Don't Run Away!
It had already been over a month since the Crown Princess departed for the east.
During that time, I did absolutely nothing and rested at the family estate.
Honestly, this was the right call. What kind of human being performs heroics across three separate borders?
And not over several years—in barely a year's worth of time, no less.
I'm beginning to understand why our revered Master Zhuge perished from overwork.
If I'm this exhausted while doing hardly any actual work, I can only imagine how it felt for him, handling every single matter with his own two hands.
Once again, I found myself grateful for the physical training I'd endured since childhood.
Without it, my stamina would surely have become my undoing.
When not even a common nosebleed made an appearance, Alexei marveled, 'As expected of House Clausewitz!'
Of course, I wasn't exactly rolling around doing nothing at all.
Wherever a banquet invitation or a party sprang up, my face was required to make an appearance.
Even military ceremonies—I had to show up to every last one of them.
Our Berthier Imperial Count Fief had already become the center of gravity among the Imperial Counts.
If I fell silent there, the other Imperial Counts would find themselves in an awkward position trying to carry on.
Besides, the situation lately wasn't quite calm enough for me to just sit quietly on my hands.
'The Empire has been awfully busy these past two months.'
Just a few days ago, the First Prince had departed for the imperial south.
From there, he would observe the situation before meeting with the Holy Theocracy and the other southern kingdoms.
All to lay the groundwork that would let the Empire's voice carry that much further—
and, naturally, to negotiate compensation commensurate with it.
Word had it the southern kingdoms were privately relieved to hear the First Prince was coming.
Our Princess had soothed them well enough, but when you got right down to it, she belonged to the War Hawks.
Knowing she might choose spear and sword at any moment, they must have found her unnerving.
The First Prince, by contrast, was a man of the Peace Faction, one who had never stopped chanting for dialogue.
To the countless small and mid-sized rulers who had bowed their heads to the Empire yet wished to simply remain as they were rather than be absorbed into it, the Prince could only be a welcome sight.
'And with Benito reduced to half an invalid, they've got nothing to be frightened of either.'
The Benito situation remained as before. Having lost their entire main force, they were a hollow shell.
They supposedly still had some troops left, but nothing capable of projecting the power they once had.
With Dedorant troops now garrisoned there besides, their morale had withered away completely.
'If the rumors are to be believed, the King of Benito spends every day drowning in wine and women?'
Whether that was true or not remained unconfirmed.
If true, then Dedorant would have to march forward while carrying the landmine called Benito on its back.
If false, it meant something was being deliberately hidden.
Please, let it be the former. Honestly, the latter worries me a little.
Just think about it—how furiously would they be grinding their teeth, preparing their revenge?
Far better that their spirit be broken and they drown their sorrows in wine and women, I say.
"Young Master Cael! Here are the documents you requested earlier!"
"From the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, yes?"
"Yes! They insist you review them personally and burn them immediately after!"
Ever since the Emperor had granted me the temporary post of Military Commissioner,
the greatest convenience had been the ease of access to information.
The Ministry of War and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in particular had taken to briefing me on the situation on a regular schedule.
"I thought you were supposed to be resting? You've been buried in paperwork all night, every night, since last week."
"It'd be a lie to say I wasn't tired, but the situation simply isn't a leisurely one."
Taking a sip of the coffee Alexei had brought, I returned my focus to the documents.
The most turbulent corner of the continent at present was, as ever, the west.
The war between Dedorant and D'Gallet—paused briefly by the annexation of Artria and the support effort for Benito.
Both sides had used the breathing room to catch their breath, and each now stood ready to trade another massive blow.
And at last, Dedorant shattered the brief ceasefire and resumed the war.
If D'Gallet lost again this time, they would have no future left at all.
They had already lost their western territories, severing their contact point with the Empire entirely.
Every strategic material they'd been drawing from the Empire had vanished.
And if they lost just once more, the enemy would be at the gates of their capital itself.
D'Gallet was, quite literally, a house on fire.
They were holding on with Los Tanica's help, but that too would reach its limit.
A decisive battle was unavoidable. And so, in the central region, a battle for their very souls unfolded.
And the result was…
D'GALLET — CRUSHING DEFEAT. CAPITAL FALLEN.
The Second Prince killed in action. The King and Crown Prince have fled into exile—the eastern border and Los Tanica respectively.
"Haah."
You pathetic bastards. You miserable wretches. How do you fail to so much as stub their toe—not once, but every single time!
Weren't the people of D'Gallet strutting around just recently, calling themselves the masters of the west?
Where did all that magnificent pride of yours go? Every time you fight, you get your teeth kicked in—you've become the continental punching bag!
Two months had passed since Dedorant annexed Artria.
It was true that they had stabilized faster than anyone expected.
But appearances could deceive; the inside might tell a different story.
They'd swallowed a meal of colossal size, and the best they could hope for was not to give themselves indigestion.
And they had immediately started sprinting at full speed—which meant a single loud burp was entirely possible.
All D'Gallet had to do was aim for that. If the burp wouldn't come on its own, they should have forced it out.
And yet in the end they couldn't manage even that, and got themselves flattened. Absolute fools.
"It seems the news is not good."
"I thought they were at least something special. Turns out they're not. D'Gallet up and fled, handing over their own capital, and Dedorant is devouring Artria and D'Gallet both, nice and tidy."
"Mm. That would be a matter for House Clausewitz's business, I'm afraid, and not mine."
Alexei offered an entirely unconvincing sheepish smile, then changed the subject.
"By the way, Miss Charlois is paying us a visit this afternoon. Are you certain you don't need to prepare?"
"We're hardly here to throw a party or a banquet. It'll be another few hours of talk, same as always."
Just as planned with me, she had relayed the whole scheme to her father in Novogord.
Upon hearing Charlois's report, Chairman Kaland had immediately begun preparations.
He seemed convinced that joining hands with the Empire beat joining hands with Dedorant.
'Of course, it won't be easy just yet. The preparations are one thing, but first they'll have to sort out exactly who can be trusted with the work.'
Since this was, plainly and simply, a staged play of our own making, every precaution upon precaution was required.
If this were ever exposed, the political burden the Novogord moderates would have to shoulder would be staggering.
Handled poorly, it could become the very spark that let the hardliners seize power all over again.
When Charlois arrived shortly, I would need to talk that through with her, apparently.
More thoroughly. And more covertly. The operation had to be carried out by the most trustworthy hands available.
The Empire might weather a bit of suspicion and be done with it—but your people could genuinely split in two and tear each other apart.
Ah, and to be clear—this was absolutely not something I was orchestrating on my own.
After offering Charlois that advice, I had reported the situation straight to the Emperor.
There is a matter brewing in Novogord. If we do not move swiftly, the northern border will be shaken. And so, I said, I had passed along my views to the moderate faction in the form of advice.
It was, quite literally, nothing more than personal counsel, so there was no cause for concern whatsoever—
and the moment I finished, the Emperor let out a short, rumbling laugh.
"So you've been doing the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' work for them."
I'd half expected to be reprimanded for freelancing. Instead, a relief.
As it turned out, the Emperor had already been receiving reports on Novogord through the Ministry of Special Affairs.
That Artria—no, that Dedorant—kept approaching them, pressing to join hands.
He had been on the verge of deliberating with the Empire's senior statesmen over what to do,
and apparently took great satisfaction in the fact that I had slipped a countermeasure into Novogord's hands through Charlois.
"Young Master!"
Alexei, who had stepped out of the room moments ago, came racing back in, breathless.
What now? What's wrong? Why on earth is he gasping like that?
"Sh-she's here!"
"Miss Charlois? Already? Her appointment isn't for a while yet, is it?"
"N-no, not her! Her Highness the Princess is here!"
…Huh?
Isabel looked slightly different than usual as she entered the Berthier Imperial Count Fief.
A little restless. Startled, and then startled some more. She seemed, somehow, full of cracks.
"I hear you've been meeting with Cael Clausewitz and Charlois Estania quite often these days."
When the Emperor had remarked on it in passing over afternoon tea,
Isabel hadn't thought much of it at first.
Her only thought was that Cael was surely cooking up some new scheme.
But as time passed, an uncomfortable something had begun to take root, little by little.
She couldn't for the life of her identify what this uncomfortable feeling actually was.
Anxiety? Yes. That must be it. Because Cael was meeting with demons from a foreign land.
Because if he got tangled up in some unfortunate rumor, he could face scrutiny that outweighed all the achievements he'd built up until now.
That was what Isabel told herself—but then another thought raised its head.
'Is that really the whole of this uncomfortable feeling?'
Isabel had fidgeted and squirmed through the entire tea. The Emperor had watched his daughter quietly all the while.
And then he shared a single piece of information that only he possessed.
"I hear the two of you have a meeting again today, as it happens."
That was the last straw. Isabel could bear it no longer, and she resolved to act.
No appointment made in advance. No courtesy of asking permission beforehand.
She committed the outright rudeness of storming into the Berthier Imperial Count Fief without a by-your-leave.
"Your Highness, the Second Princess."
She offered her apologies to Count Berthier, who had hurried out to receive her in his astonishment.
She had come because she wished to see Cael, she explained—without so much as an appointment.
The Count assured her it was no trouble at all and escorted her into the family seat.
No—more precisely, he tried to.
"Count Berthier, my lord. Th-the… guest has already arrived."
The one responsible was none other than Charlois, who happened to be visiting the fief earlier than usual that day.
"…"
"…"
"…"
I genuinely never saw this coming. If I had, I'd have done something about it.
Why is the Princess visiting my family's estate? Why did Charlois arrive early?
And why are the two of them sitting there in total silence, fiddling with their teacups?!
"Ahahaha. Well then, Young Master, I shall take my leave—"
"No, wait, Alexei—"
"I'd hate to intrude on such an intimate conversation between the three of you!"
H-hey! Alexei! And you call yourself my attendant after that?!
Come back! Damn it! Don't you dare run away and leave me alone in this excruciating situation!