Chapter 352: The Guilds and Power
Under the gazes of the seven councilors, Priest Agamemnon walked toward the head seat and said, “It’s not just about the guilds that rate magical beasts. There should also be guilds for magicians, merchants, and various professionals.”
His eyes swept over the seven councilors.
Some were deep in thought; some grew visibly excited; others were seething with fury, and a few looked indifferent.
“Even among mercenaries, aside from the warriors who fight directly, there are scouts, infiltrators, and archers who support from behind. Wouldn’t it be somewhat biased to classify them all under the same warrior ranking system?”
“Councilor Puniel, everyone has their own understanding of what makes a warrior. But one thing remains certain — warriors should be brave and unyielding, for when they grow stronger, they become the knights of the future.”
“However, by enforcing such a unified evaluation, aren’t we burying those with unique talents? Are we allowing those equally dangerous abilities to go unmonitored?”
As Agamemnon’s words fell, he reached the head seat.
He cast his gaze across the round table of the Senate — a design that, in theory, allowed everyone to meet equally.
Yet the head seat remained special. Even if an ordinary man sat there, all eyes would naturally fall upon him — and just as naturally, the one sitting there could look each councilor in the eye in turn.
Agamemnon could see the expression of fury and fear — that belonged to Councilor Puniel.
He saw indifference — that of Councilor Julian, ever ready to raise his hand in approval.
And in the remaining five pairs of eyes, faint gleams of greed had begun to surface.
Earlier, Agamemnon hadn’t quite decided how to deal with the subtle voices rising against the mercenaries.
In fact, he had planned to let this meeting pass quietly, even if the topic was raised, he’d delay it.
But Councilor Fenrir’s earlier remark suddenly enlightened him.
Since the unified identity of “mercenaries” made them an easy target, then the solution was to fragment that entity — split the “mercenaries” into countless smaller structures. Once established, even if “mercenaries” ceased to exist, those countless smaller parts could never be eradicated.
Thus, upon entering the hall, Agamemnon immediately raised the matter himself.
It was almost like an unspoken rule: when the leading senator — or rather, the Consul, as he was now — entered the Senate, the meeting officially began.
From that moment onward, every word spoken could become a new “regulation” when the session ended.
Agamemnon raised his hand slightly and said, “I thank you all for coming to York City even before the New Year’s festivities have faded. Now, please be seated. Let us begin this year’s council session.”
After speaking, he sat down first, and the others followed suit.
Agamemnon continued, “Councilor Puniel’s concern about the magical beasts is valid, but we must also examine the deeper issue behind it.”
“The Kingdom of Greenwood is no longer in the early days of unification. Our population is exploding, yet our total count has barely returned to that of a single former duchy. If this continues, a single Warriors’ Guild will no longer suffice to oversee the kingdom’s entire pool of dangerous powers. Therefore, Councilor Puniel, it seems you’ll need others to share your burden.”
As soon as Agamemnon finished, Councilor Hasting, who oversaw the Royal Guards, eagerly spoke up, “Indeed, your wisdom has seen the heart of the problem. I too believe I have enough capacity to share some of Councilor Puniel’s load.”
Puniel glared at Hasting, his eyes almost aflame. Grinding his teeth, he spat, “I don’t think you have such capacity. Managing warriors requires true strength.”
Hasting retorted bluntly, “Shall we settle that with a knightly duel before the Consul?”
Unlike in the Northland, Greenwood nobles weren’t all necessarily powerful.
But as Puniel had said — to control violence, one must wield it.
Thus, the three senators overseeing military affairs — Puniel, Julian, and Hasting — were all Tier Four Knights.
Agamemnon said calmly, “If you two must fight, please do so outside and return with a result. Of course, I must still handle state affairs, so I won’t serve as a witness. Whoever wins, just bring back the other’s head.”
That silenced them both.
Hasting, satisfied at having needled Puniel, leaned back in his chair, while Puniel turned to Agamemnon and said, “It’s not that I can’t handle it. The issue is, these are magical beasts — my men don’t know how to rate them, and these creatures certainly won’t cooperate.”
Agamemnon nodded. “Indeed.”
Puniel’s face relaxed slightly. He thought there was still room for negotiation.
“But just because it’s difficult,” Agamemnon suddenly countered, “does that mean we shouldn’t do it?”
A chill ran down Puniel’s spine. He realized he had misspoken again.
Agamemnon pressed on. “The Adrian Academy of Magic operates on a five-year system. Its first intake was before the New Testament Era. Next year, in Year Four of the New Testament, the first batch of students will graduate. How will we manage those magicians then?”
“Even though we all know these apprentice magicians can hardly light a candle now, what about when they mature? Don’t forget — once they reach Tier Three as Initiate Mages, they become very dangerous.”
“Moreover, the Academy primarily teaches spellcasting, so its risks are somewhat controllable. But what if, in pursuit of greater power, they follow the path of the old magicians and chase forbidden knowledge?”
“Thus, these magicians must be strictly regulated.”
Agamemnon’s words concluded firmly.
Cold sweat trickled down Puniel’s face. His jaw tightened; his cheeks trembled. He was furious.
But gone were the days when the Senate had only five members — when he could slam the table and vent.
Now, such an act would only invite retaliation.
Julian might stay neutral, but Councilor Bevan and Councilor Jeffrey certainly wouldn’t mind using it as an excuse to strip his title.
The fewer councilors, the greater the remaining share of power.
Puniel could also sense Julian’s body tensing. If he dared to move against Agamemnon, Julian would undoubtedly strike first.
And besides Julian, he felt several hidden gazes fixed upon him from the shadows — sharp and piercing, like needles on his skin.
Without doubt, there were Tier Five powerhouses lurking nearby.
Agamemnon continued, “As Councilor Puniel correctly said, to manage warriors, one must possess strength.”
“But Councilor Puniel, it’s been some time since you last trained. You’re getting older… do you still have the power of a Tier Four Knight?”
Puniel clamped his mouth shut, not daring to respond.
He knew that when Agamemnon targeted him, silence was his safest option.
At another time, perhaps some councilors might have spoken in his defense.
But after Agamemnon had laid out the rewards of power redistribution, those who could gain from it now chose silence.
After all — the prize was too tempting.
Seeing Puniel remain silent, Agamemnon quietly exhaled.
Though it looked like he was singling Puniel out, he was merely driving division — Puniel just happened to be the best target.
He didn’t push further, merely taking Puniel’s silence as tacit approval.
“So,” Agamemnon declared, “to ensure better control over the kingdom’s unstable elements, we must establish additional guilds.”
“For instance — a Magicians’ Guild, a Magical Beasts Guild… Oh, and since Councilor Puniel now barely qualifies as Tier Four, it stands to reason he can no longer oversee the ranking of knights above Tier Four.”
“Coincidentally, since you already oversee the Warriors’ Guild, you may handle rankings below Tier Four. Those of Tier Four and above shall be evaluated separately by a new Knights’ Guild.”
Puniel trembled all over, too angry to speak — but he couldn’t deny that his strength had indeed waned.
After the incident with Gregor, he had chosen to father more children. Yet though they had been born, none possessed Gregor’s exceptional potential — mentally or physically.
Thus, to preserve his lineage’s influence, he focused on succession rather than training.
Between his dual roles as senator and noble, his time had stretched thin.
He had neglected his training entirely — his strength had plummeted.
The title of “Tier Four Knight” was now one he granted himself.
His earlier challenge to Hasting had been hollow — he knew no senator would allow a duel to resolve internal disputes.
Since Puniel said nothing more, Agamemnon’s motion to separate the Knights’ Guild was naturally approved.
Hasting’s eyes glimmered with ambition — he wanted that share of power.
But a sharp glance from Fenrir silenced him.
Then Councilor Bevan raised his hand. “I agree with your proposal to establish guilds, especially a Merchants’ Guild. Those merchants have been manipulating prices through misinformation, exploiting the commoners’ wealth. With a proper guild, we can regulate trade and taxation more effectively.”
Agamemnon looked at Bevan — it was a request for power, thinly veiled as a contribution.
Yet Bevan truly understood commerce best, and Agamemnon had no reason to refuse.
He nodded. “Well said. Once the Merchants’ Guild is established, would you be able to oversee its affairs yourself?”
Bevan smiled faintly. “I already manage trade taxation. Handling this will actually lighten my workload.”
Agamemnon nodded. “In that case, if there are no objections from the other councilors — let us vote.”
And so, except for Puniel, everyone raised their hands.