A Rather Pleasant Time (?)
Count Berthier personally saw the last guest off as they departed the family castle.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Your Excellency."
"Safe travels, Commander."
It had been a gathering so modest it felt almost embarrassing to call it a party — and yet the caliber of those who had attended was nothing short of staggering.
The very man now receding into the distance under the Count's farewell was the Commander of the Imperial Capital's Defense. Beyond him, a parade of equally towering figures had appeared over the course of the evening to offer their congratulations.
If this was the turnout for a mere modest gathering, he could scarcely imagine what a true banquet would bring.
His Imperial Majesty's grant of the Neomes region was the decisive factor.
It was no ordinary territory, after all — it had been a direct holding of the imperial crown. Better yet, a fully developed, thriving parcel of land. With so many noble fiefs bordering it, and no shortage of merchant houses with deep ties to Neomes, it was only natural that the family's prestige had leapt skyward the moment they swallowed the region whole.
By tradition, no hierarchy existed among the Imperial Counts. Each was equally the Emperor's spear, sword, and shield — that was simply the way of things.
And yet, lately the world had come to view the Berthier Imperial Count Fief, however subtly, as the center of that order. Even the other Imperial Counts seemed to have accepted the reality without complaint.
It truly hits home now — what extraordinary deeds our Cael has accomplished.
Honestly, he had worried a little when the boy was young. For a son of the Clausewitz line, he showed almost no trace of the warrior.
Eldest son and heir of an Imperial Count — Cael had wondered whether the boy would really be all right. If Kaya were ever to surpass him, nothing could have worried him more.
But all of it had been needless fretting. His eldest son — the heir to his house — was not lacking. He was simply different. The kind of man who would raise this great family to heights it had never known before.
"Your Excellency."
The Head Butler drew quietly to his side and murmured something into the Count's ear. Hearing him out, the Count deliberated for a moment before giving a small shake of his head.
"Let it be. If it's Cael, the boy will have thought of everything."
"Are you certain, my lord? Of all people, for the last remaining guest to be her..."
Had it been an ordinary guest, the butler would never have raised the matter. But she was, of all things, from Novogord — and, of all things, a young and beautiful woman besides. He was clearly anxious that his young master might find himself the subject of scandalous gossip.
Truth be told, the Count had shared that worry, if only briefly. She was no ordinary woman of the Empire — she was of the demon race, after all.
Now, relations with the Empire were said to have improved. But in the past — no, a mere few years ago — Novogord had been a potential enemy state. Only through a convergence of many events had things settled into the remarkably cordial relationship of today.
And yet. A demon of Novogord, of all places. His son constantly at the side of the Council Chairman's daughter, no less.
A noble should never give grounds for suspicion. That is simply the proper bearing of an aristocrat. The fool who tells himself 'surely this much is fine' digs his own grave.
But there was no one in the world less likely to be ignorant of that truth than Cael. Naturally so — the man was the Empire's acknowledged strategist, recognized even by the Emperor himself. His brilliant son.
And so the Count chose to approach the matter not with worry, but with trust.
"Everything he does will have its purpose. Honestly, Butler, don't you half think so yourself?"
"...Ahem. If it is young Master Cael, then yes — I suppose he very plausibly would."
This was the man who had bent the course of entire campaigns with a single stratagem across every region of the Empire save the west. Surely such a man was not acting now without thought. It was entirely possible that through this demon woman Charlois, he was plotting something else entirely.
"In my view, Benito won't serve any real purpose for a long while yet."
"Quite. Their main force was annihilated in a single stroke — even if Runen Himself descended, He couldn't restore it overnight."
"The War God Anvar couldn't manage it either. A main army isn't something you rebuild with drills alone, after all."
Charlois's homeland of Novogord. The Empire. And in the west, Dedorant. Each boasted armies they called strong themselves — and each was called strong by others for the same reason: not merely training, but battle-forged experience in abundance.
Benito, too, had once sent mercenaries west to Dedorant precisely to season its soldiers that way. When they returned, they trained their countrymen, and then saw real combat against the Holy Nation. Had those men been allowed to grow further, they would have become a genuine nuisance. Superior training compounded by battlefield victories does wonders for an army's morale.
"I imagine the Dedorant garrison in Benito was a choice they would rather have avoided. What is your read on it, Prince Cael?"
"I share that assessment. Dedorant still has De Gaulle to contend with. They're stretched thin just committing forces there — being forced to leave over ten thousand men sitting in Benito must churn their stomachs."
Cael and Charlois sipped their tea as they traced the contours of the coming situation. Curiously, though she was the Council Chairman's daughter, she seemed to have a deep appetite for military strategy.
"Dedorant has annexed Atria, but they haven't penetrated every province. It'll likely take them another six months to extend their influence that far."
"Hmm. I'd say three months will prove sufficient. They have no need of brute force to govern the place — above all, they're persuading the Atrian citizenry by stressing their shared Deo blood."
"Mm. Will they truly fold that easily? Shared Deo heritage or not, they've been separate nations all this time — and frankly, relations between Dedorant and Atria were never exactly warm."
Fair point. Yes, fair — but even old grudges blossom into smiles before a big enough prize.
From Atria's perspective, clinging to a dying royal house had grown untenable. When the ascendant Dedorant extended its hand first, they must have counted themselves fortunate. Their nobles were probably celebrating right now, convinced they'd latched onto the right rope at last.
And Dedorant, for its part, had just swallowed an enormous slab of flesh. Inferior to their own troops, admittedly — but troops all the same. Their territory had swelled to nearly double, infertile though much of it was. And most important of all, they'd absorbed the population. No losing deal in that.
"They understand it well enough themselves. If they cannot surpass the Empire, then whatever they call themselves in the west — victor, hegemon — they will be brought to heel in the end."
The reason the Empire had kept its seat atop the continent was simple: it had never once tolerated the rise of a second.
Novogord in the north was threatening, certainly — but it had no king. It was governed by a council, and that carried obvious limits. A nation cannot become a great power on raw strength alone. The Empire understood this well, which was why it chose not conquest but a careful leash of carrot and stick.
The three kingdoms of the east, meanwhile — well. They spent their time snapping at each other's throats. There had been talk of an alliance not long ago, but a stiff breeze was all it took to shatter it. They would not breathe the word 'alliance' again for a generation.
And finally the south... hmm. Benito had gotten a bit cheeky, it was true. Then one of our imperial legions relieved them of all four limbs. Just as he'd told Charlois — they would not be rising again anytime soon.
Such was the landscape. The Empire displayed mercy and peace — but tolerated nothing beyond a certain line. Dedorant knew it too. Knew that they were next. Knew that the Empire was merely catching its breath. And knew that when that breath was drawn, a wrath unlike anything the border conflicts had ever seen would come crashing down upon them.
"Therefore, if Novogord bleeds alongside our Empire, it may prove a blessing — for Novogord's own future, above all."
"Hmm..."
"Our Empire is not so simple, either. You don't seriously think we'd set Novogord up as an arrow-catcher? Should resentment against us fester and the north be swept into the fire, we'd only inherit a headache."
"The one in a hurry is Dedorant, not the Empire. That is what you wished to say, isn't it, Prince Cael?"
"Precisely, Lady Charlois."
Impatient, Dedorant would inevitably make unreasonable demands of Novogord — every scrap of strength they could hoard was another breath of survival against the Empire. The Empire, by contrast, needed nothing more from Novogord than quiet. There was no reason to haggle with them, nothing to beg of them.
"Ah... truly. Talking with you like this — I don't tire at all. Quite the opposite, my focus only sharpens."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. So this is what they mean when they say one must meet someone wiser and greater than oneself."
Hm. That's an abrupt little compliment. Is she trying to lull me and lead me somewhere?
Cael tensed at the suspicious air about her, but nothing in particular came of it. She couldn't possibly have anticipated even this — the counter-move of loosening my guard, could she?
"Oh, my goodness. Look at the hour already."
"So it is. I believe the party wound down some time ago."
"I've monopolized far too much of your evening. I'm sorry, Prince Cael."
"Not at all, Lady Charlois. I quite lost track of the time myself."
Right. Because I was too busy hunting for a trap. Keeping pace with every shift of topic, scanning for anything she might be hiding. A little — no, a great deal exhausting — but he hadn't let it show.
Should I just tell her to stay the night?
The thought crossed his mind unbidden. He could attach watchers, confirm a few things. But not with a mere single day — that was too thin a window to yield anything.
"It is rather late. Would you care to stay the night and depart tomorrow, Lady Charlois?"
His mouth was moving without consulting his brain at all. Apparently his tongue, chattered half to death as it had been, had gone and blundered on its own.
"May I, truly?"
Nothing stopped him, really. He was, after all, the eldest son and heir of an Imperial Count. And more to the point, this entire party existed because of him in the first place.
"...Mm. No — thank you for the kind offer, but it would be terribly improper of me. If the staff here heard that a guest had abruptly stayed over, it would put them in a very awkward position indeed."
"I'm sure it would be fine."
"No, Prince Cael. Truly, thank you — but it's better I return home."
Not an ordinary woman after all. Did she see through me? Did she anticipate that I meant to set a watch on her?
"In return — might I come visit again someday, and talk like this once more? Being alone in the Empire has left me a touch lonely, a touch bored. If these conversations can teach me so much, I can hardly imagine anything better."
"If my schedule permits, it would be my pleasure."
He was perfectly happy with the arrangement, of course. It meant continuous close observation of a key Novogord figure. When it came to nations the Empire ought to court — and the ones that would be a menace as enemies — Novogord ranked first on both lists.
"...Whew."
Inside the carriage on the ride home, Charlois let out a soft sigh.
Oh, I slipped up. Got carried away. Heart pounding far too hard — I talked far too much. This won't do. I can't let him see me as some shallow, giddy woman. What if Prince Cael starts thinking less of me?
But... what can you do?
Really. Honestly. This was Cael Clausewitz they were talking about. Even now, merely recalling the stratagems of the eastern and southern campaigns sent a shiver down her spine.
Today had been no different. A single flash of insight, one line of counsel, and the road ahead had simply opened. The blurry haze before her eyes — the fog-choked path — and it had all come into view just like that.
The moment I'm home, I'm contacting Father first.
Oh — and I really ought to brag a little to the others, too. That I spent hours in deep conversation with Cael Clausewitz himself. What on earth will my acquaintances say when they hear?
What will they say? They'll be green with envy. Fufu!
Fierce admiration and fervent devotion toward an object of reverence — humans were prone to it, but the demon race above all burned hottest for such things. It was simply in their blood.