Chapter 1: News of His Death

Imperial Year 851, June 5th, early morning—

Here and there, the preparations for breakfast were underway. Regis noticed that a line of some sort had formed, the men lining up regardless of unit and rank, each with a sword or spear in hand. He walked to the front, wondering what was going on; the soldiers coming back in the opposite direction all seemed to be grinning at their weapons.

Up ahead, Regis could hear the clanging of a metal hammer striking iron. A group of non-combatants had gathered in one corner of the camp—the blacksmiths. As weapons were worn with continual use, an army beyond a certain size would take in men of such a profession. Regis could understand why the soldiers would want their weapons repaired, given that they had just finished battle, but he wasn’t sure why so many had come at once. Was it because they had fought four times in such quick succession?

Their unit employed around a hundred smiths. Using impromptu furnaces and with only a cloth shade to protect them from the sun, they set up smitheries in the open air.

The Fourth Army currently had thirteen thousand troops, meaning that each smith was responsible for the weapons of one hundred and thirty people. To make matters worse, they were naturally short-handed; their preparations before embarking on this campaign left much to be desired, and many of the smiths deployed in the Second Army had taken flight during their devastating loss. They were short of cooks and barbers too.

We need to either start recruiting or cut down the number of soldiers we have, Regis thought as he walked. But his musings were cut short when he spotted a bear of a man pounding his anvil at the center of the blacksmiths.

“Wha—?!”

Regis hastened his steps. The man that the Fourth Army’s soldiers were entrusting their weapons to was none other than Enzo Bardot Smith, Regis’s brother-in-law and a smith of Rouenne. They had left Altina’s treasured sword in his care, which he had then brought all the way to the battlefield.

“What are you doing, Enzo?”

“Oh! Reggie, my boy! I had some time on my hands, so I’m helping out.”

“You don’t have to, really. Our army has its own exclusive blacksmiths, and we’re not a business, so we can’t just take on outsiders...”

“Yeah, figured as much. But y’know...”

As they conversed, a topless man raced over from another stall. It was Thomas, the head blacksmith. He was in his forties, had served under Jerome since the time the general still lived in the capital, and was the sort of person to dress down even a noble for not maintaining their weapon properly.

“Tactician!”

“Ah... M-My apologies,” Regis stuttered. “Mr. Smith here isn’t too well-read on the military, and—”

“He’s fantastic!”

“Pardon?”

“What he did with the new Grand Tonnerre Quatre was so magnificent, I just had to ask him to teach me a thing or two! And then, guess what? Those test pieces came out even better than new! Now everyone’s coming to him with work.”

“Is that so...?” Regis replied, keeping his thoughts on the matter deliberately ambiguous. There didn’t seem to be an issue after all; Enzo was apparently working among the army’s blacksmiths because they had asked him to.

Enzo awkwardly scratched his head. “I was just working normally...”

“I’ve always heard great things about the blacksmiths’ union in Rouenne, but this... This is something else!”

Enzo’s large frame seemed to grow smaller and smaller under Thomas’s excessive praise. That was when his apprentice, a young man called Lionel, entered the conversation.

“Aha! Rouenne blacksmiths come in all sorts, but the boss is special. He doesn’t speak much, so he isn’t all that well known, but there aren’t many out there who work iron as well as he can.”

“Give me a break...” Enzo muttered, pulling Lionel back by his shirt with a sour look on his face.

Regis gave a nod. “Well, if nobody’s complaining then I have no reason to stop you.”

“Complaining? Far from it!” Thomas exclaimed, picking up and proudly showing off a sword. “I really can’t believe this is a military-issued model. Look at how it glimmers! It’s practically one of those famous swords the nobles carry!”

“I see...” Regis’s complete lack of sword skills meant he couldn’t tell whether a blade was well made or not, but the head blacksmith’s eyes were positively sparkling.

“He just hammered and sharpened it a little, and look what it turned into! It’s almost like magic!”

To Regis, it sounded like Thomas was making a mountain out of a molehill, but the surrounding blacksmiths and soldiers chimed in with agreement, saying things like “Exactly!” and “Yeah, magic!”

Enzo was looking more and more embarrassed. “Ah, no... All I did was straighten the blade and rasp out a few scuffs... Isn’t that normal for a smith?”

“Yeah, but a normal smith can’t straighten a sword with a single strike,” Lionel said with a smirk. “Most also have to compensate for uneven rasping by making adjustments in other areas; perfectly filing the entire surface like you do isn’t supposed to be humanly possible.”

“You just have to get used to it, that’s all.”

Thomas nodded along. “Right, right... And then it’s all down to willpower. Finishing something at that quality takes more time than an army blacksmith has. We have to be done as quickly as we can, so even a rough job works for us. That’s what I used to think, at least, but I was naïve. It’s like my eyes have been pulled wide open.”

“That wasn’t what I was trying to—”

“I’m grateful, if anything! If you wouldn’t mind, please let my apprentices watch too.”

“Sure. Anytime you want. I’ve got nothing to hide.” With that, Enzo took a sword from one of the soldiers in line and stared at it hard. “Hm... The blade’s wearing out at an angle. You’re not swinging it straight.”

The soldier scratched his head in embarrassment, his friends all laughing in amusement. Meanwhile, Enzo peeled away the leather grip.

“Knew it. The hilt’s a little crooked. I can fix that.”

He removed the blade from the hilt and promptly basked it in the heat of the furnace, then transferred it to the anvil and gave it two good strikes. From there, he handed it to his apprentice and gave one simple order.

“Make a new handle.”

“Yes, boss!”

Enzo then took a spear from the next soldier. “This one just needs a good sharpen,” he said, immediately getting to work with a metal rasp. Ever so slowly, the blade regained its splendor before their very eyes. His appraisals were swift and accurate, with every move he made serving a deliberate purpose. The surrounding smiths watched with bright eyes, Thomas included.

“Doesn’t get any less amazing no matter how many times I see it! This really is magic! As expected of the tactician’s brother-in-law!”

“Eh?!” Regis exclaimed, shaking his head in a panic as his name came up out of seemingly nowhere. “I’ve got nothing to do with this!”

But rumors would spread in whatever form made them the most interesting. The tactician was already a wizard, and his brother-in-law a magician in his own right.

June 8th, early morning—

It was the second day of the march. At the center of the camp, a large tent was erected as a temporary headquarters, in the middle of which sat a long table surrounded with chairs.

The commander Altina was seated closest to the back, with Regis to her immediate right—a position that would always be his. To her left was Brigadier General Jerome Jean de Beilschmidt, captain of the Black Knight Brigade, and seated across from them was Lieutenant General Benjamin Emanuel de Beaumarchais with his younger brother Justin Gabriel. Clarisse stood in the corner, as silent, expressionless, and unmoving as a doll.

Regis spread a map over the table. “We’ve left defending the western front to the armies of the resident nobles. They have two Princess-class ships seized from High Britannia and the allegiance of a few sailors who know how to operate them, so I imagine they’ll be able to put up a decent fight if need be. Additionally...” He produced a note. “We’ve received word from Admiral Bertram. They managed to transport the Princess-class with the busted engine to the shipyard. Once our engineers dismantle and reverse engineer it, the Empire should be able to produce something of comparable quality.”

“How long will that take?” Jerome asked.

Regis pulled out another piece of paper. “This is the estimate. They should be able to produce an imitation of every individual part within two years.”

“And we’ve only got two ships until then, eh? How terribly reassuring...”

“We’ll be able to replicate the cannons much quicker. Imperial Elswicks could be ready to test-fire as soon as next month.”

“Hm... Get us in on those tests. Have a few sent our way.”

“Very well. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Regis had to tip his hat to Jerome’s blatant lust for power—the man possessed an exorbitant amount of strength, and yet here he was seeking out even more.

While a complex steam engine would prove challenging to replicate, the cannons were relatively simple. There were already men hard at work recreating them, and so long as they could match their firing range, Belgaria wouldn’t one-sidedly lose against High Britannia’s next wave of ships. It would, of course, be a hard-fought battle if the enemy immediately moved to attack again, but based on what the High Britannian prisoners of war had revealed, their navy had approached this war rather half-heartedly to begin with. Troops were reluctantly dispatched only because Oswald Coulthard had proposed the plan and Queen Margaret Stillart had given the order.

Though you have to take into account that this information is coming from prisoners. There’s a chance they’re just saying that they didn’t really want to fight because they lost.

Whatever the case, both Oswald and Margaret, the instigators of this war, were currently away from their home country. Sending out more ships would most likely require them to impair their own national defenses, so the chance of that happening was exceedingly low.

“...It seems that really was Queen Margaret with their army—our captives’ testimonies even confirmed it. I’ve never heard anything about her being a fighter, though...”

Regis struggled to understand. Belgaria was a nation whose army dominated the entire continent; accompanying a force invading such a place was an incredibly dangerous endeavor. She must have been exceedingly confident in their latest guns and cannons, or perhaps she placed a great amount of trust in Oswald. It was also possible that she was just overly optimistic.

When Regis spotted her, she was riding in a black carriage. He didn’t get the impression that she knew her way around a sword or a horse, though he’d never actually spoken to her before, and the fact that she had only recently been crowned meant that information was scarce. There was no way for him to determine her motives.

“Hah!” Jerome scoffed. “Just goes to show, the queen of damned fools is a damned fool herself!”

Perhaps not the most appropriate words to describe a ruler, but there was no doubting that Margaret was abnormal. Had she been captured, the ransom demanded would have jeopardized High Britannia’s national budget, and not paying up would have had them branded a nation that chose money over its own queen.

“In their situation, I’d personally separate the queen from the rest of the army, having her detour all the potential battlefields to return to her nation. But what will Oswald Coulthard do...?”

“Hah! If she were the sort to play along with that, she wouldn’t have accompanied them to begin with!”

“Ah. You do have a point...”

Regis inadvertently found his eyes wandering to Altina. Jerome was looking at her too.

“Mrk.” The princess let out a surprised noise, then pursed her lips in a pout. “What? I would never do something that reckless.”

“It’s not much worse than dueling a war hero, or charging straight into an impenetrable fortress,” Regis said with a shrug.

“Grr...” Despite the princess’s best attempts to refute him, it seemed she was unable to come up with a sound argument; she did nothing in response but frustratedly grit her teeth.

But maybe that recklessness is a thing of the past now, Regis thought. Altina had recently learned to settle down at the main camp, no longer charging ahead to the front lines. On that note, he decided to change the topic.

“Based on the lady doctor’s diagnosis, it will take three months for the former Duke Balzac’s broken right arm to heal.”

“He said it was hard for him to stick around the capital since Eddie ran off with Auguste,” Altina explained.

Regis nodded. “We’ve essentially dragged him into our war. We should at least let him stay with our army until his wounds have healed.”

“And he’ll be with Eddie once we get back to Fort Volks!”

Regis nodded again. Next on the agenda... “How do we intend to deal with the Mercenary King?”

Altina let out a small groan, a conflicted expression crossing her face. Jerome, meanwhile, crossed his arms and remained silent.

“He should naturally be put to the gallows,” Benjamin declared.

Altina smacked the table at this remark, pushing herself to her feet. “Definitely not!”

“And why’s that?” Benjamin asked, staring at the princess rather perplexed. “It’s simply Belgarian convention—those who surrender without a fight can be made into retainers, but the moment hostilities commence, the enemy commander is to be executed, no matter how quickly they raise the white flag.”

“I mean... it’s a complete waste!”

“We’re talking about a vulgar mercenary here!”

“Whether you’re a mercenary or a member of royalty, what does it matter? Strength is strength! Imagine what a reliable ally he would make.”

“What?! An ally?! You mustn’t make such jokes, Princess!”

Benjamin wasn’t the only one taken aback: Justin behind him looked equally surprised. That was simply how irrational such a suggestion was in the Empire.

“Kukuh...” Jerome’s shoulders bounced as he let out a small chuckle. “He’s definitely strong—stronger than any of the cowards in the capital.”

“But the imperial army must uphold a certain level of dignity! To make a subject of someone who should be executed, and for such a trivial reason... I stand firmly against it!”

“Guahahah! Don’t tell me you’re worried about falling even further down the pecking order.”

“Y-You’re suggesting that mercenary is above me?!” Benjamin shouted. His face had turned a deep shade of red.

“Hmph. Of course he is. Do you think you can dodge my lance? Sure, your title might protect you in the courts, but the battlefield doesn’t give a shit who’s a commoner and who’s a marquis.”

“Such impudence! A mere margrave thinks he can mock me?!”

“See? That right there—that’s what I’m talking about. First thing you do is hide behind your title. That’s why you’re always going to be weak.”

“To act so insolent right before the princess... I can’t possibly overlook such a transgression!”

“Your overblown self-importance is none of my business, but think more carefully ’bout who you’re snapping at, would you? I could separate your head from your body before you’ve even got a chance to regret your actions.”

“C-Curse you! A blight on your house!”

The blood was clearly rushing to Benjamin’s head; it seemed as though he might start foaming at the mouth at any moment.

Regis sighed. Up to that point, they had been somewhat united against a common foe, but this solidarity wasn’t easy to maintain. Benjamin was a high noble. Having lived much of his life in the imperial court, he was of the impression that it was only natural for those ranked below him to regard him with respect. Jerome, however, loathed all those nobles who acted high and mighty without the skills to back it up. The two men mixed as well as oil and water.

In a book, they would reconcile while surmounting an impossible challenge... Regis mused. But Jerome only cared about whether or not people were useful, while Benjamin was steeped in the court’s sense of values.

It seemed the Second Army was too often stationed at the capital. While they had been the first to engage High Britannia during this war, that was by pure coincidence: they had just happened to be in the west for highly political reasons. Under normal circumstances, they were meant to protect the emperor and the capital alongside the First Army, which meant they were lacking in real combat experience.

Benjamin had simply inherited his father’s title and military rank, having barely any accomplishments to his name. If anything, the fact that he hadn’t made any sizable blunders in his youth might have been considered his biggest achievement. To compete against Jerome or the Mercenary King in martial might was much too conceited, even if that was a hill the lieutenant general was willing to die on.

This temperament was one shared by many nobles who lived in the palace for too long. There had been a few such men in Regis’s previous army as well. They were born into affluence, raised without inconvenience, and permitted whatever selfish whims they might have desired. In that regard, it was safe to say they were raised under the illusion that they themselves ruled the world. Even those among them who worked to improve and gain knowledge, learning how to properly conduct themselves, never seemed to rear any self-restraint; once their emotions were heightened, they would stubbornly assert their own importance like an infant.

In any case, a duel is the last thing we need.

As a joint front, the Fourth Army was rather haphazardly held together. There was already enough discord between the Beilschmidt border regiment and those formerly in the Second Army.

I should start by calming Benjamin down enough that he can consider the situation rationally. Then I’ll offer some justification that should de-escalate things without injuring his pride. But no sooner had that thought crossed Regis’s mind than Altina sprang into action herself.

“Sir Benjamin, are you confident that you can defeat Jerome in combat?” she asked. The seriousness in her eyes seemed to take Benjamin by surprise.

“Princess...?!”

Regis cradled his head, wondering why she was adding fuel to the flames. But it seemed she had asked out of genuine curiosity.

“It’d be an astounding feat if you could,” she said. “I’ve seen him fight up close. Give him a lance and a horse, and he’s probably stronger than both the Mercenary King and Latrielle.”

“Stronger than... H-His Highness...? It can’t be...”

“I heard that Gilbert took Latrielle by surprise but fought Jerome on equal terms. I’ve gone up against all three of them, and I’d say Latrielle is at his strongest when he has a sword, Gilbert when there’s enough space for him to swing his trident around, and Jerome when on horseback. Under what circumstances would you excel, Sir Benjamin?”

“Urk...”

Latrielle was infamous for his swordsmanship. Regis had only seen it once before, but in that instance, Altina was one-sidedly pushed back. Though it was worth taking into consideration that she was emotional at the time, and their short battle transpired in a reasonably confined space.

Such details aside, the three men were all warriors whose martial prowess was known across the continent. As someone who hailed from a military house, Benjamin had most likely trained with a sword and spear from an early age, but the comparison was hardly a fair one. He must have realized that by now, as a greasy sweat had formed on his brow.

“Ahem.” Regis cleared his throat. “As members of the same army, we’re all comrades in arms here. We still don’t have a grasp on High Britannia’s movements, so at least for now, cooperation and the division of labor are more important than competing for superiority.”

“Y-Yes! The tactician is right!” Benjamin exclaimed, fervently nodding as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “There is no time for us to snarl at one another!”

“Hmph...” Upon seeing that his opponent had lost the will to fight, Jerome slouched back into his chair. Altina, meanwhile, looked somewhat disappointed; that display was probably enough for her to realize that Benjamin had simply been putting up a false front.

“Let’s at least try to negotiate with Gilbert,” she said. “We need as many strong allies as we can get.”

Regis nodded along in agreement. “You’re right.”

He presumed there wouldn’t be any further engagements for the foreseeable future, but there was no telling what might happen. High Britannia’s invasion had come out of nowhere, and he hadn’t expected that the Empire would suffer such major losses. They were no doubt better off with stronger allies, but only insofar as the budget allowed.

Altina did not own territory. Members of the royal family were customarily backed by their mothers, but her mother was a commoner whose only assets amounted to a house in Cinq Jouel, a town near the capital. What’s more, the Fourth Army’s budget hadn’t changed from the time it was the Beilschmidt border regiment. The funds provided by the Ministry of Military Affairs weren’t even enough to cover their thirteen thousand troops, so there was no possible way they could scrape together enough to hire the strongest mercenary brigade in the lands.

Our only option would be to ransom Gilbert’s subordinates against him and then hire him with that same money.

“Oh, right...” Regis continued. “The Mercenary King’s sisters Franziska and Jessica are nowhere to be found. It seems they’ve run away.”

Altina’s expression went stiff. It was because of the crossbow-wielding Franziska toying with her during a nighttime raid that the Grand Tonnerre Quatre had ended up so badly damaged. Her guard knight Eric had also been shot in the process.

“I see...” she muttered. “So she’s alive.”

“She might come to rescue her brother.”

“She did sound pretty fond of him. We’ll need to be extra wary at night.”

“Right. I’ll put more soldiers on watch.”

From there, Regis continued his report on the Fourth Army’s affairs. To summarize, they were short on both funds and non-combat personnel, two problems they would need to deal with upon returning to the capital.

Once the meeting was over, Altina triumphantly rose to her feet. “Well, let’s get to it, then!” she declared.

“Er, to what, exactly? We’ll be continuing our march shortly.”

“What we were just talking about! We’re going to see Gilbert. We’ll convince him to work for us!”

“Excuse me?! Princess, there’s no need for you to handle something like that personally!”

“I’m not doing it because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The prisoners were bundled together, their hands and necks bound with rope, numbering around fifteen hundred in total. A further three thousand High Britannian soldiers had been killed on the battlefield, with the rest presumably having run away. The thick fog allowed for many deserters—close to five thousand at that—and Belgaria would need to mobilize their army to track them down.

Renard Pendu had attacked a five-thousand-strong military headquarters with just three hundred men, half of whom were killed in battle. The other half were captured, but as they were too strong to leave alone even when unarmed, they were placed under conspicuously heavier bindings and subjected to three times the usual amount of surveillance.

Mercenary King Gilbert was the only one chained up elsewhere. As the leader of a defeated unit, there was a risk that he might be killed by the soldiers of the victorious army, or on the contrary, coerce those soldiers into joining him. For that reason, he needed to be isolated.

Jerome had gone back to his men, saying that he had no interest in negotiations, while Clarisse had returned to her maid work. Benjamin was not accompanying them either, since conversing with a captured mercenary was deemed a disgraceful deed for a high noble: nobles ordinarily only spoke with captives when those captives were also nobles themselves.

When all was said and done, Regis and Altina were alone when they made their way to the tent where Gilbert was being kept.

“Altina, I don’t really have anything against talking to him, but... he is a mercenary. I’m pretty sure any negotiations will ultimately come down to money, which we don’t have.”

There was no one else around, so Regis spoke to the princess in his usual, more casual tone. For once in quite some time, they were not preparing for another battle—that thought alone was enough to bring a smile to his face.

Altina didn’t appear to be so on edge either. “I know that, but he’s going to be hanged if we can’t recruit him, right?”

“...There’s no way around it. We can’t let someone so dangerous go free.”

“That doesn’t sound like a proper negotiation to me. I want him to become my subordinate by choice, not just because he wants to save his own neck.”

“Yeah... I do have some thoughts on the matter.”

Gaining the Mercenary King’s loyalty would no doubt be a formidable task.

When they arrived at the tent, the guards hurriedly dropped to their knees in reverence. “P-Princess?! What brings you to a place like this?”

The soldiers were understandably surprised: it was unprecedented for a member of royalty to visit a captured mercenary, even one as notorious as the Mercenary King himself. But Altina didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I wish to speak to Gilbert. Could you let me through?”

“B-But... He’s a—”

“What? Does my birth prevent me from speaking to a mercenary?”

“By no means! We’ll bring him out at once!”

“No need. I can just go inside.”

With that, she pushed aside the cloth door and entered the tent. It was dim inside. Only a few days had passed since the Mercenary King’s capture, but the air reeked of a beast. He was bound to a thick pillar with metal chains, wrapped around his body several times over as though he were some ravenous animal. As his battle wounds were left untreated, blackened blood stained parts of the metal.

His eyes immediately pierced through them. Regis could feel an icy chill run down his spine, such that he might have turned tail and ran had he been alone.

Altina placed a hand on her hip and stuck out her chest. “Glad to see you’re looking well, Gilbert!”

Nothing but silence.

“I’ll make this brief,” she continued. “Do you want to work for me?”

Gilbert squinted in bemusement, then parted his cracked lips to speak.

“Kill me.”

“Hm? You sure gave up easily.”

“Captured mercenaries are... hanged. I am aware of that.”

He didn’t seem open to negotiations in the slightest.

“The princess has taken to your martial prowess,” Regis weighed in. “Have you ever considered enlisting in the imperial army? You’ll receive a regular wage, and I can ensure the lives of your men.”

Gilbert’s previously unmoving expression visibly twisted at that remark. “I had heard the strategist Regis d’Aurick was a dangerous man. They even called him a wizard. But he sounds more like a monster to me.”

“Eh?!”

Altina furrowed her brow. “He has a point, Regis. I don’t know what to think about using hostages against him like that.”

“You too?!” Regis exclaimed. “It’s well within our rights to demand ransoms for prisoners of war. We’re just requesting military service in exchange, and—”

“You can’t say he’ll truly become my ally under those conditions though, can you?”

“Oh, c’mon...”

Regis couldn’t see any conceivable way for them to become real allies—after all, they had been fighting to the death just four days prior. Altina, however, was serious.

“I remember your declaration, Gilbert. That your mercenary troupe is your country.”

“...What about it?”

“You said you would protect them. If those words are true, then lend me a hand. I’m going to become empress. And when I do, I promise to recognize your country.”

“What...?”

The chains binding Gilbert began to jar and grate.

Regis frantically scrutinized her proposal in his head. You could have at least consulted me in advance, he thought. But knowing Altina, there was a chance she had come up with this on the spot.

She would not only grant him land but recognize a mercenary brigade as a nation. Was that truly possible? There was nothing stopping her, legally speaking—the law meant nothing once she became empress. Not to mention, she had made a similar promise before.

“Are you taking a similar approach to our deal with Bargenheim...?” Regis muttered.

Altina nodded. “Yes, I took inspiration from that idea. Once I become empress, I intend to fulfill my promise to Diethardt, recognizing Bargenheim as a nation on equal standing with the Empire. If Gilbert chooses to make a country himself, I will recognize that as well.”

That was, indeed, the greatest reward she could offer him; no matter how much money a mercenary amassed, they could never form a country. But Gilbert shook his head in response.

“You’re lying. There’s no way a Belgarian royal would ever honor a promise made to a mere mercenary. Not that I know who this Diethardt man is.”

“He’s a barbarian.”

“What?! Enough of this nonsense! Your kind would never honor a promise to a barbarian! In fact, you Belgarians hang any barbarians or mercenaries you can get your hands on. Do you take me for some fool who’d just blindly leap at whatever bait you put before me?!”

“Well, aren’t you a rude one!” Altina remarked. “I’m not going to honor my promises? What makes you so sure about that?!”

“...I can tell. I see right through you,” he sneered. “Belgaria is rotten. Second Prince Latrielle is going to become the next emperor. Until then, you intend to dangle your implausible ascension to the throne in front of me, working me to death all the while.”

Altina closed in on him. “I’m not joking! I am going to become empress! No matter what trials I must overcome, I will change the Empire!”

“Pay me as much lip service as you want. Your words are empty, imperial.”

“Hmph. You’re a weaker man than I thought. I was expecting a response on par with ‘I’ll take your head the moment you betray those words.’”

“What...?” Gilbert’s eyes widened in shock.

“Right now, I have neither the funds nor the land to give you—only these promises that you don’t believe in. But I will recognize your country once I become empress. I’m asking you to risk your life for me, so it’s only natural that I put my own on the line as well. If you think that I’ve gone against my word, come and cut me down, why don’t you?”

“Are you even sane, Princess...?”

“Who knows?” she shot back, placing a hand on her hip. “But I despise lies.”

Gilbert fell silent, his beastly eyes betraying a glimmer of intellect. He was considering the proposal carefully.

“...You’ll free my men?”

Regis stepped in to answer. “If you promise to serve under the princess, proclaim so before them. We’ll hire anyone who wants to follow you, and release all those who don’t. With their wounds treated, of course.”

“And if I refuse... we’ll all be hanged?”

“Had we lost, would you have sent us all home unharmed?”

“We would have ransomed you.”

“Of course. Barbarians and mercenaries are hanged because there is no one who will pay the ransom for them. The services of the Mercenary King and Renard Pendu, however, are worth just as much to us.”

“...That is, assuming I take you at your word,” Gilbert said with a glare.

I’ve gotten pretty used to being intimidated, Regis thought. Not long ago, his knees might have given out right about now. But here he was, still standing there—albeit just barely managing to hold eye contact.

The beastly air that had presided up to a moment ago was now gone. Gilbert was appraising them both, and by the look of things, it would actually be possible to persuade him.

But then there was a sudden ruckus outside the tent—a voice.

“Report! A report from the capital! Urgent news!”

The announcement came with such force that it sounded as though the speaker were close to coughing up blood. Regis swallowed his breath.

“Enter!” Altina called, her expression stiff.

A soldier in light armor rushed into the tent, kneeling before them. “Pardon my intrusion! This is an emergency, so if you would overlook my—”

Regis recognized his face: this man was one of the scouts he had sent to check on the capital. Judging by how feeble his breath was, it was easy to imagine something had gone awry.

“Let’s hear it,” Altina said with a nod.

“In the early hours of the 6th, His Majesty the Emperor drew his last breath!”

The princess froze at the sudden news. She had no words. Her breath was caught in her throat. Unrest spread among the soldiers outside, and this bombshell report was immediately followed up by another.

“Second Prince Latrielle is preparing to take the throne!”

Altina’s crimson eyes stared in the direction of the capital. “That little—!”

The announcement came as far too great of a shock to Regis. His head spun as though he had just been smacked in the face.

“Pff... Gahahah! Kuahahahaha!” Gilbert broke into a fit of excessive laughter. “What now, Princess?! After all that talk about becoming empress, the second prince took the throne after all!”

Altina remained silent.

“Once your political opponent is crowned, you’ll lose your claim to the throne, won’t you? Your promise of a country has gone up in smoke... Kukukuh... It’s so sad that I’ve just gotta laugh. What else can I do?”

Still not uttering a word, the princess tightly balled her fists.

“I don’t know whether it was good planning or just dumb luck, but... the second prince really got one up on you,” Gilbert continued. “You won the battle but lost the war, so to speak. Your ambitions may have been noble, but they were ultimately all for naught.”

His words were laced with both ridicule and disappointment—he too had dreamed of one day forming his own nation. But Altina’s eyes still gleamed like roaring flames.

“I’m not going to give up!”

“...What?”

“I started this journey alone. My maid was my only ally. From there, Regis lent me his wisdom, and the border regiment became my strength. We captured Fort Volks, and now we have an entire army behind us. Even if Latrielle does become emperor, I will continue struggling to change the Empire! I won’t give up until my life burns out. And I would never tell anyone to just ‘kill me’!”

“‘Continue struggling’? ‘Won’t give up’? You’ve got some bark. I’ll give you that. But what can you actually do? Are you really willing to incite a civil war? I’m sure you could depend on me if so, but would your soldiers follow you into a losing campaign they never even wished for?”

Gilbert was right. Belgaria was currently exhausted from its battles against High Britannia, and the soldiers would most likely feel alienated in a civil war. They also couldn’t forget that the Second Army made up a considerable portion of their forces, with Benjamin as their commander. He was in Latrielle’s faction, so their hopes of any unified movements would collapse the moment she mentioned insurrection.

At this point, Regis knew that any further negotiations were pointless. “Allow me to confirm one last thing... It looks like things are going to be changing quite a bit. Do you really want to be hanged so badly?”

“Mm...”

“If you agree to work as a laborer instead, I won’t take off your chains, but you also won’t be executed just yet. Under the condition that you unite your men, that is.”

“And you’ll kill them if I decline? I know how this usually goes. You’ll force us to work, then gradually pick off my men when they’re so exhausted they can’t even move.”

“You’re popular among your mercenaries; I made my proposal knowing that you could rally them. Otherwise, Renard Pendu is simply too dangerous to use for labor.”

Without Gilbert at the lead, they would certainly be too tough to handle. The metal chains binding him let off another creaking noise.

“Hmph... You think I’m still popular after that loss? Well, whatever. I’m not lousy enough to ask you to hang my men.”

“Good. That much should suffice, for the time being at least.”

Given the new circumstances, negotiating for the Mercenary King’s subordination wouldn’t be an easy task. They would need to decide what they were going to do before they could consider borrowing his strength.

Despite her previous strong response, Altina was frozen in place, looking as though she were completely lost in the dark.

“Let’s head back for now, Princess.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

She acted resilient, yet she was surely enduring much more beneath the surface, like a delicate rose caught in a storm.

✧ ✧ ✧

When they returned to the center tent, the documents from their previous meeting were still resting on the long table—they had gone to see Gilbert without even sparing the time to pick them up. Altina placed her hands on the table’s surface, refusing to take a seat.

“Let’s summon Jerome and the others. We need to discuss our next course of action.”

Regis was standing beside her. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?” he asked, speaking slower than usual in an earnest attempt to calm her down.

“My feelings haven’t changed in the slightest!”

She was always so straightforward, so brimming with energy. But now, she came across as simply impatient. There was no doubting that she was still shaken. Of course she was. After being suppressed since birth, she had finally found a path and was risking her life to pursue it. Now, the door to her goal was closing before her very eyes. She would probably need some time to regain her composure.

I should mix in some small talk...

“Altina, when you say that your feelings haven’t changed, do you mean you’re not intending to give up? You’ll need more than just resolve if you want people to side with you. The key is to give precise orders.”

“How precise?”

“The people involved, the time, the place, the means, and the objective—it is your duty to decide on them all and then give the command. You can summon Jerome and the others if you need more information to make your decision, but not if you’re simply at a loss.”

“Ah... Yeah. You’re right.”

Altina’s shoulders dropped as she realized that she wasn’t in the calmest state of mind. Regis attempted to make the situation a little more lighthearted before things grew too heavy.

“Sir Jerome has a short enough temper as it stands.”

“Yeah...”

“I think it’s because he thinks things through too quickly and reaches his decisions before everyone else. From his point of view, the rest of us consider things too slowly.”

“Now that you mention it, I can’t recall ever seeing him worry.”

“That’s because his personal goal is clear to him. He rarely needs to hesitate. The only thoughts that go through his mind are things like ‘What do I need to accomplish this? What can I disregard completely? What must and mustn’t I do?’”

“What is his goal, exactly?”

“He takes no issue with the Empire in its current state. He simply despises the nobles who drove him out, striving to return to the capital and get rid of them.”

“Oh, I see.”

“He’s not just thinking of a goal, though—he always considers the means as well. At least, he did until you bested him in your duel.”

A look of surprise washed over Altina’s face; Jerome had never actually explained to her what was going on. “What was he thinking before then?”

“At the time, his plan was to elevate his forces to the level where they might be able to rival even the First Army. They would become strong enough that no noble would be able to drive him away again, then he would make his triumphant return to the capital.”

Regis hadn’t heard this from the man himself, of course, but rather had discerned it while sorting through their budget. It was evident that Jerome’s goal was his return, and strengthening his forces was his means. He was zealous in his training and preparations even now, so perhaps he still clung to those ambitions, having followed Altina this far because he knew that his own desires would also be met if she became empress. Who was to say what would happen now?

“I see. Is that also why he wanted you?”

Ah, right. I’d forgotten about that... When Regis had assisted with the bandit subjugation after being stationed at Fort Sierck, Jerome demanded that he become his subordinate instead of Altina’s. Even now, Regis didn’t believe he was worthy of such a position.

“Well, the fact that he’ll ‘use even trash, so long as it has some value’ probably goes to show how determined he is to advance his plans. His goal and means are clear—he knows his standard of values and can make a decision at the drop of a denier.”

“I’m putting in a lot of thought too, though.”

“Yes, but you’re looking much further into the future. That’s not a bad thing—in fact, it’s a fine quality for a ruler. Normal people can barely even manage it.”

“But it’s not enough. Is that what you’re saying?”

“...Yeah. You also need to think about what you have to do now. An idealistic view of the future is no more than a dream. You might say that a goal is only tangible once you find the means to obtain it.”

“Right...”

The emperor was dead, and Altina’s political opponent was preparing to take the throne. In such a situation, what should she set her sights on, and what actions should she take? She furrowed her brow, pausing in thought for a moment before opening her mouth again to speak.

“I... want war to disappear from the Empire. I kept thinking it when I saw our battles against High Britannia. No matter how strong the soldiers are, that day will come eventually—the day when we lose. We can’t just keep fighting against our neighbors. We need to cooperate with them.”

“Yeah.”

It seemed the princess had regained her composure. Given the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been strange for her to completely lose her way and grow desperate, but she was positive by nature and could seemingly never be discouraged. Regis took to this quite favorably. He wanted to do whatever he could to give direction to Altina’s dream, making it into a feasible goal once more. Up to that point, her means had been to climb the ranks until she was next in line for the throne, but that thread had now been severed.

“The Empire is exhausted. Our losses in this war have been a severe blow, and these harsh circumstances have drawn on for much too long...” Regis mused aloud, trying to put his thoughts in order. “Even though there were only small skirmishes two generations ago, the previous emperor Vicente nonetheless invested too much money into the arts and invited too many failures on the military front. Under Liam XV, ceremonies have become even more extravagant than they were before, and we’ve been involved in countless large-scale wars. The people are wrung dry by heavy taxation. Their workers are conscripted into the army, and at times, their villages and fields become sites of combat. They’ve been forced into unforgiving lives indeed...”

The Seventh Army had a conscripted farmer called Dukas—a man who had previously begged them to protect his home. Had he died in the war, who would care for his wife and children? And who would tend to the farmland he left behind? Strength was needed to plow the earth, and there was nothing to gain from it without the proper care.

Altina nodded with a serious expression. “There are villages who can’t pay their taxes.”

“There’s a tax for owning farmland, but there is no harvest without workers. It’s not just the conscriptions that are the issue here—sometimes the crops become diseased or die as the result of poor weather. Those who can’t pay are punished, so some even flee during the night out of terror.”

“Are you saying they abandon their fields?”

“Without yields, they have no worth. Of course you would cast aside a field that you can’t work but still need to pay for.”

“Can’t they make a case to lessen their taxes?”

“If a conscript dies in battle, there’s a system in place where the taxes on their land are reduced, but even that’s hardly enough. Being too lenient can prove just as problematic, too, since you’ll end up with people who refuse to pay entirely. Not all farmers are saints.”

“Ah... I see your point.”

“And if you don’t collect enough in taxes to maintain the military, the surrounding nations will destroy us.”

“But I don’t think all the tax money goes to protecting the nation.”

“The reason nobles levy such heavy taxes on the people in their territories is to support their own lavish lifestyles, which are ultimately the result of gratuitous habits. I don’t know how they convince themselves they can stand over others like that...” Regis said with a sigh, shaking his head in opposition. But their conversation had gone off track; freedom and equality could wait for another day.

“What should I do? My goal is to change the Empire—to rid it of war, stop the rampant exploitation, and make its people happy. I was sure that becoming empress was my only means to do that.”

She was right—becoming empress was her only means. But that was no longer possible. Regis would need more information to understand the exact situation, but there was certainly no mistaking that the emperor was dead. In which case, Latrielle would succeed him as next in line to the throne.

“Let’s hope Latrielle shares your views...”

“He told me war is necessary!”

“Yes, but that was before we fought against High Britannia. The knights who were the Empire’s strength were rendered powerless before our enemy’s latest guns. Surely he understands that now.”

We can fight and win—that was the basis for Latrielle’s policy. But with so many of his trained knights having fallen to farmhands with guns, the military would need to be fundamentally restructured. They would need to change their approach.

Altina tilted her head. “You mean he might rethink how he does things?”

“I can’t say what conclusion he’s reached, but he’d have to be a fool to have not changed in the slightest.”

“Latrielle’s the worst, but he’s no fool.”

“He was also conscious of decreasing the nobles’ expenses and restructuring the national budget. You have that in common.”

“Well, yes... He’s the worst, but I can work with him so long as he says that he’ll do away with the wars. Marriage and whatnot is still out of the question, though!” she exclaimed, her cheeks puffed out.

Regis gave a bitter smile. It was a mystery to him why the princess was so against it, but for now, what mattered was her policy going forward.

“Latrielle previously considered war to be the Empire’s main industry,” he began, “but we’ve entered the era of guns. Battles are fought much more differently than ever before. We stand to lose far more than we stand to gain.”

“We have to avoid that no matter what.”

“Yes, pulling back the war fronts is inevitable. If you can find common ground there too, then you might not have to fight against Latrielle at all.”

Altina seemed a little hesitant. “You... may be right. When is Latrielle’s coronation going to be?”

“It definitely won’t be before the funeral. But he has already staked his claim, so I imagine he’ll probably be the main speaker at the address.”

The High Britannian Army was still on imperial territory, so hastening his coronation to avoid a lack of leadership during wartime was a logical move. There were no issues with this as far as Belgarian tradition was concerned, either: Latrielle was next in line to the throne and had managed to drive back the enemy as marshal general, earning him a good reputation among the people.

While he had lost a few noble backers during the commemoration ceremony in April, everyone would obey him once he was crowned. The position of emperor was not chosen by the nobles nor the people—it was an absolute authority passed down through inheritance.

He might have already been crowned... Regis mused, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. After all, it was nothing more than a possibility.

“We don’t have enough information,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s wait for the follow-up report.”

“Hm...”

“Altina?”

Her head was cast down. She gritted her teeth and wiped the corners of her eyes.

“Kh... I... I haven’t... given up... but...”

There was nothing Regis could say. He could only watch as, with trembling shoulders and tightly clenched fists, the princess narrowly squeezed out a faint murmur.

“I wasn’t good enough... was I...?”

What can I do...?

This situation wasn’t in any of Regis’s books; the most he could do was look on as Altina did her best to hold back her tears. He had always known this day would come eventually—the day when his knowledge wasn’t enough, where he was powerless before a situation he knew nothing about. But now that it was actually here, it was like there was a crushing weight pressing against his chest.

...Failed. I failed.

He knew their path was laden with trials, but when he was so harshly faced with the truth, he couldn’t manage to surmount it. The reality began to dawn on him, and it felt as though his stomach was sinking deeper and deeper into a vat of molten lead.

A dull ache spread up through his nose. He had intended to shine a light on Altina’s path, to show her the way forward... but the gates were cruelly shut tight. Was there truly nothing he could do? Perhaps negotiating with Latrielle might offer more advantageous terms. Weren’t there any more assertive moves he could take for her to continue striving to become empress?

I was too passive. I never should have been satisfied with her being second in line.

He hadn’t taken any measures to corner Latrielle, even after promising to ensure that Altina became empress. What kind of a strategist was he? He had gone in with no plan at all. In fact, he had merely sat and waited for the inevitable.

Considering the emperor’s old age, I should have made every second count. Why didn’t I act sooner?!

The answer was obvious: he wasn’t confident enough. That was why he had only ever dealt with the situations immediately before him, never taking any assertive measures. He had only gotten rid of problems, never actually advancing beyond them. Altina being second in line was a huge problem in itself, but he feared what it meant to get rid of Latrielle.

In the end, this defeat was down to his own cowardice. His indolence. His lack of awareness.

Regis gripped the lapels of his uniform. “I’m sorry...” he uttered, his voice quavering.

Altina kept her head down. “Is it over?”

“Those with inheritance rights lose them the moment a new emperor is enthroned. It’s a tradition put in place to prevent civil war.”

There were no laws for the royal family in Belgaria—they were an existence that could not be tied down by anyone. Even when it came to succession, there were no clearly stipulated regulations, only traditions that spanned several generations. But that was what made Latrielle’s looming coronation so tough to overturn. Once he took the throne, Altina would lose her claim. And even if the new emperor died afterward, she would never become empress.

Altina raised her fist... “Even so!” ...then slammed her knuckles against the table with a painful bang. “I will never give up on changing this nation!”

“Altina...”

“That is my goal. Becoming empress was just my means, right?”

“...Right.”

Incredible... Regis thought. He recalled what she had said to Gilbert.

“I started this journey alone. My maid was my only ally.”

When they’d first met, Altina held nothing but the Empire’s treasured sword. She was a commander in name alone—a woman with no authority. But she had boldly challenged the hero Jerome, drawn wisdom from a coward like Regis, and completed orders that were thought to be impossible, all to reach her current position.

There was no denying that one door had closed, but they hadn’t the time to sit around lamenting it. At the very least, Altina was ready to move again. Regis would need to find their new path, and this time, he wouldn’t fail.

With that thought in mind, Regis made a vow. “I... More than the failures of my powerlessness, I fear my own cowardice. But no matter how ignorant and helpless I am, or how much I may fear failure, each time I refuse to act goes against my promise to aid your cause. Wherever, whenever, I must use every ounce of the knowledge at my disposal and keep pressing forward. No matter how uncertain I am. Though I suppose it’s a little too late for all this...”

Altina shook her head. “It’s not too late. We may have lost to Latrielle, but I think that’s because we were lacking something. No matter how terrible the situation is, though—no matter how much we lose, and how painful it might be—it all starts here! I’ll continue striving toward my goal with everything I have. That’s the only way I know how to live... and the only way I want to!”

It was as though the crimson in her eyes had grown even more radiant. Altina was right—it was never too late. She was always looking ahead, and every passing moment was an opportunity for a new start. Even if she were alone, even if she lost her weapon, even if nobody would lend her their wisdom, she would surely never stop in her tracks. She had forged her own path, doing what she thought necessary.

I only pray that I can be a proper guide to her this time.

“Altina... do you still believe in me?”

“Of course! I might not be able to become empress anymore, but I can’t toss away my desire to change this country. I refuse to be a piece in Latrielle’s chess game! Regis, I’ll need you around for a while to come.”

And with that, she held out her right hand, which Regis firmly took in his.

“Thank you. I’ll never betray your trust again.”

Altina smiled, her eyes bleary. “My strategist is the best. I sincerely believe that.”

Regis didn’t want to disappoint her again. In his chest, something that had been frozen all this time finally began to stir...

✧ ✧ ✧

Regis and Altina took their seats to begin discussing what would come next.

“First, we need to look into Prince Latrielle,” Regis proposed. “As I said, based on his policies, you might be better off cooperating with him.”

“Right. Let’s go see him at once!”

“Certainly not. You can’t act too hastily. If we discover that he’s still intending to expand the territory, we won’t be in the best situation.”

“It’d be a whole lot easier if we could settle this with our swords.”

“Altina... do you want a repeat of what happened on the balcony?”

“Gn... I’m not a child anymore. I won’t do that again. I know I’m at a disadvantage in narrow spaces!”

“Is that really the problem here?!”

Altina chuckled at the sudden outburst. “Come on, Regis. I was only kidding.”

“Well, I think you understand my point.”

“Now that you mention it, though—even if we did meet Latrielle, he’d just say whatever convenient things I wanted to hear. That’s the sort of person he is.”

“We need to keep our distance until we’re certain we know his intentions. If Latrielle does take the throne, you’ll need to act as his vassal. But if you can’t sympathize with his ideals, we should avoid forming a clear pecking order.”

“Right. I’m never going to call that guy ‘His Majesty,’” she said, puffing out her cheeks.

Regis offered a wry smile. “Do you hate the prince for political reasons? Or is it because of your childhood?”

“I don’t completely hate him—he’s my brother, after all. But I can’t stand that he’s a liar. He always lies to make things convenient for him.”

“...By that logic, wouldn’t you hate me too?”

“Well, you trick people, but you don’t lie.”

“Hm? Is that so...?”

He hadn’t been aware that this was the impression he gave her. But there were more important things to consider. For now, he decided to send some trustworthy people to the capital to gather information.

That night—

The follow-up report arrived. Liam XV was indeed dead. There was no doubt about it. By the testimony of the grand chamberlain, he had passed away peacefully in his sleep, entrusting the future of the Empire to Latrielle. And as expected, Latrielle proclaimed his succession to the throne. He received a warm welcome from the public since High Britannia was still moving through Belgarian territory.

As the war had yet to settle, Liam XV’s funeral was an informal one. A national funeral would be held at a later date. Latrielle’s official coronation was being postponed along with it, so while he was already conducting himself as the emperor, he had yet to officially take the position and had made no announcements concerning his policies.

One thing was certain, however: the Empire was falling into Latrielle’s hands.