Chapter 183

Chapter 183

“This is our chance!” King Arphos III of Ferma spoke in a heated voice. “Now is the time to collect the debt the Empire owes us!”

His subjects nodded in answer to that cry. They, too, understood that it was the sort of chance that came once in decades—no, in centuries. Before their eyes shimmered the moment when they could topple Clyde, the continent’s strongest empire, and reclaim the majesty of an earlier age.

The Kingdom of Ferma was unfortunately pressed against the Empire’s northern border. Because of that, it had spent centuries prostrate. The gold and silver delivered in tribute would make a mountain if piled up, and the blood that was shed in the Empire’s stead would be enough to form several rivers.

They knew all that and still endured, time and time again. They knew that, someday, the day would come to repay this humiliation. With no proof beyond a stubborn faith, which they passed on to their children, they kept holding out.

“Your Majesty!” A knight stepped forward ahead of all others, dropped to one knee before Arphos III, and cried out in a voice hot with blood, “Make me—Valter—your vanguard! For Ferma’s glory! I will stab the Mad Emperor in the back and split open that foul, swollen belly!”

“Marquis Valter!” Arphos III responded to Ferma’s one and only Swordmaster.

From childhood, he had armed himself with loyalty to the royal house and hatred for the Empire, and even after ascending to the loftiest realm, he had not lost those feelings. Now, he proclaimed his resolve without shame.

A year ago, this would have been unthinkable. They hated the Empire as much as they feared it, and in those days, they hardly dared say “His Majesty” for fear it would reach the Emperor’s ears.

Remembering that time, the subjects’ eyes blazed. Shame and fear turned to anger the instant the arithmetic suggested the fight was winnable.

Fired by Valter’s spirit, Arphos III sprang to his feet, fists pumping as he spoke.

“Hear me! Summon the entire army at once! Proclaim conscription in every fief and deploy every man we can muster to the Imperial border! The Empire may be reeling, but it is still the Empire. Their standing border garrisons alone will number two hundred thousand!”

Even if they threw in all the strength they had saved, a wave attack would be too much to sustain. Miss the breakthrough on the first blow, and they would only stoke the enemy’s rage. Led by Valter, they would have to punch through a weak point at once.

Ordinarily, that would be very difficult. However, things were rapidly changing.

The civil war in the Empire had erupted suddenly, and the way the news spread beyond all information control was also unexpected. Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t even be time to grasp the situation, much less rally an army.

Sure, there was something suspicious about it. However, this was an opportunity they simply would not turn away. Despite the suspicions, Ferma drew its sword. It had meticulously prepared border terrain and military intelligence, and a conscription system; their mobilization was faster than anyone could have imagined.

“Ten days.” Arphos III looked down over his subjects and declared, “In ten days, we will cross the Empire’s northern border!”

***

The Kingdom of Hispania was, unlike Ferma, which had honed its blade for centuries, held a lukewarm stance. They had made no preparations to stab the Empire in the back, and the levers of power were held by nobles whose eyes bulged more for personal gain than patriotism.

The king who ought to guide the state right was no different. King Cornel of Hispania twirled his moustache.

“

Hmm

... Interesting. This won’t be over in a day or two. Looks like the Ferma lot means to move for real, and win or lose, the Empire will take heavy damage.”

“Your Majesty, are you suggesting the rebels could actually win...?” the Minister of War ventured the question carefully.

“

Hah

! As if,” Cornel snorted away the possibility and chuckled. “However much the Mad Emperor has torn the state to shreds, the Empire is still the Empire. A handful of fiefs banded together won’t be scaling that wall. Unless you add Ferma and Meril—and us.”

“You mean even a large-scale rebellion plus the armies of three nations wouldn’t guarantee victory.”

“Exactly.”

Clyde had not dominated the continent for centuries for nothing. In land, population, economy, and military, they held the heights without a gap. Even if all the neighbors allied, the odds of them standing up to the empire were poor.

Most overwhelming of all was their military. Even without issuing levies to the fiefs, the capital’s standing forces alone could wage war. Not only in number, but in quality, they were the continent’s best. To this day, the Imperial Army had only once committed its full power and lost, and that was its attempt to conquer the Titan Mountains.

“No need to gamble when we can just scoop up the crumbs,” Cornel said with a smile that fit the word “base” curled Cornel’s lips, and arrayed below, his subjects wore similar expressions.

Cunning men think quickly, and base men dream up outrageous ploys. Hispania’s diplomacy—the approach other nations scorned as “snake-like”—was exactly that. If there was a nation like Ferma that lived stiff-necked by principle, there was also a nation that swallowed what was sweet and spat out what was bitter.

“We’ll strike the rebels in the rear. They’ve emptied their lands to march on the capital, so taking them will be no trouble. If the Empire wins, we’ll have to give the land back anyway, so strip everything we can and pull out at once.”

“Then we should wait until the rebels are farther away.”

Estimating Hispania’s marching speed, the Minister of War spoke; Cornel nodded at the advice.

“Once they know only ruins await them at home, ‘turning back’ will cease to be an option. We need the rebels to shave down as much Imperial strength as possible.”

It was a thoroughly base ploy. All profit, no risk. The rebels’ core strength was already advancing on the capital; the troops guarding their fiefs were under twenty percent. Even a country weaker than Clyde could sack a few fiefs with ease.

As a result, with their base destroyed, the rebel leadership would have only one path left—bring this rebellion to success. Surrender or flight would be off the table; they would fight to the death.

Cornel added, “Send an embassy to the Maritime Union of Meril.”

The Minister of Foreign Affairs stepped forward and asked, “Discreetly, Your Majesty?”

“Of course.” Tapping the armrest of the throne, Cornel continued, “The Meril will want their sea lanes back. To do that, they’ll have to neutralize the Empire’s harbor fortress. And wouldn’t you know it—there’s a certain iron bastion near our army’s route.”

Meril’s navy could, arguably, contend with the Empire’s. However, as long as that harbor fortress stood—so tough that even ten times the force could barely crack it—Meril could not exert its full might.

If pushed, the Empire could just fall back into the harbor and dig in, and many winnable fights had fizzled out for that reason. However, if they could use this opportunity to truly neutralize that harbor fortress, then for decades to come the Clyde Empire would be forced to pay Meril enormous concessions over the sea.

“That chokepoint can’t be taken by ships alone. Who knows? Perhaps the Meril Union will ‘coincidentally’ land their force near us. Don’t you think so, Minister?”

“Yes, that is certainly a possibility, Your Majesty.”

Catching the implication, the Minister of Foreign Affairs smiled thinly. It was a secret collusion: an offer to strike the harbor fortress from the rear in exchange for satisfactory consideration.

There was little reason for the Maritime Union to refuse. They stood to gain far more from control of the sea than they would pay Hispania. If they had any sense, they would accept.

Just like that, the plot bloomed. Some acted for revenge, while some acted for profit.

“

Hehehe

...”

And some, simply to summon the chaos for its own sake.

***

A few days had passed since the bad news from the Empire had arrived in the Kingdom of Jugend.

Irexana immediately relayed the report to the Grand Church, then deliberated at length with the other cardinals on how to respond. Not only were they facing the problem of intervening in another nation’s civil war, but now, three neighboring states might expand it into a full-scale war.

Most troubling of all was that the Evil Order was suspected of being behind it.

“The Holy Church has classified this incident as a threat higher than Level 2, and a mobilization order has been issued across the continent.”

At Irexana’s announcement, the three listeners’ faces hardened. Not just Level 2, but higher, meant that it had the potential to be raised to Level 1, the category of “world-threatening.” That level had not been declared once since Rodrick slew the Demon King and ascended.

“Within a fortnight, the entire Holy Iron Inquisitors will assemble in Jugend and march with the kingdom’s army to block the three nations’ advance,” Irexana explained.

Leon muttered, “A fortnight.... That might be...”

“Yes. It may be too late. No, it

will

be too late.”

Irexana nodded heavily before Leon could finish.

Ferma, Hispania, and the Maritime Union of Meril were states tied much more closely to the Empire than Jugend. The news would have reached them sooner, and their decisions to act likely came more swiftly.

If intervention itself could not be stopped, then the best Jugend could do was glare at their backs and hope that that would constrain their movements.

“If only we could drag them to the negotiating table...” Irexana trailed off with a long sigh.

This was not something brute force could topple. The interests and power dynamics between nations had tangled like a hopeless skein of thread.

“Your Eminence,” Leon called.

For the past several days, he had been lost in thought. If the fight was not against monsters or the Evil Order, but against humans, what was the best a Hero could do? Rodrick might have stopped or ended the war single-handedly, but Leon could not.

Now the lines of good and evil were blurred. No one could be called wholly good, no one wholly evil. An individual might be one or the other, but on the scale of nations, those traits lost all meaning.

“My companions and I will go to Clyde,” Leon said.

“Hero Leon, that is...!”

“I know it’s dangerous.” Leon smiled faintly at Irexana’s reaction, then spoke the conclusion he had wrestled with for days. “I don’t mean to rush in recklessly. The three of us will travel inside the Empire, investigating the elements that are worsening the situation.”

“You intend to track the Evil Order?”

“Yes. If their involvement can be proven, the Holy Church will have grounds to intervene openly.”

Leon also explained that this was the only way to prevent the outcome they feared most—the multi-state war.

Ferma, Hispania, and even the Meril Union had all suffered bitterly at Evil’s hands at least once.

The Evil Order was the enemy of the entire continent. If, as Leon suspected, they had sparked this civil war and drawn three nations into it, then proving it would not only justify demanding those nations withdraw but might even allow them to be conscripted into a crusade against the Evil Order.

“We’ll look for the cracks where their schemes can be broken apart, from within the Empire. That’s the best I think I can do as a Hero.”

Taking sides in a war between nations, or forcing everyone to their knees, was beyond him. So, he had chosen a third path. If the Evil Order’s goal was to spark a war that would engulf the whole continent, then he would smash it head-on. He would destroy every force that spread across the battlefield and drove people to the brink.

“Understood, Hero Leon.”

Irexana folded his hands, smiling gently. If this was the conclusion Leon had reached after much reflection, then as a servant of the Goddess, he had no cause to stop him.

It was a perilous path. For three people to plunge into that chaos and expose the schemes that surely bore the hand of at least one bishop, one of the Nine Hells of Evil. However, that resolve shone all the brighter for it.

“Tell me when you are ready. Whatever you need, do not hesitate to ask,” Irexana said.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Leon bowed once. Irexana shook his head, as if to say there was no need. It was not Leon who should be grateful, but Irexana himself.

Cardinal, Grand Meister—titles some would exalt as great, but in truth, they bound him, robbed him of freedom of action. The Hero’s presence reminded him why one was needed.

Then, suddenly, a transmission crystal pulsed.

“

Hm

?”

After listening briefly, Irexana turned back to Leon’s group with a baffled look.

“Hero Leon, did you speak to Cedric before coming here?”

“Cedric? About what?”

Leon’s face was blank. Then came the last words he had expected.

“A request has just come through the Guild. Cedric wants to join your party. He says he’s bound for the Empire and wishes to travel with you.”