Interlude

On the last day of the commemoration festival, the capital was even merrier than usual. That is, until the oil lamps brought the figures of defeated knights retreating down the main road into view. The merrymakers stopped their singing and put down their bottles, watching in surprise as the knights returned, dragging their feet. Their faces were sunken, pained by loss and despair.

They were the knights belonging to the First Army—the symbol of the Empire’s strength. Those with sharp ears had already heard the news.

“They fought the hero Jerome’s Black Knight Brigade! Marie Quatre’s Army!”

Customers flocked around the information broker who had stampeded into the bar.

“C-Civil war!? A rebellion!?”

“No, Prince Auguste relinquished his succession rights and recommended the fourth princess in his place! And so Prince Latrielle sicced the First Army on ’em, but ended up losing!”

“Even the Black Knights shouldn’t be that strong.”

“Oh, but you see, Marie Quatre’s Army has the tactician Regis! All eyewitness accounts say the bog blazed up like magic and scorched the knights to cinders.”

“The bog was on fire!?”

“Magic, eh...? Wouldn’t surprise me. I hear he captured Fort Volks with only two thousand men.”

“I heard it was two hundred.”

“Two hundred? Oh, come on. That just ain’t possible.”

“They all said Prince Latrielle would become emperor, but... think of all the wars we’re fightin’. If she’s the strongest royal, then we’re better off with Marie Quatre.”

“Don’t be stupid. If it weren’t for Prince Latrielle, the Empire would have fallen a long time ago.”

“Now is the time for the sovereignty of our nation to fall to the people! Democracy!”

“Oh, shut it you!”

“C’mon now...”

“Wait, hold up!”

The uproar didn’t seem like it would die down for a long while to come.

✧ ✧ ✧

Imperial Palace Le Branne—

Bizarre as it was, not a single noble remained in the party hall. Prince Auguste had abdicated his succession rights and nominated Princess Argentina in his place. Then, the Empire’s First Army had been mobilized only to suffer a crushing defeat.

The future that had been so meticulously planned for had been upended in a single night, and the nobles had all gathered with their like-minded fellows to discuss what they would do from here.

Picking up one of the many copious bottles of wine that remained, Latrielle poured its red contents into his glass.

“......”

He was alone, and had been for quite some time, before he was visited by a man who was as pale as a ghost. His gait was unsteady, his once vibrant orange hair now dulled close to white. It was Germain.

“M-My lord...”

“...What happened, my tactician?”

“A-At the very least... please execute me by your own hands.” He was prostrated before him, his shoulders quivering uncontrollably.

Latrielle raised the glass in his hands to his lips, wetting his throat. “Execute you? I know not the offense.”

“I... I... In an attempt to remedy my failure... I sent out the First Army...”

“Yes, they were sent out and then defeated. Who would have guessed that man would set up a trap so close to the capital? Fufu... He surely is a monster.”

“...Your trust... Your trust in me... I’ve tarnished it.”

“Hm. Are the nobles saying I am no longer suitable to become emperor?”

“Kh... Snff... G-Ghh...” The white-haired Germain sobbed, his forehead pressed to the floor.

Latrielle slowly finished his wine. “Fufufu. You say such strange things, dear Germain. Even if what you say is true, this is all my sin. Why should you be executed?”

“...Why?” Germain looked up.

Latrielle filled his glass once more then tilted it to the side, allowing the wine to spill onto the floor. It splattered as it struck the ground, spreading and seeping into the carpet below. Unable to discern the prince’s intentions, Germain fixed his eyes on the growing red stain.

“U-Um...?”

“You see, spilled wine can be drunk no longer. Perhaps the stain it leaves will never fade. But as long as you have the glass, you can always pour more.” He poured wine into his empty glass yet again. “Tell me, Germain, is the color any different to the wine that was spilled? Is the taste any worse?”

“...It... It is no different.”

“See? There is no need to break the glass just because its contents have been spilled once. What we must do is pour it anew. Do you understand, Germain? This is one thing you should never forget. Not only you—it is something we must all keep in mind.”

“Nn... Nng... Waaaaaaaah...!” Germain wailed.

Latrielle, seemingly unfazed, simply swirled the wine in his glass, gazing out across the twinkling town just outside the open window.