Under Perturabo's watchful gaze, the lords and nobles from across Kislev entered the hall and took their seats.
As the most reliable arms dealer in all of Kislev, providing products of unrivaled quality and price, Perturabo's political influence was no longer confined to the lands surrounding the monastery. Even the most remote Kislevite duchies had heard of this monk who had seemingly fallen from the heavens, possessed of a wisdom that defied the world.
To avoid offending him, the lords had chosen to comply with his wishes, traveling thousands of miles from their own domains to reach the City of Perturabo for this gathering.
Depending on the distance, some arrived on horseback or by carriage, while others traveled by boat along the rivers. Nearly a month separated the earliest arrivals from the last. For this reason, the critical meeting had been delayed, waiting for every invited lord to be present.
As a profit-driven arms merchant, Perturabo did not openly favor one customer over another based on anything but gold. He granted them all an equal measure of respect, careful not to create a hierarchy among them.
The presence of these lords and their massive retinues provided a significant boost to the local economy. Taverns and inns reaped immense profits from their stay.
Finally, with the arrival of the last noble, the crucial meeting commenced. A full month had passed since the first guest had stepped into the city.
Once he was certain that all the lords were present and waiting for him to speak, Perturabo cleared his throat and began. The lords of Kislev held their breath, fearing that any slight might provoke the merchant and cost them their access to his forge.
"Respected Lords, I, Perturabo, son of Mikhail, have invited you here today to discuss a matter of great significance. This matter concerns 'Perturabograd'—this rising city that exists because of my hand."
Facing dozens of Kislevite rulers, Perturabo showed no signs of subservience. On the contrary, he spoke to them as an absolute equal, though his tone maintained a veneer of formal respect.
The lords watched the monk-turned-arms-dealer with a variety of expressions. None of them dared to bet on whether a rival had already made a secret deal with Perturabo behind their backs.
"As an industrious arms dealer who provides for your armies, I have but one reasonable request," Perturabo said, pausing briefly. "I ask for the formal recognition of my natural right to rule Perturabograd as a sovereign entity."
He had finally laid his price on the table. He sought the recognition of the Kislevite aristocratic society to validate his rule over the city. In their social structure, this meant he would become a lord equal in status to any of them.
"You are but a monk! How could you possibly stand as an equal to—"
A stubborn, old-fashioned lord stood up and shouted in anger, but he was quickly pulled back into his seat by his terrified attendants. No one else in his party was willing to bear the consequences of insulting Perturabo.
"So, you wish to become a noble? A lord ruling over a territory? And then you will compete with us for hegemony over Kislev, will you not, Perturabo, son of Mikhail?"
A cold-headed noble asked the question slowly. These pragmatic rulers worried about a different outcome: that Perturabo no longer intended to be a mere merchant, but had far grander designs.
"Lords, you overthink the matter."
Perturabo let out a low, cold laugh. "I merely seek recognition of an established fact. Did I not design and build this city's theater and its public facilities? Does it not stand that I already rule this place in practice?"
"I only wish for the confirmation of reality. I assume none of you are so mad as to believe you could seize my city or steal the technology I have developed? Do not forget that the militia here is trained and commanded by me. They will not hesitate to shed every drop of their blood for their home and their freedom."
"To turn against me would only result in mutual ruin. I have no interest in conquering Kislev. I simply wish to sell weapons and earn the coin I am owed with greater stability."
Hearing this calculated explanation, the questioning lords looked at one another, finding no immediate way to refute him. Perturabo's words had struck exactly where they were most vulnerable.
As long as Perturabo promised not to interfere in their internal power struggles, they were unwilling to risk losing the "Great Arms Dealer" and his superior gear over a hypothetical threat.
None of them wanted to be the one cut off from the supply lines while their rivals continued to arm themselves. Any weakening of their own strength was an automatic strengthening of their enemies.
After a few moments of private discussion, the pragmatic lords gave their answer.
"As long as you pledge not to join the struggles within Kislev, we recognize you as the Lord of Perturabograd, as noble and free as ourselves," they declared in unison.
With the rational leaders backing down, the other lords followed suit, unwilling to be the outliers who offended the city's master. They all formally acknowledged the arms dealer's new status and privileges.
"I am obliged to you, my Lords."
Perturabo smiled and leaned forward slightly in a gesture of respect.
Yet, this was only the first step of his grand undertaking. He had secured a legitimate territory. The rise of the Iron Tsar, who would one day rule all of Kislev, had begun in earnest.