Chapter 429: The Golden Radiance Estate
Outside York City, known as the “Center of the World”, there were a few estates.
However, these estates lacked any formidable defensive structures; their origins traced back merely to landscape-style designs by Cicero, the Dean of the Royal Academy of Lundex—serving more as symbols of status than strongholds.
Technically, these estates were the property of the King and were meant to be granted by him to his retainers.
Yet, the Senate had blatantly put them up for sale with fixed prices.
This act became a point of private disdain for many, who accused the Senate of disloyalty to the King.
Of course, criticism was one thing—these same people were still eager to buy the estates.
If they had enough gold coins, that is.
The cheapest estate had a selling price of nearly seven thousand gold coins.
One must understand—even in present-day Greenwood, baronies with limited resources might only generate three to four hundred gold coins in annual tax revenue.
Besides the great nobles, only the merchants who profited massively during Greenwood’s intervention in the Northern War might have earned such an amount.
But even for these merchants, rather than pouring everything into a single estate, they preferred to use their wealth to solidify their foundations.
For instance, buying a small estate in the territory of some remote lord, then hiding within it the kinds of things only nobles dared to conceal.
Thus, to date, only two estates outside Greenwood had been sold.
The buyers were Marquis Richard and Administrator Agamemnon.
Marquis Richard’s territory could be considered the heart of Eastern Greenwood—naturally, it was exceedingly wealthy.
And for someone like Administrator Agamemnon, gold coins were nothing more than numbers.
Therefore, when a man suddenly appeared claiming to be “Baron Belair” and spent over eight thousand York gold coins to purchase the estate known as Golden Radiance, everyone acknowledged his baronial status.
Even though most of them had never heard of a Baron Belair before.
Of course, not everyone was unfamiliar.
Some who were fond of reading had come across the tales of Knight George—in which a character named Baron Belair appeared.
Yet no one truly believed that this Baron Belair and the one in those stories were the same person.
In recent years, the exaggerative storytelling of bards and their rampant reworking of real events had already eroded all credibility in anything “story”-related.
To those who were more pragmatic, such legendary tales meant to deceive the masses were not worth remembering.
Still, they found themselves curious about this baron.
This was York City—here, one couldn’t gain respect without a shred of political acumen.
That’s precisely why, in this gathering place of politically shrewd individuals, it became clear—the Senate had recently been launching a furious offensive against the nobility.
When it came to simply killing nobles, these gentry, merchants, and officials would happily raise mugs of honey wine in celebration.
But the Senate’s methods were brutal—they had wiped out noble bloodlines entirely.
It was beginning to resemble the notorious style of the Bloodthirsty Knight Wolf.
This had sparked some fear among them.
Hence, the honey wine was now drunk in secret.
The more ruthless the Senate, the more pleased they were.
The rights left behind by the dead nobles had to be filled—what, should the commoners rule themselves?
Or should those soft-hearted priests take over and manage the people?
Would taxes still be collected then?
In truth, tax collection inherently bore elements of plunder—it wasn’t a job for the kind-hearted.
In the end, it would still fall to people like themselves to handle such matters.
They had no reason not to be pleased.
That said, their pleasure was best kept somewhat veiled.
Driven mad by ridicule, a disgraced noble could easily be driven to kill.
But now, even as nobles were being targeted, one dared to be so ostentatious.
It piqued their curiosity.
Applying their political intuition, it wasn’t hard to deduce—this Baron Belair was likely backed by the Senate.
No one would believe a noble could be so utterly foolish. At times, what outsiders saw as foolish behavior was merely the result of incomplete information—or from the noble’s perspective, a necessary action.
He had once been known for being openly foolish.
When he had been so powerful he insulted an entire principality, no one dared speak out; they only whispered behind his back.
Now, his entire family had been slaughtered by the Senate, and he himself had been semi-forcibly confined within Doyle Territory. With that, the people of York City dared to speak their minds loudly.
The joy of slandering and cursing a once-mighty Marquis—who could resist?
Especially now that the Marquis seemed to be dying a slow death.
Thus, after some speculation about Baron Belair, when they received his invitation, they hardly hesitated before accepting.
Just look at this invitation—the emblem of a thornflower was inlaid with gold thread, and it began with the salutation “To the Honorable Mr. XXX”.
No matter what else, just that salutation alone made the recipients blush deeply.
This invitation came from a baron. Even if his emergence had been abrupt, he was still a noble.
And before him, which noble had ever addressed them so respectfully?
Even powerful merchants had to endure insults from low-ranking lords.
The lords didn’t see them as worthy of respect.
Yet even so, those merchants still had to smile and continue serving those lords.
It was both guild policy and survival instinct—if they showed attitude to a lord, that lord just might order all of them killed.
Thus, even before they arrived at Golden Radiance Estate or met Baron Belair, they already felt goodwill toward him.
And once they met him in person, they felt he truly deserved to be called a noble.
He did not look down on them for their humble status, and received each of them with care and respect.
Anyone who had spoken with Baron Belair felt genuinely delighted.
Baron Belair wore a smiling expression as he looked at them, as if genuinely pleased that his hospitality had satisfied them.
However, Belair could feel the wound on his chest stinging sharply.
Of course they were happy—just look at him: a lame leg, uneven shoulders, a crooked mouth, and mismatched eyes. No matter how dignified his manners and expressions were, there was still a clownish air about him.
And in their eyes, he was a noble groveling like a jester, entertaining them.
The more they acknowledged Belair’s noble status, the more satisfaction they seemed to feel.
But wasn’t this exactly the scene you wanted to see?
Belair told himself this silently in his heart.
Then he suppressed the pain and quietly signaled to one of the banquet attendants.
The attendant nodded silently and disappeared into the background.
Not long after, a carriage arrived outside the Golden Radiance Estate—accompanied by the ceremonial guard exclusive to Senators.
In an instant, the entire estate—from the courtyard to the banquet hall—fell silent.
No matter how much they might disparage the Senators in private, when facing one in person, their fear was instinctual, causing their legs to tremble.
Senators might not hold high noble titles, but the power they wielded was comparable—perhaps even greater—than that of Grand Dukes.
After all, the decrees of a Grand Duke rarely extended beyond his own fief.
But the decrees of a Senator remained effective even beyond the York Territory.
All that pride they had shown moments ago before Baron Belair instantly turned into meekness.
They were power-chasers—naturally, they understood the dynamic between the powerful and the powerless.
So now, none of them dared to make a single mistake.
The ceremonial guard alone could slaughter all fifty or sixty of them with ease.
All they could do was watch as Baron Belair greeted the Senator with the same formal etiquette he had just used with them.
The Senator was Councilor Yorn—one of the few Senators they frequently heard about.
Gold coin exchanges and bards were their most common points of contact.
The former was a necessity for daily life; the latter, a channel of information.
Though they often criticized the bards for being less daring since being co-opted, one thing they admitted was that the bards’ information had become far more valuable.
Whether Senators used them to release politically charged messages, or whether fictional protagonists now had real people they could be held accountable to, it all made sense.
So even if rumors said Councilor Yorn was the weakest of the Senate, to them, he was someone with the power to completely dominate their lives.
Power flowed through information—and if the bards under Councilor Yorn’s influence cut off their sources, they would instantly fall out of favor.
Thus, seeing Baron Belair treat the Senator with the same etiquette he had shown them made their legs feel even weaker.
A thought flashed across their minds.
“Do I even deserve this etiquette?”
“Did Baron Belair notice how I behaved earlier?”
If he had—then attending this banquet might have been a grave mistake.
A wave of unease washed over them.
That unease kept them frozen in place, watching Baron Belair and Councilor Yorn chat and laugh together.
“Looks like those fools lack courage,” said Councilor Yorn with a hint of scorn.
His voice wasn’t loud—only Baron Belair, who stood close, could hear him clearly.
Still, he made no effort to suppress his voice.
Even if someone among the guests had a magical item crafted by a mage or was a Tier Four warrior capable of hearing him, he wouldn’t care.
Now that operations concerning the Guild had nearly concluded, the Senators had united in such a way that all public knowledge about them was precisely what they wanted others to know. Their actual power far exceeded public perception.
No—rather, people like these could never imagine the true extent of the Senators’ power.
“Their origins define their perceptions. There’s no need to be too harsh on them,” said Baron Belair with a composed smile, speaking gracefully.
“They were hand-picked by me—from wealth and connections to ambition and social standing, they’re the best-suited individuals. Their actual capabilities are secondary.”
Councilor Yorn nodded slightly and said with a smile, “Naturally. I trust you, Baron Belair—after all, you are someone recognized by His Excellency the Administrator.”
Belair merely responded with a subtle nod.
Some scholars from the Scholar’s Guild, particularly in political studies, had publicly referred to Councilor Yorn as one of the “Administrator’s Loyal Twin Hounds.”
The other “hound,” of course, was Councilor Hastings.
What about Councilor Julian?
Given the military forces he commanded, how could he be the Administrator’s loyal dog? Clearly, he was a dragon protecting the Kingdom.
As for whether any other Senators secretly authorized this label—
Well, Councilors Jeffrey and Puniel had adamantly denied it.
Councilor Jeffrey even stated that allowing scholars to analyze Senate politics was something jointly permitted by the Administrator and the Senate.
If one were to investigate the reasons behind this allowance—could it be that some individuals were dissatisfied with policies established by the Administrator and the Senate?
Naturally, these political entanglements were still far removed from Baron Belair’s current concerns.
Still, sensing Councilor Yorn’s willingness to cooperate at such a crucial moment, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Even after having his baronial title recognized by the Administrator, every time he met Councilor Yorn, the latter never showed condescension or disdain. Instead, he had always greeted him warmly, expressing his willingness to follow the Administrator’s instructions and support all of Belair’s actions.
However, the gap between them was vast.
Although both held the title of Baron, Yorn had a properly enfeoffed territory and the distinguished title of Senator.
Whereas he, Belair, was merely a recognized baron with no actual fief—just an honorary noble in the truest sense.
But what difference was there between an honorary noble without a fief and a dog?
Only the name differed.
Thus, Baron Belair had been worried that Councilor Yorn might arbitrarily change his plans.
But now, it seemed there was an eighty percent chance things would proceed as intended.
Belair thought to himself, somewhat acknowledging the title the scholars had given Yorn—“one of the Administrator’s loyal twin hounds.”
Just somewhat.
Outwardly polite, Baron Belair was inwardly mulling over whether, at some future banquet, he should jokingly suggest a new nickname for Councilor Yorn when chatting with the gentry, officials, and merchants—
Like “Carrion Vulture.”
Disrespectful? Perhaps. But what alliance was more solid than one forged by committing acts that could easily ruin them all?
Let alone something as harmless as gossiping about a Senator—such risks were still manageable.
At the very least, these people—already scared into silence—weren’t so far gone that they couldn’t even talk behind a Senator’s back.