Reborn As Noble

Afternoon in the Armand Estate.

Javier stretched his arms above his head, working out the last of the morning's tension. He leaned comfortably against the thick trunk of the old tree beside his personal workshop.

Not far away, Liana was tending the grill set up near the Pekko pen, her movements graceful as she flipped slices of marinated meat over the glowing coals.

Gloria hovered at her side, passing spices and basting sauce, the two maids working in easy rhythm, while the three mischievous Pekko eyed the meat on the grill, peeking through Liana and Gloria's shoulders.

Buddy inched a little too close.

Smack!

Javier smiled, watching how Liana smacked Buddy with the wooden spatula.

"Do you want your head on the grill?"

Buddy squawked in protest, shaking his head dramatically before retreating a few steps, only to sneak a glance again a moment later.

Javier chuckled at Buddy's behavior after Liana scolded him.

Then he exhaled, looking up at the sky.

Helping people in need… that's never been a problem for us. Not for us, the Armand family.

He watched the clouds move slowly overhead, mind drifting.

The town overseer, village chief, the officer, the staff, and everyone inside the Armand Govern Office were chosen among the best and the loyal, never swayed by gold. Anyone who tried to bribe them would be refused and reported. No exceptions.

Armand Region is really different.

No one's hungry here. No poverty. No famine. No one without a home or honest work.

All the locals are happy. Armand's the only region in the Human Kingdom where the taxes are this low. That's why everyone stays, and also one of the reasons they never want to leave Armand or become refugees in other nobles' lands.

Other regions grumbled about taxes and corrupt officials. Here, taxes were kept low, one of the lowest in the entire Human Kingdom.

Father owns most of the land outright, so the people simply pay for usage rights. Legal documents that let them cultivate the soil, raise animals, or build workshops. The rules were simple: maintain the land, grow what you can, and respect your neighbors.

No one got kicked out for a bad harvest. There was no looming debt waiting to crush a family after a single drought. If someone failed, they got help, not punishment.

The usage-right charge is based on the yield after the land assessment.

It was assessed fairly based on how much the land actually produced. Calculated as a percentage or fixed portion of the yield, often scaled depending on success.

That flexibility is why Armand's people love Father the most. It's different from how he walks toward any place in Armand. Wherever Father goes, everyone shows real respect.

Unlike other lords who ruled through fear or law, Father ruled through trust. When he walked through the towns or villages, there were no forced cheers, no fake smiles. People genuinely respected him. They would stop him, offer fruit, beg him to rest in their homes, even when he was just inspecting their farmlands.

That kind of respect couldn't be bought or demanded. It was earned.

And it wasn't just the farmers.

For local merchants, the Local Trade Contribution was charged monthly. But only after deducting essential costs. That meant things like warehouse upkeep, transportation fees, staff salaries, and even personal burdens like medical bills for their families were counted before any payment was made.

Only the net profit was taxed. Never the full amount.

And it was a fixed rate. No surprise hikes. No hidden levies.

For foreign merchants, the system was different, but never unfair.

The rate was only slightly higher than what the locals paid, just enough to protect Armand's own craftsmen and traders, but never so high that it scared outsiders away.

They paid what was called the External Trade Duty. Slightly higher than the locals, yes, but never so high that it felt like punishment. It was a small price to walk on Armand's paved roads, to trade in inside Armand towns, and to sleep in places where guards actually did their job, and theft was almost unheard of.

Most of them didn't complain. Because they weren't here to sell.

They were here to buy.

Grain. Ore. Salted meats. Preserved fruits. You name it. Armand had it.

They would load their wagons to the brim and head back to their regions. Some went across the kingdom. Others even took the goods into neighboring territories. They made their profits elsewhere, but the quality always came from here.

That's why the local and foreign merchants adored Father.

He didn't just give them roads and guards; he gave them security and clarity. The rules were stable. The rates were fixed. No sudden changes, no threats, no forced donations under a different name. What was agreed upon stayed that way. And in return, the merchants gave something far more valuable than coin.

Loyalty.

Even the more stubborn ones, those who came in with eyes full of suspicion, waiting for the catch, eventually let their guard down. Because there was no trick. No hidden chain waiting to tighten later. The Armand system wasn't made to squeeze people dry.

It was made to keep them alive.

To let them grow.

That's why Armand became the only region in the entire Human Kingdom where you could see dwarves, Amazarak folk, demon kin, and beastkin all walking the same streets.

Some were just passing through, but many… chose to stay.

They lived peacefully among the locals. Open markets, taverns, supply yards, even in smaller villages, you could spot a beastkin helping with harvest or a dwarf running a forge.

And the locals?

They never complained.

Not once.

Because of one simple reason.

One deeply rooted belief that Father had built into every part of this land:

"Respect Local Armand."

That was the unspoken rule. A quiet law stronger than ink or sword. It meant:

You treat the land right.

You don't cause trouble.

You live, trade, and work fairly.

And in return?

You are welcomed. You are safe. You are home.

And anyone who tries to cause trouble.

Wrecking the peace.

Bringing in outside beliefs or power games.

Trying to stir conflict where there was none.

They find nothing waiting for them. No stage, no audience, no chance to twist the balance.

They're chased out. Quietly, cleanly.

No charges, no chains, no public humiliation.

Just a firm escort to the region's border.

Still safe. Still with their dignity.

Because Armand doesn't punish the lost or the mistaken.

But for those who come with intent, to fight for what isn't theirs, to raise a weapon against the people, to challenge the laws and the harmony carefully built.

Then the Right of Armand is invoked.

( End Of Chapter )