Reborn As Noble - Chapter 327

Chapter 327: The True Delegation ( 327 )
King Edmund smirked, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

“Feed them all.”

Gilmon grinned, already stepping forward before the remaining four men could react. “With pleasure, Your Majesty.”

The Royal Elite held them down, forcing their mouths open as Gilmon shoved the poisoned food inside.

Choking. Coughing. Struggling.

But it was pointless.

One by one—

Their bodies convulsed violently. Their faces twisted in agony. Their eyes bulged as foam bubbled from their lips.

And then—

Silence.

Four lifeless bodies lay sprawled across the floor.

But one remained.

The last man, trembling, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.

His wide, horrified eyes darted between his dead comrades and the king.

Edmund… smiled.

He picked up the letter—the same fake letter these fools had presented.

Then, in a voice filled with mocking amusement, he spoke. “As for you… lick the letter.”

The last man froze.

His breath hitched.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his skin.

He knew what would happen if he did.

But—

The sword at his throat made it clear he had no other choice.

With shaking hands, he reached forward, his lips trembling as they neared the letter’s surface.

And then—

His tongue touched the poisoned wax seal.

For a brief moment, nothing happened.

Then—

His throat tightened.

His body convulsed violently.

A sharp, wet gasp escaped his lips as he collapsed, fingers clawing at the floor in desperation.

But there was no mercy.

No saving him.

His body twitched one last time—

And then he was still.

Dead.

The room was silent once more.

King Edmund leaned back into his throne, completely unbothered.

His smirk returned. “You really wasted your life doing this.”

His eyes flickered with amusement as he stared at the corpses. “Did you honestly think I—the king—am that gullible? That stupid?”

Gilmon chuckled, removing his poisoned gloves. “It seems they did, Your Majesty.”

Edmund let out a soft laugh. “Fools.”

And just like that—

The game was over.

King Edmund let out a short chuckle, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his throne.

“Now then, Gilmon…” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Where is the real delegation?”

Gilmon smirked. “Hmm… last I checked, they were all enjoying their food and drink right now.”

Edmund laughed. “Hah! Just like them.”

He shook his head, his smirk widening. “Even Garius knows how to ensure his delegation can’t be copied.”

It was so like Garius, who never let his messengers travel in secrecy. He ensured they were loud, obvious, and impossible to fake. His delegations always arrived in full force, complete with his ridiculous personal touches—like crates adorned with Pekko symbols or casually wrapped food bags.

And of course—

They always stopped to eat and drink first. Because, as Garius once joked, “A messenger with a full stomach delivers messages better.”

Edmund leaned back, staring at the corpses on the floor. “Well then… looks like we had a little extra entertainment before the real ones arrived.”

Gilmon grinned. “Shall we meet them now, Your Majesty?”

Edmund smirked. “Yes… let’s go greet our well-fed guests.”

With that, the king stood up—leaving the dead behind without a second thought.

As King Edmund stepped forward, he suddenly paused. “Oh, by the way, Gilmon.”

Gilmon turned, standing straight.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

Edmund smirked slightly.

“Good job.”

Gilmon placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

“It was my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Edmund chuckled. “That’s why you’re my general.”

Gilmon straightened, his lips curling into a confident smirk.

When King Edmund arrived at the main royal palace, he walked through the grand halls with confidence. The earlier execution of the impostors? Already forgotten. There were more important matters now.

He stepped into the royal throne room and sat on his throne, adjusting his posture as his eyes glanced toward Gilmon.

“Call the real delegation now.”

Gilmon bowed slightly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

He turned and motioned toward the guards. The doors to the throne room swung open.

And in walked ten figures.

The real delegation.

Edmund immediately recognized them.

But—

They didn’t kneel right away.

Instead—

Each of them slapped their chest twice, swiped their hand outward, then slapped their thigh—before kneeling.

King Edmund sighed, shaking his head.

“Hah… of course.”

Garius’ ridiculous methods. His delegation always had to perform some strange movement before kneeling. And, of course—it was never the same one twice.

Every visit, Garius used a different movement.

The reason?

So that no one could ever predict the correct greeting. Anyone attempting to fake it would fail.

King Edmund had already memorized over ten different ways the real delegation had kneeled before. This was just another to add to the list.

He sighed again, rubbing his temple.

“Garius… you and your paranoia.”

But despite his complaint—he couldn’t deny… it worked.

King Edmund’s sharp gaze scanned the ten men before him.

All of them… looked the same. Same uniforms. Same facial expressions. A deliberate move by Garius—a psychological trick to confuse outsiders.

But Edmund was used to it.

At the front of the group, a long-bearded man stood as their leader.

“All rise.”

At the king’s command, the delegation stood and took the seats provided for them.

The bearded leader stepped forward, carrying a paper bag. With a respectful nod, he placed it before the king.

“Your Highness, this is the ‘ink’ you requested.”

King Edmund raised an eyebrow.

He opened the bag—only to sigh immediately.

Inside was a box of high-quality dried fruit. And beneath it—

A jar of high-quality honey.

His brow twitched.

And, of course—

A small rolled-up letter.

Edmund unrolled the “ink.” And sure enough—at the very bottom, a crudely drawn Pekko doodle stared back at him.

The king let out a long, tired sigh. “Garius…”

He really should have expected this.

The long-bearded delegation leader bowed slightly.

“And, Your Majesty, this is the six-month tribute.”

King Edmund chuckled. “Hah! Knowing Garius, he would rather send six months’ worth of tribute all at once.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Gilmon stepped forward, reaching to open the cloth bag.

But—

King Edmund raised a hand. “No need. I want to see it myself.”

The general stepped back, smirking.

Edmund pulled the cloth bag open, his eyes immediately catching the glimmer of gold.

“Oho~ A lot of gold coins. Nice.”

He ran a hand through the gold coins, letting them clink softly against each other.

Satisfied, he leaned back against his throne.

“Tell your lord I am pleased with the tribute.”

The delegation leader nodded.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Edmund smirked. Garius might be a headache, but at least he knew how to pay his dues properly.

( End of Chapter )