by side.

No feasts were held. No grand proclamations were made.

But something greater had been forged.

A new accord.

A new balance.

And perhaps, the early foundations of an era where progress no longer belonged to legends, but to those bold enough to reach for it.

As Edric departed the hall, flanked by his silent knights, he cast one last glance over his shoulder—at the throne, at the man who sat upon it.

And in his chest, despite the weight of what had been conceded, there was no resentment.