Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

"The Cobra Effect," Arthur continued, "is, at its core, a lesson on human behavior. People respond to incentives. But when incentives are not aligned with true goals, people will always find creative ways to exploit them."

He leaned forward slightly, letting his voice carry a subtle weight. "As sovereigns, this principle is not merely a warning—it can be a tool."

Edric's eyes glinted slightly at that answer, clearly interested.

"For example," Arthur continued, "imagine a corrupt noble family in your kingdom. You could attempt to suppress them directly through investigation, prosecution, or military pressure—methods that would likely stir resentment and resistance. But instead, you design policies that offer large rewards for nobles who invest heavily in public infrastructure: roads, mills, water systems, schools. Tax incentives for those who contribute the most to the kingdom's growth."

Arthur smiled faintly.

"The corrupt noble, motivated purely by greed, would race to funnel their illicit gains into these public works simply to chase the reward. They would, in effect, strengthen the kingdom while enriching themselves. Their wealth becomes tied to the nation's prosperity."

He paused, his voice cooling.

"And should they attempt to pull their money out later—or sabotage the systems they themselves built—it would destabilize their own income streams and weaken their own standing. In chasing the bait, they trap themselves."

A small wave of murmurs rippled quietly among the few Keldorian council members standing along the sides of the great hall. Even Klein's eyes gleamed with faint admiration.

Edric, to his credit, remained composed, but Arthur could see the faint flicker of appreciation in his expression.

Edric gave a small nod. "A brilliant application, Your Majesty. To turn a weakness into a mechanism of control without bloodshed… few rulers would think so far ahead."

Arthur's smile widened, but only slightly.

"That is the essence of true governance, Prince Edric," Arthur said, his voice calm yet carrying a quiet weight that resonated across the great hall. "Power secured through fear is fragile. But power rooted in design… endures."

The words echoed for a moment in the silent hall, hanging in the air like an invisible wall between them. A subtle shift passed through the atmosphere—an unspoken recognition that both men understood the weight of what had just been said.

The faintest air of mutual respect settled between Arthur and Edric. Neither openly acknowledged it, but both knew that the conversation had moved beyond mere pleasantries. This was now a contest of minds.

But Arthur knew full well that this was still only the opening.

He allowed himself a thin smile and continued, "Of course… I am already employing such tactics even now within my own kingdom. My reformed tax system, for example, is a direct application of that principle. Incentivizing certain classes while simultaneously limiting the influence of others."

Arthur leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing, but his tone remained smooth—almost casual, yet undeniably deliberate.

"If I had continued using the old tax structure—the same model your kingdom still employs—it would have been far more difficult for me to balance my nobility, stimulate economic growth, and maintain centralized control over my reforms. Such systems breed corruption, inefficiency, and entrenched power structures that resist progress at every turn."

Though Arthur delivered it as an innocent example, Edric fully understood the weight behind the words.

He's not just explaining theory. He's pointing directly at Chronos.

The very same tax system that still burdened Chronos was one of its greatest weaknesses. Powerful noble houses controlled vast wealth through hereditary privileges, tax exemptions, and outdated policies designed to protect aristocratic interests. Reforming that system would trigger immense resistance from countless influential factions—something even Brandon Rivas, the seasoned king of Chronos, dared not challenge too directly.

And yet, somehow, Arthur Tesla had achieved exactly that within Keldoria—integrating sweeping reforms while maintaining stability, and without sparking civil rebellion among his nobility. That alone spoke volumes about the depth of Arthur's political skill.

For a brief moment, Edric's eyes flickered with something rare—true intrigue.

He dismantled centuries of stagnant systems... without bloodshed. He has done what most rulers would not even attempt. No wonder Father sent me personally.

Lucien, still standing silently beside Edric, was carefully observing everything, but inside, even he could not help but marvel at how dangerously composed Keldoria's young king remained.

Arthur's voice broke the heavy silence once more, steady and confident.

"One question down," Arthur said calmly, folding his hands together. "You have two remaining, Prince Edric."

The subtle reminder made Edric smile faintly.

"Yes," Edric said with quiet amusement. "And I intend to choose my next two questions very carefully."

Arthur gave a calm nod. "Go ahead and ask."

Edric took a brief moment, as though carefully weighing the words he was about to deliver. The pause was deliberate—a subtle technique, designed to give weight to the question that followed.

"Your Majesty," Edric began smoothly, "my second question also concerns your book—the Theories on Economics—which, I must admit once more, is unlike anything I've encountered even among the most esteemed scholars of Chronos."

He paused, scanning Arthur's face for any reaction, but Arthur remained composed, inviting him to proceed.

"In one of the early chapters," Edric continued, "you introduce a rather fascinating and, frankly, unconventional concept. You define products as anything that fulfills a need or satisfies a desire. You then go on to categorize them: tangible products as goods, intangible as services, and further break down how these interact in a marketplace."

"So far, this was familiar enough," Edric added, "but then… you present a most striking example."

The room grew still as Edric's tone sharpened ever so slightly.

"You claim that even a sovereign—a king—can be classified as a form of product."

He let those words hang for a moment, deliberately allowing the statement to resonate throughout the grand hall.

"I must confess," Edric continued, voice calm yet probing, "I found that particular statement both provocative and deeply unsettling."

He narrowed his gaze slightly, pressing further. "A king, as a product? Reduced to something to be consumed, traded, or evaluated like a sack of grain or a blacksmith's sword?"

His voice lowered with subtle intrigue.

"When I attempted to research this concept further, I found no reference to such a theory—not in the writings of our royal economists, nor in the treatises of merchant guild scholars, nor among any of the court philosophers of Chronos or our neighboring realms."

He paused again, eyes locking with Arthur's.

"It seems this notion exists solely in your book—and in your mind."

Edric's expression softened into something almost respectful—but unmistakably sharp beneath the surface.

"I would therefore greatly appreciate it, Your Majesty, if you could elaborate: how exactly can a sovereign—who rules by divine right, by lineage, and by authority—be seen through the lens of economics as a product? What market does a king serve? What demand does he fulfill? And if a king is indeed a product... Who, then, are the consumers?"

The words echoed sharply throughout the grand hall.

At first glance, the question carried the tone of simple academic curiosity—a noble prince eager to understand an unconventional theory. But beneath that surface, everyone present could feel the true weight pressing in.

This was no mere intellectual debate.

Though Edric phrased it politely, every courtier, official, and attendant in the hall understood exactly what was happening. This was a direct challenge—a test of Arthur's entire governing philosophy. A test of whether the King of Keldoria truly understood the very system he was constructing—or if his so-called reforms were nothing but reckless experiments wrapped in clever words.