Chapter 263

Watching the Imperial Army retreat in pathetic disarray, the guards on the ramparts cheered.

“We won!”

“Don’t ever come back, you shameless bastards!”

Half of the jubilant guards were Imperial citizens, and the other half were Redeng. Unlike the old practice, where official positions were always handed to Imperial citizens first.

And unlike until recently, when the ethnic groups ignored each other, the guards now embraced and patted the backs of whoever stood beside them. Watching that, Lapierre—the central figure among the Redeng—smiled.

‘This is a bigger victory than driving out the Imperial Army.’

Last winter, the Wells family—a great noble house of the Empire and a pillar of the Imperial business world—reached out to Tropur to overcome their financial crisis. As part of that plan, Lapierre was framed as a serial killer.

Grand Duchess Madam Moriah believed Lapierre was the culprit who killed her maid, Monica, and imprisoned him. Still not free of the aftereffects, Lapierre continued to harbor resentment toward the Grand Duchess.

And yet he stepped forward, to prevent the Grand Duchess from being dragged out of Tropur.

There were three reasons. First, he judged that it would be best for his fellow countrymen if the Grand Duchess remained in that position—at least among the realistically available lords. Second, now that it was clear the Imperial Family was after Tropur’s wealth, a lord with both the standing and the will to resist them could not afford to vacate the seat.

And third.

‘A Redeng must repay what they receive.’

The credit for turning the last holiday—one that had nearly been stained with Redeng blood—into a refreshing day of counterattack belonged to Joan Moriér, who was currently at the side of the Grand Duke of Maindulante. Therefore, Lapierre could never allow his people to survive only to hand over the money they earned to the Imperial Family.

Those three reasons applied only to Lapierre and the Redeng, his precious fellow countrymen. The reason even the Imperial citizens—who revered the Imperial Family—were rejoicing without restraint here was different.

“You’ve worked hard.”

Aaron, who was shaking hands with everyone he saw and bowing deeply, approached Lapierre with a grin. Lapierre smiled back.

Since the uproar on the holiday night last winter, the Redeng had grown quite close to the people of the Moriér Merchant Group. Aaron, one of Joan Moriér’s subordinates, was no exception.

‘A capable one.’

He was the man who brought Grand Duchess Madam Moriah from the Imperial Capital to this place—and made her defy the Imperial Family. Lapierre’s admiration was sincere. It was remarkable that a merchant group not even founded many years ago could produce so many capable people.

More than half the reason Imperial citizens and Redeng—who had been snarling at each other since winter—could now fight together like this was thanks to Aaron, who cheerfully roamed all over Tropur.

Tropur was a land where commerce formed the backbone of life, and the Redeng held most of that commerce. Though they had bristled at each other due to exclusivity fueled by the Wells family and a near-fatal incident, Imperial citizens didn’t truly want to sever ties with the Redeng completely. Nor should they.

Was ethnic conflict more important than the bread they ate today? More important than the clothes they would wear tomorrow? Some hardline nationalists said yes, but most ordinary Imperial citizens did not agree. Besides, hadn’t the Imperial citizens been the ones to make the first mistake?

They simply lacked an opportunity—an opportunity to restore things to what they had been, or make them even better. The Redeng, whose lives had been threatened, sharpened their thorns. The Imperial citizens didn’t know what to do.

Then the Grand Duchess arrived in Tropur personally, with Aaron. She cracked down on the discrimination against Redeng that had been treated as natural. It was widely known she cherished her Redeng butler, and she pushed hard for the punishment of the Wells family and Lord Tropur immediately after the holiday, so the Redeng gradually let go of their fear for their safety.

Aaron exploited that gap to win over the Imperial citizens. He didn’t come to Tropur alone with the Grand Duchess. He brought several writers the Grand Duchess had befriended while managing high society in the Imperial Capital. Using their status as Imperial citizens and outsiders, those eloquent writers casually created chances for the two groups to mingle.

Reconciliation didn’t happen immediately. The people of Tropur made plenty of noise, saying outsiders didn’t understand anything. Still, they could feel the atmosphere loosening bit by bit. Everyone vaguely sensed they only needed one more opportunity.

And right after that, the Imperial Army arrived.

Even before then, Imperial citizens had been suffering greater economic hardship after their relationship with the Redeng soured. Aaron, who had gained a foothold in this commercial district after the Moriér Merchant Group entered Tropur, lowered the prices of daily necessities and spread the message in words easy to swallow.

– “Think about it! I hesitate to speak ill of the Imperial Family, but His Highness the Crown Prince isn’t good at managing money, is he? You all saw how the Imperial property His Highness was supposed to oversee was nearly transferred to the private sector, didn’t you?”

– “But if our Grand Duchess gives in to the Imperial Family’s pressure and hands herself over now, what’s next? All of the Grand Duchess’s property will be taken. If a nephew steals his aunt’s property just to play war games, do you really think he won’t steal from commoners like you, who have no reliable backing?”

– “Everyone, don’t think only the rich will be robbed! Those scary Imperial officials know it’s easier to rob the poor first!”

Imperial citizens, who would never have dared to oppose the Imperial Army, began to waver under the weight of their quiet financial hardship. The writers spread words that were gentler, but more dangerous, than Aaron’s.

– “When His Majesty the Emperor was well, no one dared touch the Grand Duchess. That proves His Supreme Majesty cherished and respected his sister. Now that His Majesty has temporarily collapsed, should we really accept His Highness the Crown Prince issuing an Imperial Order as the ‘true’ will of the Imperial Family?”

– “You have all lived together in this land for a long time. You are relatives and neighbors. Isn’t it more important that you are all people of Tropur than where your distant ancestors came from?”

The seed planted by that subtle logic sprouted with the arrival of the Imperial Army. The people of Tropur began to think of one another as family facing a shared enemy beyond ethnicity. It was a remarkable result, born from a blend of practical benefit, justification, and a clear target for hatred right in front of them.

‘Well, it couldn’t have happened without certainty that the Imperial Army wouldn’t be able to take revenge.’

The current Imperial Family had no such luxury. Lapierre shook Aaron’s hand.

“You’ve worked hard. This won’t be the end, though.”

“I wouldn’t have been dispatched here if I were the type to tuck my tail between my legs after getting hit once. Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

Aaron spoke cheerfully, and Lapierre knew exactly what his confidence was based on.

The Grand Duke—winning victory after victory, now on the verge of reaching the Imperial Capital.

Lapierre nodded firmly.

“We can wait longer. We have plenty of supplies stockpiled.”

Stockpiling and patience were strengths of the Redeng, who had always lived with emergencies in mind.

❖ ❖ ❖

“We… lost?”

How much time had passed since the confident declaration of war?

Abelus looked around the conference room, feeling hollow. No matter how firm his faith in himself was, he couldn’t deny the signs of defeat that saturated the air.

The empty seats—far more numerous than before—stood out most. Seats belonging to those confirmed dead, including Marquis Lykeandros, who had been defeated by the Maindulante army and taken hostage, as well as those missing.

And it wasn’t only the war that had emptied the room. Duke Grunewald, who had been dragging certain nobles along in court—Marquis Kendall among them—was under investigation after being accused in connection with what his daughter had done in the past. With the center gone, those who had clustered around him scattered. Duke Ganielo remained ill. Marquis Wells had recently gone completely bankrupt and fled the court. It was said the Marquis’s daughter had taken what little money remained and spent it somewhere.

All that remained before Abelus was a handful of fragments that used to be the court.

Nellusion answered his incredulous question calmly.

“Yes, Your Highness. Most of the large force you sent to Parrish to stop the Grand Duke—including Count Wicaster and Viscount McKinnon—has been captured by the enemy, and the rest are dead. The unit you sent to Tropur to bring Grand Duchess Madam Moriah back was also badly defeated, and only some returned.”

“How?”

Abelus asked blankly. His lips were pale.

Like a man who had only just realized he was staring at defeat.

“It doesn’t make sense. The soldiers I sent weren’t few. Count Wicaster fought the enemy on his own land. No matter how great Cledwyn is, he didn’t bring that many troops—he took them little by little from others. How could Wicaster lose so badly under those conditions? And how many soldiers could Aunt possibly have with her?”

“It seems the Grand Duke knew Count Wicaster’s territory quite well. The resistance in Tropur was unexpectedly fierce. And you requisitioned the McKinnon Trading Company’s distribution network as a military road, didn’t you? Now that Viscount McKinnon has been captured, the enemy can see our routes at a glance.”

Nellusion continued his explanation in the same calm tone. Abelus’s eyes turned bloodshot.

“It’s strange! It’s all strange! How can this be happening? He must be doing something!”

‘Strange,’ Nellusion thought coldly. Of course it was strange. An enemy who must have prepared for a long time, allies who made mistakes at every turn—how could it not be strange?

Abelus understood his own mistakes. He wasn’t so foolish that he couldn’t grasp the bleak reports arriving daily.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

And what could he do now?

The water was already spilled. All that remained was to scrape together what they could.

Abelus noticed Nellusion’s expression—soft on the surface, utterly indifferent underneath. They had spent too many years together for him to miss it.

“Nellusion, now…”

At that moment, the conference room door opened.

Abelus frowned as someone strode in through the open doorway with unmistakable authority.

“What are you doing, Sister?”

Camille was supposed to return to state affairs at the Empress’s request, but that fact was to be kept secret from the nobles. It would be difficult to set a precedent where a major criminal who had attempted to assassinate the Emperor could return simply because of necessity. The agreement was that she would offer advice only when Abelus sought it, and would not leave the Imperial Princess’s Palace unless needed.

Camille didn’t look like a major criminal at all. Wearing a dress threaded with gold and a tiara engraved with the sun, she looked more like a direct descendant of the Imperial Family than she ever had in front of the nobles.

More precisely, she looked like the Crown Princess.

Abelus was about to order someone to escort his sister away, but before he could speak, Nellusion rose.

“It’s a good thing you’re here. Nell—”

He cut off abruptly as Nellusion approached Camille and bowed deeply, as if before the Crown Princess. Camille looked at Abelus with amusement.

“You’re very confident, Abel. You’re still sitting in that seat after turning the court into this.”

“Isn’t that what I should be saying to you? After what you did to Father, where do you—”

“I simply thought someone more capable should sit at the top to protect the Imperial Family.”

How could she say something so treasonous? Abelus was about to explode—then he realized.

The nobles, who should have condemned Camille the moment she appeared, were all silent. As if they’d known she would come, and had already agreed to it.

“Someone say something. Hey! Why are you avoiding my eyes?”

The nobles all avoided Abelus’s gaze at once. Camille smiled and kicked the chair Abelus was sitting in.

Crash!

“Ugh! Sister, what are you—”

Knights who had slipped in unnoticed seized Abelus as he hit the floor. Camille looked down at her brother with pity.

“Isn’t this the time we should truly unite, when the enemy is at our doorstep? Don’t worry, Abel. I won’t do to you what you did to me.”

The Crown Prince’s Palace is too good for him. He should be locked in a prisoner’s tower.

Abelus was dragged out like luggage. He struggled against Ja’an’s strength, but it was useless—several people restrained him with magical tools.

Nellusion politely cleared the seat of honor in the conference room, now empty in an instant. Camille sat confidently in the chair Abelus had occupied only moments ago, and spoke softly.

“Now, let me tell you my plan.”

The stupidity of the Crown Prince installed by the Emperor was no longer tolerable.