Chapter 4: Imperial Abdication

June 6th, early morning—

Latrielle glared down from the watchtower as the High Britannian vanguard closed in on Fort Boneire. His vision had recovered enough that he could now get through each day without assistance, though not enough for him to be able to fully grasp the situation below. From so high up, he could not even make out the enemy’s numbers.

The fact that Latrielle was stuck in such close quarters with his soldiers and staff officers meant he needed to use his wit to keep his failing eyesight concealed. To this end, he supplemented the vague shapes he could see with Germain’s purposely detailed explanations.

“My, Sir Latrielle, what do you think they’re doing with thirty cannons? Have they grown irritated, seeing that their long-range bombardments had no effect?”

“We can only hope it’s something so benign.”

“Shield-bearing soldiers and riflemen... There look to be around two thousand in total. That’s the same formation they used to take out the Seventh Army, too. Even if we charge straight at them, I imagine we’ll have a hard time pushing them back.”

“Indeed,” the prince nodded, pretending to examine the enemy troops. In reality, he was arranging his thoughts solely around Germain’s verbal explanation—a combination of what was going on below and his own advice as a staff officer. “What do you think about the movements of their main force?” he asked, taking care to keep his question indirect.

“It certainly is conspicuous that they’ve started rearranging their shields and riflemen since the vanguard made its move, but nothing else seems to stand out... Perhaps they don’t intend to expose their main force to danger, but I have to admit, their measures seem considerably half-baked.”

The High Britannian Army was allegedly under the command of Oswald Coulthard. He was a man who nonchalantly employed measures that were far from humane, but it was believed he had very little experience in actual wars—High Britannia rarely waged them with foreign powers, and there hadn’t been any large-scale civil wars in quite some time.

Latrielle had made his resolve. Now it’s my turn, vile serpent.

“Deploy the twenty thousand we have outside the fort on our right flank, and open the south gate. We will make it seem as though we are preparing to charge, but this is simply a diversion. Ensure our men are at no point within the range of enemy rifles. We shall send our cavalry from behind—from the north gate—and have them ambush the vanguard from the left. If we can force the enemy into a position where they must protect themselves on three sides, their defenses will inevitably weaken.”

“Understood, sir!”

There would still be casualties—that much was inevitable. But if they allowed the enemy to come much closer with their cannons, there was a chance that the next bombardment would succeed in breaching the fortress’s stone walls.

Fort Boneire was not equipped with very many cannons itself, which meant it was possible they would fail to crush their advancing opponent in an exchange of gunfire. Even in the case that they were able to destroy the enemy’s thirty cannons, doing so might cost the First Army their defensive walls, placing them at a considerably greater disadvantage when it came to holding their position for the required duration. Exchanging some cavalry for thirty cannons, however, was not such a bad trade.

Latrielle turned his gaze to the distance. He was still unable to see, but each day, he awaited the arrival of an urgent notice from the west. If Argentina’s Fourth Army could sever High Britannia’s supply chain...

“No word from her yet,” Germain said, having followed the prince’s gaze.

Latrielle exhaled deeply. “If she does manage it, we’ll have a lot more options.”

“Anything is better than being stuck on the defensive. It would do something for our declining morale, too. But the enemy should withdraw before we’re forced to resort to anything drastic.”

“Yes, they’re not foolish enough to wait until the very last moment, when their ammunition has run out, to begin their retreat.”

“They could always fool us into thinking they have more bullets than they actually do.”

“A pointless endeavor. Once their men learn of the situation, we’ll immediately start to see deserters. And with twenty thousand troops, they can’t prevent such information from leaking out,” Latrielle replied, closing his eyes to give them a brief moment of reprieve.

“Still...” Germain groaned. “Can the Fourth Army really win?”

“They already did at sea.”

An express message announcing the defeat of the Queen’s Navy had previously arrived. The issue was that, by the time the port was secured, ten thousand supply carriers under the command of the Mercenary King had already departed.

The battle between Gilbert and the Fourth Army should be over by now. But it took a little over two days for even the fastest horse to make it from western La Frenge to Fort Boneire.

Germain lowered his voice. “Say they lose...”

“Then we’ll have to go out and meet the enemy. If we wait until they join with the Mercenary King and reclaim their supplies, our chances of victory will grow even slimmer. We’ll need to scatter the forces here, then fight back the supply unit alone.”

“That... Yes, that does sound like the only option...”

“Indeed,” Latrielle said with an inaudible sigh. It was chaotic enough just thinking about it.

If only they had one more month, they could call troops from the Empire’s outermost regions to form an even greater army. This, of course, came with its own risks—every war front had deliberately been left with enough troops to fend off any potential advances, so bringing men from these provincial regions risked them getting occupied. But even then...

“Can a princess beat a king?” was the main question on the mind of every officer in the First Army. The majority had already concluded that it wasn’t likely, to the point that the common soldier was already starting to wonder, “What plan will Latrielle come up with once High Britannia’s supplies arrive?”

The Empire’s First Army had remained undefeated thus far, and while they had fallen victim to a surprise attack, they hadn’t necessarily lost. Was it not only logical that they would win again? Naturally, such optimistic notions did not go unopposed—many had grown pessimistic following the incineration of the White Wolf Brigade, as well as the defeats of the Second and Seventh Armies.

The bray of a horse dragged Latrielle from his thoughts.

“Our White Hare Brigade has gone out on the right flank!” Germain exclaimed, pointing down below.

“Good.”

The First Army boasted three knight brigades, with the White Hares being revered for their speedy horses.

“The Seventh Army’s cavalry is also leaving through the front.”

Second-grade combat officer Coignièra had only fifty horsemen at his command. The Seventh Army had never had many to begin with, and now this was all that remained. As the enemy would need to look uphill to see them, however, they could easily disguise their lacking numbers; there were foot soldiers armed with long spears standing behind the cavalry, making them seem like a force that couldn’t be ignored.

As expected, the enemy vanguard rearranged its shields and riflemen in preparation to meet them.

The hooves of the White Hares’ horses thundered as they advanced from the right, making sure to keep their distance and firing only warning shots. The Seventh Army likewise readied their spears and stomped the earth, pretending to ready for a charge.

One beat behind, a separate cavalry unit ambushed the enemy from the left. They were the Sun Knights, led by Lieutenant General Buxerou of the Third Army. Faster than the wind, they plunged straight into the High Britannian vanguard, paying no mind to the gunshots and cannonfire tearing toward them from the enemy’s main camp. Their horsemen began dropping like flies and yet they continued forward, as unwavering as an arrow shot from a bow.

The officers surrounding Latrielle cheered at the sight.

“The Third Army’s cavalry is being visibly whittled away by only two thousand foes...” Germain whispered. “This confirms it: we’ll suffer immense losses if we send our men directly at their main force.”

“Indeed.”

At present, Latrielle had close to four thousand horsemen under him—a force that would usually be able to overwhelm any opponent. Losing more than half that number in a frontal charge, however, would make it considerably harder to maintain the Empire’s army henceforth.

Indeed, winning was not the only objective.

“Regardless, it appears the plan is a success, my lord.”

“A small success.”

“Admittedly. But as our men were becoming increasingly pessimistic, this victory will surely provide them a great boost in courage!”

Overhearing this remark, the other officers watching the battle exchanged words of general agreement.

His vision hazy, Latrielle watched as the fuzzy contours of the enemy’s vanguard began to crumble. “Hm...?” He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“Oh, it seems the enemy is falling back—rather, they are fleeing entirely! This is undoubtedly a great success for the Sun Knights; High Britannia’s command fell apart the moment they realized they were no match for them!”

“Don’t chase them. We’ve prevented a point-blank cannon barrage. That’s enough.”

“Yes, sir!”

These orders were conveyed to those below using flag signals. For a moment, Latrielle feared that the Sun Knights might continue to rush forward, thirsting for glory... but Buxerou promptly reined them in, keeping his men well away from the enemy’s main forces.

Once again, the officers let out joyous cheers. Germain seemed excited as well.

“My lord! Lieutenant General Buxerou has managed to capture the enemy’s cannons! If we couple those with the height advantage of our position, then they won’t be able to approach us!”

“Right...”

“Hm? Is something the matter?”

“They willingly divided their forces, and their response to our cavalry charge was conveniently shoddy... When considered alongside the fact they abandoned their cannons instead of destroying them, do you not think something strange is afoot?”

Latrielle considered his opponent Oswald to be a venomous serpent. He knew the man was a sly one, and so he couldn’t wipe away the suspicion that this was somehow a trap.

Germain cocked his head to one side. “Do you think they’re rigged to explode?”

“I wonder...”

“We’ll give them a thorough inspection once we’ve fully secured them.”

“As you should.”

Whatever the case, gunpowder did not pose a threat unless it was ignited, and it would certainly be hard to miss any lit fuses. The imperial army used cannons as well, and so they knew how to handle them with care.

Even as the enemy vanguard retreated, the bombardment from High Britannia’s main camp continued. Belgarian casualties continued to rise as Latrielle’s men became easier targets, the heavy cannons considerably slowing their movement speed... but what they were due to gain would be worth more than double their losses.

A great many soldiers gathered at the front gate to welcome High Britannia’s latest cannons—the Type-41 Elswicks. It wasn’t long before the crowd erupted in cheers, singing the praises of Lieutenant General Buxerou and his Sun Knights. By this point, the White Hares and remnants of the Seventh Army had already returned to their barracks.

So long as they used these captured goods well, Belgaria could turn the war to their advantage. The soldiers lugged the massive cannons through the gate, making sure to bring the barrels of gunpowder and ammunition, cart and all.

Then, through the enthusiastic roars, a bugle sounded.

It came from High Britannia’s camp, but what could it mean? The enemy neither charged nor changed formation, yet even in the absence of any movement, the high-pitched sound continued to blare.

Germain stared out across the battlefield in total bemusement. “N-Nothing’s happening... What are they—”

All of a sudden, a blinding flash stole his vision. Had the fortress been struck by lightning? The abrupt impact threw the standing soldiers into the air.

“Gah!?” Germain let out a sharp gasp as he was knocked backward, dropping to the ground.

Latrielle had managed to stay upright, but the bright light only intensified the pain in his eyes. “Nngh...” He pressed against them with his thumb and index finger, and it was only then that he realized—were his ears now failing him, too? The worrying silence seemed to drag on forever, until eventually, a far-off voice seemed to reach him.

“...lord!”

“Hm...?”

“My lord!”

“Germain...? Are you all right?”

“I-I am! I’m all right, but... not everyone was so lucky. Many seem to have damaged their eyes and ears, and a few sustained hip injuries from the impact.”

Those closest to the window appeared to have suffered the most; a few men groaned in pain as they writhed around on the floor.

Much to his own relief, Latrielle’s hearing was slowly coming back to him. Given his already poor condition, had he gone deaf as well, the war would have been as good as over.

“What happened?”

Germain clasped the ledge of the tower window and propped himself up. But as he began to assess the situation below, the color drained from his face. “No...! My lord... The g-gate has... collapsed.”

“What? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It’s as if we faced an onslaught of a thousand cannons. It’s all... Everything’s been entirely reduced to rubble. The soldiers who were gathered, and the Sun Knights, they’re... they’re nowhere to be seen! It’s as barren as a desert down there! There’s nothing but smoke!” Germain replied, becoming more and more panicked to the point that he was practically wailing.

Latrielle was dumbfounded. “It was a trap after all...”

“What!?”

“Something triggered the gunpowder to explode. I don’t fully understand it, but it must have been the bugle.”

“The bugle...?”

“It’s a terrifying thought, but... perhaps they had someone hiding inside one of their ammunition barrels, underneath the shells.”

“That’s absurd! If they did that, then...”

“...the person who started the explosion would be blown away too,” Germain had wanted to say, but he quickly found himself unable to speak. He knew—they all knew—that there were people who would follow orders without question, even if doing so cost them their lives. Was it loyalty? Faith? Familial honor? No one could say. But at times, a mission was valued more than one’s own life.

Latrielle grit his teeth. “He got us... His objective was to make us bring those explosives back into the fort.”

“How callous can one man be...?”

There were commanders who ordered their men to charge, knowing that death was more than likely; superior officers who meted out harsh punishments to unsuccessful subordinates; and soldiers who wildly fired their weapons when a battle turned chaotic, taking out friend and foe alike. But this was the first time Latrielle had come up against a commander who would order a mission where even success resulted in certain death.

He closed his eyes. Anger. Irritation. Fear. He needed to swallow his emotions and calmly analyze the situation. Allowing himself to get flustered would cost him the war.

When Latrielle finally opened his eyes again, he was glaring straight at the enemy. The smoke was beginning to clear, and he could tell that the faint black haze at the bottom of the hill was slowly advancing upon them.

“They don’t seem to be charging... Are they that convinced of victory? No, much the opposite—they’re wary. I see. They don’t yet have a grasp on how bad our casualties are.”

“I see,” Germain replied with a nod.

Latrielle turned his back to the window. “As a tactician, I am second-rate. But as a knight, I don’t intend to lose to anyone. Those who can stand, grab a spear! Anyone who can move, follow me! We’ll show them the true pride of the Empire!”

“He’s going into battle! His Highness is going into battle!”

The surrounding men picked up their spears and stood, a tinge of color returning to their pale faces.

“Oh, the prince!?”

“It’s time to show them just how strong we are!”

“High Britannia’s gonna get more than it bargained for!”

As word quickly spread through the fort that Latrielle was headed to the front lines, the officers who had just moments ago resigned themselves to defeat mounted their horses with weapons in hand.

In no time at all, a little over thirteen thousand soldiers amassed in front of what had once been the gate. The attack on the enemy’s vanguard and the subsequent explosion had put seven thousand out of commission—seven thousand soldiers and the gate to their fortress, for a mere thirty cannons.

Once again, Latrielle reaffirmed that he wasn’t well suited to stratagem. When it came to deception, his foe was a cut above the rest, and protecting a fortress without a gate seemed a near impossible feat. He drew his sword, mounted his trusty steed, and looked over his soldiers. Their will to fight was palpable; they knew that the Empire’s continued existence hinged on this very battle.

Twenty thousand Belgarian troops were still stationed outside the fortress, making their forces over thirty thousand strong in total. However, not even these numbers guaranteed success in a head-on clash.

In Latrielle’s hand was the Armée Victoire Volonté—one of seven blades forged from trystie and bestowed unto L’Empereur Flamme. It was a single-edged straight sword that glimmered silver, believed to bring the wielder victory when two large armies clashed.

“All troops of Belgaria! Follow my lead!”

Spurring his warhorse forward, Latrielle scaled the mountain of rubble—the remains of what had once protected them. Germain lined up beside him, as well as Coignièra of the Seventh Army and the other staff officers who raced to the forefront. Despite their determination, the soldiers’ optimism was at an all-time low; unless the top brass took the lead, it was unlikely that anyone would actually leave the fortress.

Latrielle spoke briefly, offering his utmost gratitude to these fine men for their loyalty and valor. All that remained was to give the order for them to charge down the hill. And yet, before he could, he noticed that the High Britannian Army was already pulling away.

“The enemy retreats!” Germain exclaimed.

Latrielle slowed his horse. “What happened...?”

“A messenger, Sir Latrielle! Bearing the flag of the Fourth Army!” Coignièra shouted, pointing into the distance.

Unrest quickly spread among the soldiers; this messenger would no doubt inform them who had come out on top in the Fourth Army’s battle against the supply unit. High Britannia must have received a similar message, and whatever it said caused them to fall back.

The officers, who had just moments ago resolved to give their lives in a desperate charge, now noisily awaited the news. The messenger must have come with considerable haste, as his horse collapsed moments before he reached them, a thick foam coming from its mouth. He leapt down and sprinted the rest of the way, finally presenting a wax-sealed note to the prince.

“For you, sir!”

“Message received!” Germain answered, stepping in to take the letter himself. He undid the seal, spread open the paper, and quickly skimmed the contents... then closed one eye as he handed it to Latrielle. The prince knew what this meant; this was a sign they had agreed upon in advance.

Text was still mostly illegible to Latrielle—while he could read it when brought right up to his face, he couldn’t risk his impaired vision becoming known among his subordinates. For that reason, he spent a moment pretending to carefully examine the letter before making a declaration to his troops.

“Attention, men! Attention! The Empire’s Fourth Army has succeeded in taking out the enemy supply unit!”

With that, Latrielle shoved the letter into Germain’s hands, as if silently insisting that it was his job to recite the message—not that Germain had any complaints about this.

“‘We of the Fourth Army have crushed the High Britannian supply unit, successfully capturing their supplies. We have taken a number of mercenaries prisoner, including the Mercenary King Gilbert; know that the enemy shall not receive any replenishments or reinforcements. As fourteen thousand of our soldiers will arrive by midday on the 9th, the First Army need not do anything drastic...! Focus on defense! Over!’” Germain read aloud, practically shrieking with excitement by the time he reached the end. “It’s our victory, my lord!”

Latrielle glared upward, his eyes watering as he thrust his treasured sword toward the sky. “O Lord in heaven... Glory be to Belgaria!”

The soldiers let loose a tremendous cheer, thrusting up their spears, clanging their swords, and beating at their shields like drums. Men shook hands and tightly hugged one another, many bursting into tears as they were overwhelmed with relief and a flood of other emotions.

As the men continued to celebrate, Latrielle dismounted his horse, sheathed his sword at his waist, and exchanged a firm, reassured handshake with Germain.

✧ ✧ ✧

That same day, afternoon—

Latrielle returned to the imperial palace, La Branne, bringing along Germain and only ten armored guards. He had yet to even brush the dust of the battlefield from his clothes, but such was the level of urgency. Nobles scowled as he passed and a few maids let out surprised yelps, but he hadn’t the time to care about prettying himself up.

As they walked, Germain finished reading aloud the documents that the staff officers had compiled.

“...What do you think of their proposal?”

“Indeed. If His Majesty permits it, I shall gather the ministers and have it worked into the budget.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We managed to drive back High Britannia, but our losses are great. We need to hurry and rebuild our warfronts, lest we see a repeat of the days of Emperor Vicente.”

The previous emperor, Vicente, had placed an emphasis on the arts, and his many contributions to culture could never be understated. This fixation, however, was also his greatest flaw—he selected his cabinet based on their skill in poetry, dismissing military generals simply because they couldn’t appreciate a good performance. As a result, the warfronts collapsed.

The Empire lost so much land under Vicente’s reign that hostile armies were soon encroaching on the capital, and it wasn’t long after that the emperor suddenly succumbed to illness.

There were various theories surrounding Vicente’s death, especially considering his young age, with some wondering whether he had been assassinated by the military. The truth remained a mystery, but had he ruled another five years, the Belgarian Empire surely would have fallen into ruin.

Succeeding Vicente was the current emperor, Liam XV. He himself was still young when he took the throne, and so a capable man by the name of Corneille was appointed to the position of marshal general. He reconstructed the warfronts and pushed back the enemy nations.

In the end, Corneille would draw his final breath in a foreign land.

Vicente and Corneille each came to be revered after their deaths—Vicente by artists, and Corneille by soldiers who saw him as the hero who saved the country. Latrielle respected them both, but also learned from their mistakes: neglecting the military would mean the fall of the Empire, but scorning the arts would make Belgaria a nation of cultureless men no better than beasts.

As he walked down the palace corridor, he could hear maddened melodies and vulgar laughter coming from one of the rooms. It couldn’t have been a victory party as the outcome of the battle had yet to arrive—that was partly why Latrielle was there in the first place.

Germain grimaced. “What nerve. One wrong step and it would have been the High Britannian Army walking these halls...”

“It is proof of their trust in the First Army,” Latrielle said calmly. “Leave them be.”

“Sir, they’re drinking the day away while so many soldiers have been fighting to protect the capital,” Germain replied. He spoke in a lowered voice, but the anger behind his words was still palpable.

Latrielle shared the sentiment. “Something has to change, Germain. By our hand. And not long from now. There is no place for such indolence in the imperial palace; their seats must be given to loyal subjects who actually contribute to the Empire.”

“Certainly.”

“He should reach his decision soon...”

“...About the succession, you mean?”

“In this war, as the First Army sortied, His Majesty did not even see us off. Belgaria cannot survive unless it continues to fight. If the man cannot stand on the battlefield, then his abdication is inevitable.”

Germain responded with a nod.

I’ll broach the subject once I’ve given my report, Latrielle decided. Up to that point, he had been so fearful of displeasing the emperor that he had avoided bringing up the possibility of an abdication. However, the situation encircling the Empire worsened by the day.

High Britannia could work alongside other foreign powers, mass-produce their new guns, and return with two or three times the troops. In such a case, Belgaria stood no chance of pushing them back. They had evidently already formed a partnership with at least a portion of Germania.

The Empire would need to increase its efforts and erect countermeasures... or else.

Farther down the hall, they spotted the grand chamberlain. He didn’t appear to be waiting to greet them, so Latrielle stopped and wondered whether something had happened.

An old man by this point, the grand chamberlain reverently lowered his head. “Why, Prince Latrielle. I must commend your splendid work on the battlefield.”

For many years now, Belgaria had only invaded other nations, so they weren’t used to being on the receiving end. And in battle, they were undefeated. The truth of such statements was in reality rather questionable, but whatever the case, “splendid work” had become the template salutation to anyone returning from combat.

Still deeply pained by their immense number of casualties and the catastrophic damage to Fort Boneire, Latrielle wanted to scream, “There’s nothing splendid about it!” But he bit his tongue and saluted.

“Thank you. Is His Majesty in his study?”

“No, he is currently resting.”

“Oh?”

It was still midday, and afternoon naps were by no means an established custom in Belgaria.

“He said that his health was failing him.”

“Is that so? Then I must pay him a visit to wish him well.”

“I ask that you please wait, Prince... He has only just retired.”

“If I see that he is asleep, I will leave him be and return later.”

“Disrupting His Majesty’s rest is impermissible, even if you are his son.”

“I bring reports of the battlefield. And I must urgently consult with him on the policies we are to take henceforth.”

“That certainly is important. All the more reason to wait for him to awaken.”

The grand chamberlain remained firm. It seemed that he wouldn’t let them through no matter what.

Latrielle narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “I would understand if we had arrived late at night. But at this hour...? The sovereign who shoulders the fate of the Empire can neither hear a report nor discuss the nation’s impending crisis?”

“His Majesty’s bed chambers are not to be sullied with such matters.”

Latrielle clenched his fists. While the white-haired fogy was indulging in his precious sleep, Germania might have been mass-producing those new guns, or perhaps High Britannia was developing another ship of the line.

If you’re so desperate to sleep, take up arms! Lead an army to crush the enemy! Then you can sleep as much as you want!

As Latrielle and the grand chamberlain stood glaring at one another, a few maids started passing them by—five in total. They seemed to be carrying clay pots and fruit, as well as silk napkins and water jugs.

“You. Wait.” Latrielle suddenly closed in on one of the women.

“Y-Yes?” she stammered, immediately cowering from his stern tone.

“What’s that you have there?”

“Eh? E-Err... Chapoire Rouge 772, sir.”

He wasn’t concerned about the brand. It was wine.

“Why is someone so ill and bedridden in need of wine?” Latrielle asked, his voice now a low, beast-like growl. Words were unnecessary at this point. He ignored the grand chamberlain completely and walked onward, the man who had blocked him just moments ago now stepping back in the face of such sheer intensity.

Germain followed, as did their ten guards.

They soon came to a large door, beyond which the carpet was a deep shade of crimson—a subtle contrast to the usual lighter red that decorated the floors elsewhere in the palace. From this point onward, only the emperor and his family were permitted entry, with special exceptions being made for attendants and maids.

As Germain naturally came to a stop, Latrielle turned back to him. “Come. I don’t give a damn anymore.”

“Ah... Y-Yes, sir.”

He lowered his head and, with trembling legs, crossed the threshold into the emperor’s chambers. While Latrielle’s sight had recovered considerably, he was still unable to read, so Germain needed to be present in case they came across a letter or some such.

“Remain here and don’t allow anyone through,” Latrielle ordered the guards. His command was promptly met with ten silent salutes.

The corridor they traversed was adorned with ornamentation considered lavish even for the palace, with the walls themselves comparable to fine works of art. A strong scent drifted through the air—a mixture of perfume and alcohol that immediately rubbed Latrielle the wrong way. Even so, he suppressed the emotions eddying in the pit of his stomach and slowly pressed on.

✧ ✧ ✧

When they reached the emperor’s bedchamber, the door was ajar. The smell that had lingered in the corridor now assaulted the senses, but that wasn’t all—mixed in were the subtle stench of old age and that distinct scent of a woman.

“Your Majesty. It’s me,” Latrielle called from outside. His voice sounded so dark and heavy that he surprised even himself.

“Eep!” came a faint shriek.

“Latrielle...? What is your business?” the emperor asked, his voice hoarse.

“Excuse my audacity,” Latrielle responded, stepping into the hallowed room without waiting for his father’s approval.

Germain, meanwhile, waited in the hall. Since their conversation was still audible from outside the room, he needed only enter when his services were required.

This was not the first time Latrielle had visited his father’s bedchamber—in fact, he had come on numerous occasions, making sure to call in at least once whenever the man was bedridden. There were no windows, the only light coming from the flickering candles that lined the walls, and in the center of the room was a bed larger than even the most extravagant carriage, draped with lace curtains. A single glass and an empty wine jug rolled haphazardly over the bedside table, fruits littered the floor, and... from the bed, three faces peeked out from beneath the silk sheets.

On one side was the emperor’s newest consort, Juhaprecia Octovia. She was only fifteen years of age, but the way the sheets clung to her figure made the circumstances he had walked in on all too apparent. On the other was someone Latrielle couldn’t name. They seemed to be a child, though he couldn’t tell whether they were male or female—they had long hair, feminine features, and skin that was as smooth and elegant as marble. But the chest unhidden by the sheets was as flat as that of a young boy. To see such a person in a place like this only made him even more repulsed.

Sandwiched between the two was the emperor in all his glory, having hurried to hide his lower half under the bedcovers. His body was covered in wrinkles, his skin cracked to such a point that it could have been mistaken for lizard scales. Any traces of muscle had since disappeared, leaving his limbs no more than sinew, with only his stomach retaining its prominence.

His sunken eyes focused on Latrielle, the emperor opened his mouth to speak, lips still plastered with his consort’s vermilion lipstick. “If you’ve returned, that means you have come out victorious.”

“...I have,” Latrielle replied, forcing down the bile that had risen into his mouth.

The emperor spoke on in the same chipper tone. “Then there is no issue. I entrust the military to you, as I always have.”

“Is that all you have to say...?”

“If you are hoping for a reward, you may look through the treasury. Choose whatever you think is befitting of your achievement.”

“...I am here not for myself. This crisis concerns the entire Empire. While we managed to push the enemy back this time, we have severely underestimated foreign technology. We must develop countermeasures at once, but there is no such allowance in the royal treasury. We have no choice but to carry out a fundamental restructuring of the national budget.”

“Use as much as you need.”

At this, Juhaprecia quickly interjected. “Liam? That’s all well and good, but you’ll still build me a palace in the south, won’t you?”

“Of course. I promised you I would.”

“You did! That’s why I’ve been working so hard!”

Latrielle cocked his head. “A... palace?”

“It gets so... cold... here in the winter,” the emperor responded.

“That’s right! Estaburg wasn’t this cold. If we move somewhere warmer, Liam, I’m sure those aching hips of yours will be better in no time. Oh, aren’t I such a caring wife?”

“Yes, yes...” the emperor mumbled with a nod.

Juhaprecia let out an overjoyed laugh, while the unfamiliar boy or girl wore the sort of incomprehensible smile that only a child could muster. To Latrielle, it was as though everything had suddenly gone dark.

Are my eyes worsening again? Have the candles grown dim?

“Your Majesty,” he began, “if you desire a palace in the south, I shall see to its construction at once. I worry for your health as well. We all do. The temperate climate would surely be ideal for your recuperation, so I truly could not hope for more.”

“Good. Very good. I am glad to hear it.”

“So please... allow me to take over your responsibilities as emperor.”

It was the first time Latrielle had ever brought himself to say it—to ask the emperor for his throne. Alarm bells immediately began to ring in his heart, and he could feel a cold, unpleasant sweat streaming down his back. Would he give up the position so easily? Would this rebellious declaration enrage him? Latrielle’s body quivered more than it ever had on any battlefield.

“Aha... Ahahaha! Ahahahahahahah!”

Juhaprecia was the first to react, causing Latrielle’s eyes to widen in shock.

“No can do. Liam still has a lot of work to do as emperor~♪”

“Yes, yes...” the emperor murmured in agreement.

What is this woman saying...? Under Belgarian tradition, it was impossible for someone in her position to have any say in national affairs.

Juhaprecia gently traced her fingers down her own abdomen, an ecstatic smile spreading across her lips. “We’re going to have a new child soon. Liam is still plenty healthy, you see... so I’ll give him the red-haired, red-eyed son—the true successor—that he’s always dreamed of.”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed as he placed his gnarled hand over the woman’s stomach. “Yes... I’m depending on you.”

“Oh, you leave everything to me! I’m still so young and beautiful. Just look at this skin! So smooth and supple! Why, I’ll have a second and a third if you want.”

With that, she tore away the silk sheets, revealing her flushed, glistening body. Sweat ran down her skin and onto the bedsheets, her chest rising and falling lasciviously with each heavy breath.

Latrielle immediately turned his gaze back to the emperor, now having to force the words past his lips. “But sire... if a child is born now... it will be another fifteen years before they reach adulthood.”

Still giggling to herself, Juhaprecia stepped down from the bed and approached Latrielle, not a thread to obscure her bare form.

“...What?”

Her pale fingers stroking his cheek, she let out a fevered breath as she whispered, “My son is the one who shall become emperor. So scuttle back to the front lines and protect our country, won’t you?”

Latrielle couldn’t muster a word in response. He could only hear a faint whistling noise, which he quickly realized was the air struggling to escape his throat.

This vixen had already devoured the emperor and his assets, and now her eyes were set on the nation itself. She was supposed to be no more than a captive princess, married to subjugate a minor power to the east... and yet they had unknowingly invited such an abhorrent fiend into the imperial court. Under the spell of this young and enchanting witch, the withered old emperor had lost himself. And to see him having invited to his bed someone too young to have even grown into their gender...

While the nation’s soldiers were fighting and dying on the battlefield, their emperor indulged in fruit and wine, his spirit sucked away by a demon trying to make the Empire her own. Latrielle could see all too clearly now.

“All this time... the greatest threat to the Empire... has been within its own palace.”

“Dear me, how scary...” Juhaprecia sneered. “And where might they be?”

She had a God-given talent for whispering sweet nothings and was more than experienced at using her body to ensnare powerful men. But this was also her downfall—she was akin to a bird that had never experienced the world outside its protective cage, meaning she knew not the scent of a raptor.

Without so much as a sound, Latrielle’s right hand shot to his waist, his fingers coiling around the Armée Victoire Volonté. His left grabbed the witch before him by the face, sealing her blood-colored lips shut before she had a chance to scream. Then, in one smooth thrust, he plunged the sword straight through her heart.

Juhaprecia’s eyes rolled back into her head as she convulsed in Latrielle’s arms. Soon enough, her body went limp, collapsing onto him as if desperate for the warmth of a man in her final moments.

When Latrielle drew the blade from her chest, her lifeless body dropped to the floor, arms splayed as though she were a discarded doll. The crimson carpet below was splattered with an even more vivid red.

“Ohh... Ohhhh...”

The emperor had gone pale, letting out uncanny wails as his eyes welled with tears.

The androgynous child wore the same manufactured smile on their face as they screamed—that is, until a dagger whizzed through the air from behind Latrielle and pierced their throat, silencing them forevermore. It had come from Germain, who entered the bedchambers with his silver hair in panicked disarray.

“Are you sure about this!?”

“I exterminated the monster that had made its nest in our Empire,” Latrielle replied coolly. “Would you accuse me of wrongdoing?”

“N-No, sir...”

The emperor climbed down from the bed and crawled along the floor, letting out another wail as he clung to Juhaprecia’s corpse. “Ohhhhhh...”

“Father... So you actually are capable of affection...” Latrielle murmured, a tinge of surprise in his voice.

“Blood...”

“What?”

“She would have borne me a son... A son with the blood of L’Empereur Flamme...”

“...I see.”

All this time, the poor fool was blindly chasing the curse of red hair and crimson eyes. Never accomplishing a thing... Never learning to love... He thought of nothing more than leaving behind the blood of the first emperor.

“Even if that witch birthed a child with red hair,” Latrielle spat, “he would be a monster of a child—the furthest thing from promising the Empire’s prosperity!”

The emperor looked up at him, his eyes red and swollen. How long had it been since Latrielle faced his father so candidly?

The old man’s voice quavered as he spoke. “Oh, Latrielle...”

“What is it, Father?”

“Why...? God, why were you born with blond hair?”

“There was a time when I hated it, too. I detested it, agonized over it, and cursed my mother in my heart as I tore it from my scalp. But now... I am grateful. Had I been born with red hair, perhaps I would have suffered the same curse as you, Father. But I was the second son. My hair was not blessed. And so, I devoted myself to my studies. I accrued knowledge and earned trust.”

“Curse...?”

“I pity you—a small man who could only see value in such... insignificance. Now, I’ll finally put you to rest.”

“Latrielle...”

“Yes, Father?”

“To think you would kill me... just as Corneille killed my uncle.”

So the previous emperor really had been assassinated. And this old man, who gazed up at Latrielle with pitying eyes, knew all about it.

“Latrielle... Did you know? Corneille too died from a knife in his back.”

“I’ll take your words to heart, Father.”

With that, the treasured sword of the Empire plunged deep into the emperor’s chest. Latrielle’s shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath. Never before had he been so winded after cutting down only two people.

Germain called to him anxiously. “A-Are you all right, Latrielle, sir?”

“I always believed that... with the emperor gone... I would feel akin to a freed falcon soaring through the sky. In truth, it is as though my entire body has turned to lead.”

“...That’s a relief.”

“What is?”

“Anyone who can kill their own father without a pang of guilt is little more than a monster.”

“...I suppose so.”

“But Latrielle, my lord... please shoulder this sin and continue moving forward. For the sake of the Empire. Meager as I am, I shall walk the path with you.”

“Germain... Thank you.”

Their eyes met, though neither man wore even the faintest trace of a smile.

“I’ll call in the men to cover this up,” Germain said. “We’ll need a court physician in our faction to give a false diagnosis. Regardless of what happened, it’s a good thing you didn’t wound the emperor’s face.”

“I maintained enough composure to avoid something like that.”

No... just look at all the blood. Composure? Ridiculous, Latrielle sneered at himself.

Germain forced a fearless smile. “Rest at ease. I thought this might happen, so I made sure to bribe a few maids in advance. We’re ready to swap out the bedding, carpet, tapestries, and anything else that was bloodied at a moment’s notice.”

“Excuse me, but... what?”

“A lesson I learned from a certain tactician—prepare for everything that might happen. This was but one possibility.”

“H-Hah... I see.”

“The grand chamberlain will most likely suspect this was an assassination. What shall we do?”

“He is a man who has only his own interests at heart. We may be able to get him on our side with the right conditions, though should he demand too much, have him taken out.”

“Very well. The vassals who refuse to take bribes shall be sent to the outer reaches—though they’ll run into unfortunate accidents before they arrive.”

“I’ll leave that all to you.”

Germain reverently bowed his head, then looked Latrielle dead in the eye. “This is where it begins, Your Highness.”

“Yes. This marks the beginning...”

The beginning of a new empire.

Latrielle swung the royal sword, flicking the blood from its blade. I must create a future worth more than all the lives lost to obtain it.

✧ ✧ ✧

Imperial Year 851, June 6th—

As the afternoon continued to pass, dark clouds covered the once clear skies, and the heavens themselves opened up to unleash a downpour of rain. It was then that gut-wrenching news struck the capital.

The emperor had died—a tragedy that soured celebrations of the nation’s victory against High Britannia. Sixth Consort Juhaprecia Octovia had gone with him, taking her own life out of grief.

Those in the capital mourned threefold. They had already lost so many soldiers, and now the emperor and his new consort.

And on the next day—the 7th—amid such chaotic times...

Second Prince Alain Deux Latrielle announced his ascendance to the throne.