Interlude
Interlude
«Phah!» Franka exhaled. She had made her way to the riverbank, a reasonable distance from Regis’s tent, with his bedsheets in hand. «That was a close one!»
“Might I ask that you not use Germanian here?” cautioned Jestina—or at least, the woman who was going by that alias. Her real name was Jessica Schweinzeberg.
“Oh, right.”
“You never know who might be listening...”
“I know, Sis.”
Similarly, Franka’s real name was Franziska Schweinzeberg. She couldn’t sense anyone around, but there was nothing lost in exercising a bit of caution.
“So?” Jessica asked. “How did the search go?”
“We hit the jackpot. I could only find miscellaneous memos, but I think I’ve got a grasp on his plans! Aren’t I amazing? How about some praise?”
“You were only afforded this opportunity because my helping with the sweets bought you some time. I was naturally expecting results.”
“Ah, right. The sweets. Yeah...”
“And the only reason I was doing that was because you claimed to be incapable of cooking. Remember?”
“Sorry...” Franziska muttered. She was certainly stronger than Jessica in terms of brute strength, but she found her sister so terrifying at times that she struggled to even maintain eye contact.
“Well, all that aside...you are probably better off staying well away from Sir Aurick. It was nighttime, and there was some distance between you, but you have occupied the same battlefield in the past. There is a chance he might recognize you.”
“True. Especially seeing as there aren’t all that many girls out there who’re as cute as me.”
“Tell me about his plan.”
Franziska shrunk back as Jessica refused to even acknowledge her comment, but this discouragement didn’t last very long—simply remembering the tactician’s plan made her hair stand on end. The Empire was plotting something truly dreadful.
“You know,” Franziska began, “I’m starting to think that Regis guy is actually a monster in human clothing...”
“We would not have come here unless I shared your suspicion.”
✧ ✧ ✧
About a month prior—
By pure coincidence, or perhaps the guidance of the stars, the Schweinzeberg sisters had come across Third Prince Bastian of the Belgarian Empire. They were subsequently lent a room in the palace, where they spent a night.
Dinner was extravagant, and breakfast was no less impressive. The rows of pompous dishes almost made one forget that an enemy army had very nearly reached the capital just the other day. There was vegetable soup, fresh salad, rare roast beef, soft bread, and thick slices of succulent-looking ham.
Perhaps because the prince had ordered that they be welcomed as guests, the sisters had not needed to endure any background checks whatsoever. As a result, they were easily able to amass the information they needed at the very center of the nation.
That night, the three girls shared their findings.
“Looks like Gil wasn’t hanged after all,” Franziska noted.
Jessica nodded, not seeming all that surprised; she could make up for any information she wasn’t able to gather with her divinations. The youngest sister Martina, in contrast, threw up her arms in joy.
“Great news!”
“Yep!” Franziska replied with a nod. “Super-great news!”
“It will most likely be impossible to save him,” Jessica interjected curtly.
“Huh?! Why?!” Franziska cried, slamming a hand against the table in outrage.
“First of all, we would struggle to rescue him with just the three of us. The imperial army is wary of our brigade’s remaining forces plotting to retrieve him, and they are no doubt already looking for us.”
“That’s why we’re regrouping with the others from Renard Pendu, right? Isn’t that why we came to the capital in the first place?”
“Yes. This city is where information gathers,” Jessica replied. Just as planned, she had spent the entire day gathering as much intel as possible.
“So why is it going to be impossible?!”
“Because at this rate, we will not even be able to save Renard Pendu...”
“What? Even without Gil, they’re still a force to be reckoned with, right? They might be outnumbered several times over by the imperial army, but I still can’t see them losing!”
Franziska had fought alongside the mercenaries a number of times before. They had not been granted their current positions due to favoritism of any kind—their reputations were nothing if not well-earned.
“I would not usually worry about them, but...” Jessica sighed. “They are in danger right now.”
“Right now? What’s happening?”
“In a joint venture with Langobarti, the High Britannian Army has occupied the fortified city of Grebeauvoir. Naturally, Renard Pendu is with them.”
“Why’d they go off occupying a city of all things?”
“I assume their intention is to publicize Belgaria’s exhausted state to anyone paying attention. Should they manage to hold the city for, say, half a year, some countries will come under the impression that the imperial army is no longer anything to fear.”
“I see! Well, those imperials did take a massive hit. I think the High Britannians have got a fighting chance.”
“Belgaria is sending its First Army to recapture the city. They are due to depart in one week’s time.”
“So Latrielle is joining the battle, eh? I hear he’s already set up to be the next emperor. To think he’s going out himself... What a hard worker.”
“Perhaps he feels the need to prove himself, particularly considering that all of the Empire’s achievements in this war belong to Fourth Princess Argentina. The problem is not the commander, however.”
“What are you concerned about then?”
“Regis d’Aurick,” Jessica replied, allowing that sinister name to pass her lips. “He was invited to join the campaign as a tactician.”
“Urk.”
In its early stages, the High Britannian invasion had proceeded even smoother than expected: the Belgarian officers were more pigheaded than anticipated, and they had failed to devise any competent measures against the new guns. The only exceptions were Argentina and the Fourth Army—they had fought back the steamships that were thought to hold an insurmountable advantage, and then they had gone on to crush High Britannia’s supply unit.
Rumor had it that the tactician Regis d’Aurick was responsible for these accomplishments. This man’s bizarre decision to create fog out of seemingly nowhere was the only reason Mercenary King Gilbert was now captured.
Before the war had started, Franziska was given the task of sealing Argentina’s army inside Volks. Much to her dismay, however, the unit she had marched toward the fortress was bested in a single night. She had consequently been unable to stall the fourth princess, and to make matters worse, this failure had earned her a scolding from Gilbert. Simply hearing the tactician’s name now gave her goosebumps.
“So that tactician is joining the campaign... Isn’t he one of Argentina’s men though?” Franziska asked.
“Perhaps the prince petitioned him; maybe Sir Aurick has even turned coat. There are all sorts of rumors going around, but such details are not important. All that matters is that they will leave the capital in a week.”
“Urgh... But no matter how monstrous of a strategist that man is, he surely can’t recapture a fortified city so easily.”
Jessica shrugged. “Such optimism can be a virtue. I respect that.”
“So things aren’t looking too good for us, huh?”
“If we do not act now, we will miss our opportunity.”
“Gotcha. What do we need to do then?” Franziska asked. She was a mercenary who had raced across many a battlefield; she would not hesitate to fight if she had to.
“Okay!” Martina exclaimed, balling her hands into fists. “Martina will do her best!”
“Indeed. The three of us will pull this off,” Jessica said with a nod. “We will save Renard Pendu from the jaws of death...and rescue our brother.”
Franziska could sense that things weren’t going to be easy. Reuniting with the Renard Pendu mercenaries holed up in Grebeauvoir was their first challenge, and even if they somehow managed that, they would only number seven hundred in total. This was nothing compared to the ten thousand or so stationed at Fort Volks, where Gilbert was presumably being held.
Any normal person would’ve given up by now, Franziska thought. Her sister Jessica, however, was heralded as a magician—she could make her way through any situation, no matter how desperate.
“First, let us make use of that naive third prince...”
✧ ✧ ✧
The three sisters began looking for Bastian, asking any servants they passed along the way where he might be. They had been afforded the dresses of Belgarian noblewomen, meaning they were able to walk around the palace without drawing much attention to themselves, and they continued their search until eventually reaching the hallway leading to the Ministry of Military Affairs.
“Well, if it isn’t my hard-ass brother...” spoke a familiar male voice.
“Back from High Britannia, are you? I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece.”
They had spotted Bastian, but the situation was far from one where Franziska could call out to him; the third prince was confronting a general who was clearly ranked extremely highly in the military. The sisters hid in the shadow of a nearby pillar and watched the conversation unfold.
Wait a second... Bastian just called that man his brother. Does that mean...that blondie over there is Prince Latrielle?!
Franziska was unarmed, since the dress she was wearing had nowhere to conceal any weapons. Her mind raced as she tried to process the situation.
If the second prince notices we’re from Renard Pendu, can we outrun him? Nah, not happening... Maybe I could, but Jessica’s slow, and we’ve got Martina with us too.
There was nothing they could do but continue to watch in silence.
Bastian sighed. “Man, you can’t imagine what I’ve been through. I was chased, shot at, forced to leap into a river—you name it.”
“It just goes to show that you need to settle down somewhere. Find a place for yourself, whether it be in politics, the military, or whatever else you desire. Do you not think it’s about time you started working for the sake of the nation?”
“In other words, you want me to support you. You’re not even emperor yet, but you sure are starting to speak like one.”
“Does that displease you...?”
“Nah. I don’t really care, to be honest. Altina and I are idiots; we’re just not cut out for this kind of stuff. There is one thing, though—I used to think politics was such a bore, but maybe you can weigh in on something...O brother of mine.”
“Hm?”
“What would you think if I said Belgaria needs its own parliament?”
Latrielle was taken by surprise for a moment, and then he burst into laughter. Bastian had always refused to listen to his tutors, and now he was not only bringing up politics, but also making the sort of proposal one would expect from a liberalist.
“I never know what to expect from you,” Latrielle said with a wry smile. “You made an interesting friend over in High Britannia, I assume?”
“Well, I can’t deny that I’m borrowing this knowledge from a friend. I think I understand it somewhat, though.”
“The idea is absurd. There is no issue with the Empire’s current legislative process. Under our current system, the emperor’s power reaches from the highest to the very lowest rungs of society; we have no need for an organization that would oppose him. Remember this: the emperor is an absolute, inviolable entity.”
“Hm... Well, I’m sure you’d make a great emperor, Latrielle, but what about when you’re all old and dried up? There’s no guarantee your kids will share your talents.”
Latrielle frowned. “If we end up in such a situation, we will merely rid ourselves of those who aren’t worthy.”
“Oi!” Bastian exclaimed, fixing Latrielle with a glare. “D’you mean...?!”
“I’m sure you’ve already heard the news.”
Bastian wasted no time in reaching into his breast pocket. “Then, Bro... Did you... Did you actually...?!”
“Hmph. Had I denied it, would you have believed me?”
“That’s gotta be going too far!” Bastian yelled. He moved to draw his dagger, but no sooner had his fingers grazed the handle than a silver blade shot toward him at an abnormal speed. It was the second prince’s single-edged blade, the Armée Victoire Volonté, and its tip now rested mere inches from Bastian’s right hand.
Bastian froze; continuing his attempt to draw his dagger would only result in his hand getting impaled. Backstepping to a safer distance was an option, but there was no guarantee that Latrielle wouldn’t close the distance just as quickly. To make matters worse, a dagger was at a clear disadvantage against a longsword. Bastian had no trouble slicing through a normal weapon, but the blade focused on him was made of trystie, the same as his own.
A chill ran down Bastian’s spine. “You serious...?” he sighed. “Were you always this fast, or have I gotten slower?”
“There was never any reason for me to get serious while sparring against someone eight years my junior.”
Bastian gritted his teeth. So he’s always been holding back, eh?
“I am prepared to eat mud for the future of the Empire,” Latrielle continued. “How about you? What have you done for our nation? What can you do?”
“I’ve...been giving it some thought. Do nations really exist for the good of the people? I just don’t see it. If someone is born a commoner here in Belgaria, how can they be happy? Is putting up with taxes so that nobles can live in luxury supposed to give them purpose? Don’t you think that’s unfair?”
“Yes, it’s very unfair. What’s your point?”
“What...?!”
“You’re not seeing the bigger picture. You wish to create a fair nation, but how can such a society maintain an unshakable army? How will it nurture exemplary commanders, who are required to lead when barbarians or other nations attack? Liberalism and all its proponents—how will they protect the nation?”
“There are exemplary commoners too, though, right?”
“It is foolish to rely on exceptions. Competency is not about one’s blood; it is about their environment. Nobles receive far superior education—it is from infancy that they begin to learn how to manage the land and its people, as well as how to lead armies. Could a commoner do the same?”
“I-In that case, we just need to educate the commoners too, right?”
“Education costs time and money, both of which are always in short supply. Belgaria does not have the surplus to give every commoner an education, so which commoners would you grace with this opportunity? And how would you make that decision?”
“......”
“If you give only a select few the privilege of an education, that is no different from the restrictive system of nobility that is currently in place.”
“Erk...”
“Bastian, are you beginning to understand the value of all the opportunities you have thus far refused to engage with? It’s not too late to improve yourself—to strive for more. If you commit to your studies, you can become a minister or a general. I’ll even help you get there,” Latrielle said, pulling back his sword. “Work for the Empire. A prosperous nation will save many citizens, don’t you agree?”
“You’re telling me to shut up and accept all the inequalities around us...?” Bastian replied, unable to offer any other rebuttal.
“I’m saying it’s far better than watching everything crumble under the might of foreign powers. I’m happy to hear that you’ve taken an interest in politics—I shall allow you to preach your ideals as much as you want, and I will gladly keep company with you—but if you get in my way, I will consider you an enemy. You will receive no mercy from me then.”
“Ngh...”
It was only after Latrielle had gone that Franziska finally slipped out from the shadows. “H-Hey...” she stammered, struggling to greet the third prince.
“Hm? Oh, you three. Did you see any of that?”
“Aha... A little bit...”
“Good grief. You couldn’t have caught me at a more awkward time. Could you keep this between us?”
“Ah! ’Course I can!” Franziska replied, nodding again and again. Martina shot up her hands with similar enthusiasm and an earnest “Sure!”
Jessica, however, courteously lowered her head to Bastian. “I wish to apologize...and ask you a favor.”
“A favor, eh?” the prince repeated.
“We cannot allow ourselves to be treated as guests forever. I was wondering if you could write us a letter of introduction so that we might find work.”
“You reached out to that friend of yours, right?”
Such was the lie the three sisters were going with. Their ultimate goal, of course, was to rescue their brother Gilbert from the Fourth Army.
“I have sent a letter, but there is no guarantee I will get a favorable reply. I heard rumors of a tactician who does not yet have any service staff...so I was wondering if perhaps I could tend to him.”
“You want to be a maid, huh? Well, sure. Why not?”
Well, that was easy... This prince is way too clueless. Deceiving him is almost effortless! Franziska thought. Of course, she knew not to speak her mind.
Jessica offered a few words of gratitude before bowing her head once again. “As for my apology...I initially did not know who you were, so I introduced myself under a false name.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Yes. My real name is—”
Jessica had gone as far as to prepare handkerchiefs embroidered with the false name she was about to assume.
Bastian gave an understanding nod. “Got it. I’ll put in a good word wherever you want, but you’re probably better off leaving the child here,” he said, crouching down in front of Martina.
Upon hearing those words, Franziska broke out in a cold sweat. She felt as though something had suddenly clamped down on her heart.
“Okay! Marchena will stay!” Martina declared, throwing up her arms again.
“Good girl.”
So he’s willing to introduce us, but he wants a hostage. And a child, no less! He really is Belgarian royalty. Can’t let my guard down around him, but what do we do?
In stark contrast to the panicking Franziska, Jessica offered a calm nod. “As you wish. Please be good to Marchena,” she said.
“You’re okay with this, Sis?!”
“Franka. I know that you want to keep her close, but we cannot take a child to a battlefield. We must not waste this goodwill.”
“I-Is that all right...?”
“Of course. She will be much safer here than where we are headed. Do you understand, Marchena? Do not cause any trouble, okay?”
“Okaaay!”
Jessica was not the sort of person who would sacrifice her little sister to save her brother—at least, that was what Franziska wanted to believe, but she couldn’t subdue her concerns. She even wished that she could have taken Martina’s place.
“Good luck out there, Fran!” Martina chirped, giving her sister a big hug.
“...Thanks. I’ll come back for you, no matter what,” Franziska replied, wrapping her arms tightly around the girl’s tiny body.