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Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 9 - Chapter 5




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Chapter 5: Two Sides of the Coin

“Are you the messenger from O’ltormea? I haven’t seen you before. You said your name was... Sudou?” 

A suffocating silence hung over the audience chamber. Julianus I sat on his throne, regarding the middle-aged man kneeling before him with a mixture of pity and scorn. This was the sweetest possible moment a country that had to tolerate inferiority and weakness for so long could desire. 

A turning of the tables. The sense of superiority, of being in the commanding position, of being strong, filled Julianus I’s heart like sweet mead. 

“Yes, Your Majesty. It is an honor to be in your presence.” 

“What business do you have here, then? Did you come to demand we surrender once again?” Julianus I asked, the bitter irony in his voice quite evident. 

It was only a few days ago that Xarooda had been informed that Fort Notis had fallen to Ryoma Mikoshiba. With their base razed to the ground, the O’ltormean invasion force was left without a supply base. As a result, their supply line was cut off in the middle of their assault on Fort Ushas, leaving them isolated in Xaroodian territory. Tens of thousands of O’ltormean soldiers and officers were left trapped. 

Any army, no matter how large, couldn’t function when isolated from its homeland. Trained officers might be one thing, but uneducated conscripts and opportunistic mercenaries would naturally become demoralized. 

In that situation, an appeal to surrender was the last thing O’ltormea would be sending Julianus I. The fact that he mentioned this to Sudou was nothing short of vitriolic sarcasm. 

Sudou, of course, aptly read the king’s emotions. This wouldn’t stir any anger in him. He simply raised his head composedly and spoke to the pathetic jester sitting opposite of him. 

“Of course not, Your Majesty. A demand for surrender? No...” Sudou shook his head, as if the prospect was absurd. 

“What did you come here for, then? Surely not to chat over tea, I’d imagine. Your side doesn’t have the time for pleasantries right now.” 

The arrogance seemed to drip every now and then from the king’s tone of voice. Sudou simply regarded his words with a sardonic smile. The victory at Fort Notis was but a single battle. But the significance of this victory was clear to all. 

Until now, O’ltormea had held all the momentum in this war. They decided where and when to attack. This right to choose gave them complete control over the direction this conflict would go. But now that Fort Notis had fallen, O’ltormea has effectively switched positions with Helnesgoula, the leader of the four kingdom union. 

The war hadn’t been completely resolved yet, but Xarooda had pretty much been saved from its predicament for the time being. Seeing Julianus I struggle to restrain his elation at this development made Sudou desperately stifle a chuckle. 

What a stupid man... A jester if there ever was one. You didn’t even earn this victory on your own... 

True, Xarooda had been given a thread of hope to hold onto. Given how the Empire had been freely encroaching on their land so far, cutting off the invasion army from its supply line was basically a turning of the tables. 

But that didn’t solve all of their problems at present. In fact, despite solving a few of their problems, they still had a great many problems they needed to resolve. And the most crippling problem of all was that Xarooda didn’t break out of this deadlock on its own. 

Let’s make him realize just what position Xarooda is really in, shall we? 

True, they’d turned the tables on O’ltormea, and the invasion army was currently in dire straits. But that was only a temporary situation. 

“I’ve come before you today in the hope of putting an end to this unfortunate war,” Sudou said, punctuating every word, as if trying to spell something out to an ignorant child. 

“What?” Julianus I furrowed his brows, not quite understanding what Sudou was getting at. 

“Put concisely, the O’ltormea Empire seeks peace with Xarooda.” 

The moment the word “peace” left Sudou’s lips, Grahalt, who was standing at Julianus I’s side, exploded with bloodlust. A blizzard of hatred blew against Sudou’s skin. However, this was a mostly unconscious reaction. Had Grahalt truly had been enraged, he’d have drawn his sword instead. Julianus I, seated on his throne, didn’t betray any signs of anger either. 

I suppose he’s not stupid enough to press me angrily here... 

Contrary to the information Sudou collected before coming here, he found Grahalt and Julianus I were rather calm. 

Both Julianus and this Grahalt Henschel are surprisingly sound. There should be room for negotiations if that’s the case. 

The peace offer came across as sudden, since the O’ltormea Empire was the aggressor in this war. It was only natural for Grahalt to be angry, since it was his kingdom that had been encroached upon and consistently trampled so far. 

The fact that he was able to maintain a calm facade was proof of his impressive self-control. He realized that as angry as he was, lashing out would achieve nothing. And someone who knew that much could be negotiated with. 

If he’d have just drawn a sword and charged at me, negotiations would have gone out the window. 

Sudou was confident his victory was assured so long as he could reason with the other side. 

“My apologies, but I don’t quite understand what you’re getting at. What is the meaning of this?” Julianus I asked. 

“It is exactly as I’ve said, Your Majesty. The O’ltormea Empire seeks to make temporary peace with your kingdom.” 

An unwavering light lingered in his eyes. 

“You’re... serious.” Sensing Sudou wasn’t lying, Julianus I heaved a heavy sigh. 

He was overcome by exasperation. The utter shamelessness of invading a country, only to come seeking peace once the situation soured made Julianus’s anger go over the peak and turn to shock. 

“You do realize how this war began, yes?” Julianus I asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Of course, Your Majesty. It began with my country invading yours,” Sudou replied unapologetically. 

Sudou had predicted Julianus would say this much. If his nerves were faint enough to waver from this, he wouldn’t be capable of diplomatic negotiations. The important part was to maintain a confidence that bordered on arrogance. 

“And knowing this, your country comes to me, asking for peace...?” 

A firm, unwavering light of will lingered in Sudou’s eyes. Julianus, by contrast, was overcome by an odd sensation that had clouded over his heart. Something about Sudou’s attitude made him anxious. 

“You shameless fools...” 

Sudou heard the words slip from Grahalt’s lips before he could stop them. 

“And you seriously think we’ll pay this offer of yours any mind?” Julianus I asked. 

If this was a few months ago, Julianus would have lunged at this opportunity. But now, the scales of the war tipped in Xarooda’s favor. He had no reason to accept this offer. Sudou didn’t seem bothered by his response, however, and replied with a smile. 

“Yes. I understand your country’s predicament, Your Majesty, and as a result that’s why I’m confident that you will agree to our offer.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean what I said. I would very much like to extend a helping hand to your country.” 

Sudou’s attitude was preposterously haughty, to the point of coming across as outrageous. So much so that Julianus outright forgot to shout at him and fell silent. The idea of someone acting so patronizing toward a country’s king was utterly unimaginable. 

But despite this, Julianus couldn’t bring himself to order his soldiers to behead this insolent man. Perhaps the survival instincts of a cowardly fool alerted him, granting him a sense of ominous premonition. 

“To begin with, are you not perhaps under a mistaken impression, Your Majesty...?” Sudou’s lips curled up into a nasty smirk. “You seem to believe that you are in a commanding position.” 

Plastered on his face was a sneer, pitying a fool who didn’t know his place. 

“Are you implying that I’m not? Your army is isolated from your territory, trapped and cornered in our land. Considering my forces’ surprise attack has severed your supply line, I’d assume your army should be rationing what little remains of their food right about now.” 

Julianus tried to maintain composure, even as the anxiety Sudou induced ate away at his heart. 

“They have no food, no spare weapons. No matter how large your army is, it’s powerless in practice.” 

“That much is fact, I’ll grant you,” Sudou nodded. “As you say, our army will wither away before long. But if you think that places you in any position of superiority, Your Majesty, I’m afraid that you are quite deluded.” 

This is the clincher... 

Negotiations had a flow to them, and Sudou’s experience told him that now was the decisive moment. 

“To begin with, Your Majesty, how do you intend to end this war? Do you really believe you’ll be able to destroy the Empire?” 

“What?” Julianus furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“My question is simple, Your Highness. There are three ways to end a war. You either beat your enemy to the ground and eradicate them, lose to your enemy and perish, or broker peace before the war ends. Now then, of these three options, how do you intend to end this war?” 

He would either win, lose or admit to a draw. In truth, there were more ways of ending a war, but put concisely it comes down to these three options. 

“Well...” Julianus I was at a loss. 

Sudou had just pointed out his lack of foresight. Just the other day, Helena and her forces had received news of Fort Notis’s fall and attacked the retreating O’ltormean soldiers, dealing considerable losses to the enemy. The war was certainly swinging in Xarooda’s favor. 

But that was only true for this particular battle. 

Opportunistic nobles still ran rampant in the country and would get in the way of gathering conscripts. The Royal Guard and the Monarch’s Guard took heavy losses, greatly diminishing their strength as an army. 

And Xarooda’s lifeline, the reinforcements they had gained from their neighbors, would never agree to invade O’ltormea’s territory for them. Their interests lay in helping Xarooda and ending the war quickly so they can go back home as soon as possible. 

Staging a reverse-invasion into O’ltormea’s land was impossible in these conditions. In which case, there could be only two conclusions to this. Xarooda would either have to fight a pointless, fruitless war it could never win until its last day, or give up at some point and negotiate for peace. 

In that regard, the fact that the messenger they received this time came offering an armistice instead of demanding they surrender was a major step forward. 

“Now that you understand your position, allow me to ask once more, Your Highness. Will you continue to fight a war you have no hope of winning?” 

Sudou’s question was like the devil’s tempting whisper. Faced with his composed smirk, Julianus I could only nod at Sudou’s words. 

 

On that day, an air of manic fervor hung over Xarooda’s capital city of Peripheria. And this wasn’t true just for Peripheria, but indeed, throughout the kingdom. It was proof that the dark clouds hanging over the capital had cleared. The main streets of the capital’s center were full of people. Men and women of all ages, mothers carrying children and elderly citizens alike all waved and cheered enthusiastically at the marching soldiers. 

“All hail Xarooda! Glory to our kingdom!” 

“The gods’ blessings upon His Majesty! Glory to our kingdom!” 

The citizens lined up in the streets, beaming with joy as they spoke of victory. Just the other day, the year-long war with the O’ltormea Empire had come to an end through a peace treaty. It marked the end of many taxes that had been imposed on the people because of the war, as well as the return of many conscripted husbands and sons. 

Hope was on the horizon; a return to ordinary life seemed likely. But some people felt completely detached from the joyous mood filling the castle town. One such person was the king of this country, and the very man who had decided to accept the peace treaty. 

He was now seated in a lounge chair set in his office, looking up at the ceiling despondently. 

“Do you think my choice was the correct one to make?” he asked with a deep, sunken voice. 

This was proof he was doubting the validity of his decision. 

“I do not know, Your Majesty...” faced with Julianus I’s clinging gaze, Grahalt shook his head. “But it did buy us time. That much is fact.” 

“Time, you say...” 

The O’ltormean military was beginning to evacuate Xarooda’s lands. And while this was only a temporary retreat, depending on the negotiations, this peace treaty was on track to end up buying them several years. It would give them the time to reorganize their damaged knight orders. 

“We can’t waste what little time we do have...” Julianus I said morosely. 

“Indeed,” Grahalt nodded. 

 

A room in the royal castle situated in the heart of Peripheria. After Ryoma Mikoshiba and his strike force toppled Fort Notis, they received word of the messenger that arrived in Peripheria carrying an offer for a peace treaty. Upon hearing of the news, Ryoma immediately took his troops back to the capital. 

Look at them cheering. Oblivious idiots. 

Ryoma directed a sneering gaze out the window, looking down at the city. In this moment, he understood fully the meaning of the phrase, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’ 

This is pathetic. 

The people likely had no clue just how dangerous their situation really was. They could only see what was unfolding before their eyes. Like children playing on thin ice, at some point, their footing was bound to crack and send them plummeting to an icy grave. 

But being able to see into the future isn’t all that simple, is it? 

The image of Julianus I, King of Xarooda, flashed in Ryoma’s mind. Being able to foresee the future wasn’t necessarily something to be labeled a good or comforting thing. And only a handful of people could predict how phenomena will come together to form a future. 

Just because they could see a coming catastrophe doesn’t mean they could always prevent it. Any number of unpredictable factors could throw their preparations off. Worse yet, given Xarooda’s current state, the kingdom didn’t have the strength to perfectly prepare itself for what was to come. 

I guess it’s up to the old man’s skill as a ruler, but... Yeah, I don’t see things ending well. 

Julianus I accepted the peace treaty, seeing it as a gleam of hope, but O’ltormea was already beginning to move and had beaten him to the punch. Anything Julianus did now would likely fail to influence things in the long run. Realistically speaking, Xarooda’s national power and position were far too weak, and fixing that would take them far longer than the amount of time they reasonably had. 

Worst of all, O’ltormea probably only came forward with the peace treaty because they knew they were going to win eventually. By Ryoma’s estimate, there were traitors and turncoats hiding among Xarooda’s nobles, people in influential positions. Otherwise, O’ltormea’s actions couldn’t be explained. 

The negotiations are still ahead of us, but it’ll only be a few years at most until hostilities begin again. 

It was likely that O’ltormea would sneakily drag out the negotiations until their preparations were complete and cut off the talks once they were ready to fight again. And then, they’d simply invade Xarooda again, with their forces reorganized. 

For O’ltormea, this peace treaty was simply a way to prevent their invasion army from being wiped out. They had no real intention of making peace with Xarooda. And when that became clear, the cheering citizens would all too easily become an angry mob, which would turn its indignation on Julianus I. He would be seen as the foolish king who was all too blind and oblivious to his rival country’s intentions. 

Such were the masses; they raised their expectations unrealistically, and when things didn’t go as planned, they soon changed their minds and hurled insults. And because Ryoma didn’t personally dislike Julianus I, thinking of his eventual fate filled Ryoma’s eyes with sorrow. 

Well, it’s out of my hands now. I’ve done everything I could, and I’ve met all of my objectives. I shouldn’t be involved with this country any longer... 

The people were cheering at the end of the war, but things simply weren’t so simple. Ryoma could imagine this country’s eventual fate. But the next moment, the sound of casual conversation behind him dispersed that image. 

“I haven’t had anything like this flavor so far, but these are some lovely tea leaves. Where were they produced?” 

“Yes, I believe they’re from Risnorth.” 

“Oh, from the central continent?” 

Sara nodded quietly at Helena’s question and presented the porcelain teapot in her hands. 

“I brought it from Sirius, since it’s one of Master Ryoma’s favorite blends. Would you like another cup?” 

Helena looked at her empty teacup silently for a moment, but then perked up her lips in a smile. 

“The faint sweetness of the tea leaves goes so well with the aroma... Yes, I’d love another.” 

As Helena spoke, Laura approached her and held out a plate. 

“Oh? Is this...?” 

“These are sweets I’ve made based on Master Ryoma’s stories and instructions. They’re called macarons. They taste lovely.” 

“My, really? Their shape is quite interesting,” Helena said as she took up one macaron and examined it fixedly. 

She then took a bite, chewed and swallowed. 

“My... You’ve put little sugar in it knowingly, didn’t you?” 

“Yes. Apparently this is how it’s often made in Ryoma’s homeland.” 

In truth, they didn’t limit the amount of sugar in the macarons per se, as it was done to maintain the balance of sweetness. 

“Hmm. That’s quite nice, Ryoma,” Helena said. 

“Yeah, I’ll admit gathering the ingredients was a bit of a hassle,” Ryoma regarded her with a bitter smile. 

When it came to sweets, dried fruit was the most common example in this world. Confections made from sugar by the hands of a chef were a luxury exclusive to those in the higher echelons of society. And of course, these nobles made a show of their wealth by ordering their chefs to use obscene amounts of sugar. 

The same could be said of normal cuisine; these nobles cared little for flavor or balance, and simply saw cuisine as an extension of their wealth and political standing. That made the confections of this world feel like dull, gaudy lumps of sugar. Every time Ryoma tasted one of them, he grew tired of it after the third bite. 

Ryoma liked to drink and didn’t mind sweets, but eating those confections, Ryoma could practically feel the cavities forming in his teeth. 

Gotta thank Asuka... 

She forced him to help her with cooking, which he mostly found irritating at the time. Now, though, he had a newfound appreciation for his cousin. Ryoma accepted a cup of tea from Sara and sunk himself into the sofa opposite Helena. 


“So this ends the war. At least, for the time being,” Helena said slowly, hanging her head. 

“Yeah. A satisfying conclusion, all in all,” Ryoma replied. 

“Yes...” Helena said, falling silent. 

For now, the O’ltormean forces had been pushed back to the border. As generals in charge of the reinforcement army, they’d achieved much, even if the end of this war was nothing more than a temporary respite. 

“After the messenger explained the details of the armistice, I had a little talk with Ecclesia.” 

“Did she have anything to say?” 

“She said she would probe the situation while staying in contact with her homeland. I’m sure she saw through O’ltormea’s intentions as well... But honestly, there’s nothing any of us can do.” 

“Any chance she can call for reinforcements?” Ryoma asked. 

Helena shook her head. 

“Myest doesn’t have the leeway to do that... Honestly, expecting any more reinforcements from them is probably asking for too much.” 

Xarooda, Rhoadseria and Myest: of the three kingdoms of the east, Myest was considered the strongest and most stable, with its affluent economy and commerce. But its wealth bought it many enemies. Its southern borders were constantly in a constant state of tension. Given that Myest’s primary military force was its navy, the number of foot soldiers they could send out to Xarooda was limited. 

And what’s more, this war was far from Myest’s territory. They were effectively fighting on faraway, foreign soil. They sent their army since they realized the importance of these reinforcements, but they certainly didn’t like the prospect of fighting in this war. And from this perspective, the peace treaty was by no means an unfavorable development for Myest. 

“In that case...” 

“Yes, I’ll have to return to Rhoadseria per haste, as well... I must gather more soldiers and prepare for the next war to come. The question is how far Queen Lupis’s reforms have progressed...” 

It had been more than six months since their reinforcements set out for Xarooda. It stood to reason that Lupis’s efforts had had some kind of effect in that timeframe. 

“I doubt anything good happened while we were gone,” Ryoma said curtly, to which Helena could only reply with silence and a sardonic smile. 

She had her own doubts that Lupis had made any progress with her reforms. 

“I suppose the length of this grace period depends on Julianus I’s skill...” she eventually said. 

“I’ll have to leave the rest to everyone else. I’ve done my part, and it was more than enough. I can’t afford to leave Wortenia unattended any longer.” 

Don’t involve me in this any longer. Sensing that insinuation clearly in Ryoma’s words, Helena directed a probing glance at him. 

“If you ask me, you’ve gotten plenty of leeway out of this. More than I imagined.” 

“What? No. This isn’t enough. Honestly, we’re barely getting started.” 

Even as he said that, a light smile played over Ryoma’s lips. It isn’t enough. Ryoma’s words weren’t false, but they weren’t completely true either; they were simply a reflection of the situation. 

Had everything gone according to Ryoma’s plan, his stronghold in Sirius would have already finished its initial development. And once that was complete, all that would remain was to take his time and extend his influence throughout the entirety of the peninsula. 

And in that regard, Ryoma did have some leeway, but if he could, he’d have preferred to use that time to develop the peninsula further. 

And besides... Staying involved in this war any longer won’t earn me anything. 

Ryoma strongly believed that. He managed to build up a reputation as a compassionate general among the soldiers who participated in this expedition, and made a name for himself as a skilled strategist among the surrounding countries. And most importantly, he’d formed connections with Helnesgoula and Myest, two quite powerful countries. 

Reputation, connections, gain... 

Not to say he couldn’t aim higher; if he really had to, Ryoma might have been able to come up with a way to really earn Xarooda a true victory in this war. But Ryoma didn’t want to. It was a question of the amount of work he’d have to put in, not so much about the gain it would bring him. And even if he believed he might be able to pull it off, the future was full of unpredictable factors, and he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to do it. Ryoma wasn’t all-knowing, and there could be pitfalls lying in wait for him if he tried to go ahead with such an idea. 

Aiming any higher than this would be greedy. 

Having gained more than he initially planned meant that earning any more could be harmful. Being overly successful only draws the envy of others; to avoid that, choosing to stop there struck him as prudent. 

Still, in terms of personal emotion, Ryoma felt more affinity towards Julianus I than he did for Lupis. If possible, he’d have liked to do more to help him, but offering any further assistance now would be difficult. 

“Well, that’s fine... It wouldn’t be right to burden you any further,” Helena sighed, picking up on his emotions. 

Personally, Helena would have liked to have dependable people on her side before the hostilities resumed. But considering how the Wortenia Peninsula’s development was still incomplete, not to mention the strain such a thing would place on Ryoma, she couldn’t bring herself to ask more of him. 

If that one understood politics like Ryoma does, he would make quite a fine general... 

The image of the blond boy she’d taken under her wing flashed through Helena’s mind. 

“What’s wrong?” Ryoma asked. 

“Oh... I just thought of Chris a little, is all...” 

A bitter smile spread across Ryoma’s lips. He probably realized why her expression clouded over. 

“What, did he lose his temper when he heard about the peace treaty?” Ryoma asked jokingly, shrugging. 

“Yes. He yelled at me quite a bit, actually,” Helena nodded slightly. 

“Wow. He... must have been really upset.” 

Chris was a young man with a pretty face. The thought of his fair face contorting angrily and screaming at Helena made Ryoma crack a smile. 

“Well, I can’t blame him. As a commander on the field, he’s right to feel that way. You look displeased about the way he acted, though.” 

Ryoma’s siege annihilation plan was a deadly scheme which took a great deal of preparation, but setting it up would cost many lives. It was a plan they could only pull off once; there was no second chance with it. 

But then, the king of Xarooda, the country involved in this war, chose to accept the peace treaty without consulting the other countries he called for reinforcements. Just as they were about to tighten the noose around O’ltormea’s invasion army and wipe them out... 

In that regard, Chris’s anger was to be expected. But that was based on his perspective as a commander on the field. Whatever the correct choice is could change based on one’s position. Much like how the view is different from the foot of a mountain compared to its peak... 

“Of course I am. He’s acting no differently from those two...” 

This was proof Helena had put her hopes in Chris. She was seeking a future successor, and was hoping to put him in charge of Rhoadseria’s military affairs. Helena’s daughter had been killed, and she treated Chris, the grandson of one of her closest aides, as a surrogate son. To that end, she wanted to see him come to the correct answer on his own. 

“Well, what did you expect? Chris was mistreated for a long time, from what I hear. You understand what that means, right?” 

General Albrecht, the late general of Rhoadseria and leader of the knights’ faction, had loathed and tormented Chris for a long time. The young knight had had to bear obscurity and scorn for too long, despite being more talented and wiser than most of his peers. Coupled with his feminine beauty, this made Chris develop something of a complex. 

He hated nothing more than to be looked down upon. He wanted to be acknowledged. Those emotions constantly swirled in Chris’s heart. After all, everyone wants acceptance from their peers... 

“Yes... You’re right.” 

Helena knew perfectly well that there was no comparing Chris to Ryoma. Chris’s skill with a sword was top-class among the knights, and he was certainly clever enough. In terms of talent and achievement, Chris was, without a doubt, an elite worthy of shouldering the next generation of Rhoadseria. 

But his youth made his flaws stand out. He was exceptionally bad at reading people’s intentions, and he had a weak understanding of how countries worked... 

And I can’t help but compare him with Ryoma. Even if I know doing that only drives Chris into a corner even more... 

But given the situation Rhoadseria was in, that comparison was a natural one to make. If only this boy, with his average face and faint smile, would simply stay by her side... 

Heaving a deep breath, Helena took a sip from the teacup in her hands. 

 

A certain country existed in the southern regions of the western continent: a city-state formed around a temple made of solemn marble. While the southern kingdoms and the Holy Qwiltantia Empire, one of the three great powers on the continent, quarreled over their borderlines through the years, this country clung to life. No matter how the borders of their surrounding countries shifted, this country never changed. The hegemony at the heart of the continent, the O’ltormea Empire, attacked the southern kingdoms in its desire to take over the port cities, but even it never thought to attack this country. 

And so, this beast slumbered undisturbed. But once it awakened, this beast would bare its fangs against the rest of the continent, tearing the other kingdoms to shreds. 

The name of that city-state was Menestia, the holy city. The fortress where the God of Light Meneos was worshiped, and the stronghold of the Church of Meneos, the religious powerhouse that had spread throughout the continent. 

In such a war-torn world, religious authority and abstract divine right would not be enough to enable a religious organization to defend itself. And so, that castle of white marble stood, protected by tall ramparts and deep moats. More than anything, the watchful gaze of its skilled sentinels and guards ensured its stability. They stood clad in thick armor and with sharp poleaxes in hand. 

As they patrolled the town encircling the temple, their eyes glinted with desire. These soldiers were unlike the image of the pious, merciful men in service of a god. And that wasn’t true for just these soldiers. All the people of this country were like a pack of starved wolves. Believing they were graced by their god, they were fools who believed that any action they took was pardoned and allowed by divine providence. 

They called out their god’s name, using it as a tool to fulfill their desires. 

And sitting in the city’s center, in the depths of the temple, was the most exalted person in this city, resting upon a seat as luxurious as a king’s throne. Swirling a glass in his hand, he listened to his subordinate’s report with an amused expression. 

He was clad in a white mantle made of lustrous silk and adorned with golden threads. Coupled with the gemstone-inlaid staff of office in his hand, the man’s attire made his status clear to all. 

“Oh. So O’ltormea withdrew their men from Xarooda?” 

“Yes, Your Holiness...” answered the old man bowing before him. “Apparently, Fort Notis has been toppled, and the head of its garrison, Moore, was slain.” 

“And their casualties?” 

“According to our spies, O’ltormea offered the peace treaty almost as soon as their troops were isolated, and as such they avoided being surrounded and eradicated. However, Helena Steiner and Ecclesia Marinelle led an assault on them, costing the Empire the lives of 10,000 soldiers.” 

At those words, the man’s lips curled upwards. His smile was nothing less than the devil’s sneer. Most men would freeze in terror at the mere sight of this smile. However, the old man’s blank expression didn’t budge despite facing this malicious smirk. 

“I see, I see... Ten thousand. Not a fatal blow, given O’ltormea’s national power, but...” 

“They’ve lost Fort Notis and all their supplies are reduced to ashes.” 

“Either way, withdrawing their armies was a wise choice... For both countries.” 

“Yes.” 

“Xarooda’s king comes across as an obstinate man.” 

“The rumors made him out to be a feeble-minded king, but I did not expect this.” 

At the old man’s words, the man gave a satisfied smile. This was proof that the man kneeling before him was in his service. 

Just as their army was about to be surrounded and wiped out, O’ltormea called for a peace treaty. And before the negotiations began, O’ltormea successfully withdrew its army back across its borders. 

This alone marked Julianus I as a foolish king. On the surface, his territory was one-sidedly ravaged by O’ltormea, and he simply let them go home without Xarooda having gained anything. Most rulers would at least demand reparations from the Empire to cover for the losses they took. 

But therein lay the pitfall, the trap O’ltormea sprung. 

Not many realized that given the gap between O’ltormea’s and Xarooda’s national power, negotiations were effectively meaningless. Any promise O’ltormea might be forced to make would be meaningless. Pacts only have binding power when breaking them would inflict some kind of penalty. 

For comparison, a country’s law could be seen in the same way. Laws only have meaning when they have a physical extension capable of punishing those who break them, e.g., the police. Only when there is a presence that actively seeks out and judges lawbreakers do people truly begin to uphold the law. 

Laws, by themselves, do not have much meaning, and the same can be said of verbal agreements and negotiations. Negotiations are based on both parties upholding their parts of the deal, but what if one side has an overwhelming advantage over the other? 

Parents and their children, teachers and students, an employer and his employees, a superpower as opposed to a weaker country. These examples differed in scale, but in essence they were the same thing. And in this case, O’ltormea loomed over Xarooda in terms of national power. 

O’ltormea could make some kind of agreement with Xarooda in these negotiations. But did Xarooda have any kind of strength to make O’ltormea actually honor it? The strong have no obligation to make any promises to the weak. Had O’ltormea deemed Xarooda’s presence necessary for some reason, they could easily negotiate with them. But the Empire didn’t care about Xarooda’s opinion of it. 

As the man seated on the throne rotated his glass in his hand, he pondered over the situation. 

It’s impossible, and Julianus knows it. It doesn’t matter what deal they’ll strike; eventually, Xarooda will be stomped out with sheer force. 

Even if they could demand the Empire pay them a large sum in reparations across a long period of time, it was questionable if O’ltormea would actually pay. And most people failed to realize this. They tended to naively assume that a promise that’s been made would always be upheld. 

“So, they forced O’ltormea to pull their army out of Xarooda before the negotiations began? Good call.” 

“Yes, Xarooda would struggle to hold war councils and reorganize their forces with that army still in their hands, and pulling that army back will also be seen favorably within the country.” 

“You’re saying that inspiring hope in the nobles might inspire them to help?” 

“If nothing else, it’s better than having that army still within their territory.” 

Of course, it was hard to say how much that would help given that many of the nobles were already in O’ltormea’s pocket. However, that they got O’ltormea to retreat in the first place was a solid fact Julianus could use as a weapon to persuade the nobility. 

“I suppose that from Xarooda’s perspective, this development is a glimmer of hope.” 

“Yes, if that war had continued the way it did, they would not have been spared from defeat. Had they succeeded in surrounding and wiping out the invasion army, O’ltormea would not have accepted it quietly. Especially since there was a chance that attack would have claimed the life of the army’s supreme commander, Shardina.” 

“Hm. Normally that would have been a desirable outcome for Xarooda.” 

In most cases, claiming a general’s head would end a war. But in this case, it would only serve as the catalyst for the next war to come. 

“Given Xarooda’s position, that would not have been wise. Of course, if they were to do nothing, the outcome would have been the same, so they had to try and surround the invasion army...” 

“If they were to claim the life of his beloved daughter and a royal, the Emperor would discard all internal affairs to make Xarooda’s conquest the first priority.” 

“Yes. He’d likely organize a second front in a matter of months. And Xarooda would not be able to prepare for it in time. They might have thought of some kind of countermeasure for it, but since the Empire was the one to offer the armistice, they likely felt their chances of victory were greater by agreeing rather than by sticking to that plan.” 

“So they chose to buy time for an eventual victory rather than insisting on the immediate victory... Not bad.” 

“Yes. It wasn’t a bad idea, but...” 

“The more desperately Xarooda’s king tries to cling to life, the longer this war will last. And that’s exactly what O’ltormea wants.” 

“Yes. Ever since this war started, prices across the western continent have been skyrocketing. My spies report that quite a few companies they’re involved with have been making a profit. It’s likely this armistice was orchestrated by someone moving behind the scenes.” 

“Like vultures closing in on decaying flesh.” 

The irony in the man’s smirk was stark. But that description was an apt way of describing those who plot to use war to make a profit for themselves. 

“Quite right, Your Holiness.” 

Of course, they couldn’t send out a messenger to Xarooda telling them not to resist any further, and even if they did, it wouldn’t change anything. Xarooda’s continued existence wasn’t that important to them. But for Julianus I, nothing mattered more than his kingdom living on. 

After a few moments of long silence, the man suddenly spoke. 

“Do you have some kind of plan, then?” 

“I do, Your Holiness.” 

“Hoh.” 

“Have you heard of a certain company located in the citadel city of Epirus, the Christof Company?” the old man asked, to which the man shook his head silently. 

Of course the Pope of the Church of Meneos would not have heard of a small company located in a distant province. 

“No. What about this Christof Company?” 

“We can use the same method as they have to make a profit out of this war.” 

The Pope’s eyebrow twitched at the old man’s explanation. 

“Are they involved with them?” 

“We don’t know as of yet, but there is a noble we suspect may be collaborating with them.” 

Hearing this much, the Pope soon realized what the old man was getting at. 

“I see. So you want to shake up that noble and see what happens...” 

“Yes. We’ll scout things out to see if he’s in league with them, and if he isn’t...” 

“He should make for a fine pawn.” 

“Yes, Your Holiness.” 

“Good, good. Let us go ahead and do that,” the Pope said and clapped his hands with a smile. 

And the only thing that could be heard from that throne room was its master’s maddened laughter. 



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