90. The Rapidly Shifting Situation

Less than two years had passed on this continent, yet the cascade of incidents and upheavals already felt endless. But the statement that had just erupted dwarfed all of them several times over.

The moment those words left someone's mouth, every nation on the continent went taut with tension. Even Novogord itself, the very place where the statement had been made, showed unmistakable signs of being caught off guard.

Atria had asked Novogord to shake the Empire's northern border. The idea was to pin the Empire's attention to the north while cooking up something else behind the curtain. And Atria was, in truth, nothing more than a name that had been changed. The whole world knew exactly which kingdom was pulling Atria's strings from behind.

'Dedorant. Officially, it was Atria who reached out to Novogord — but in reality, it had to be Dedorant making the request.'

'The same people who'd been groveling before the Empire as if they'd hand over their liver and their gallbladder alike, suddenly doing this?'

'And the Empire hadn't even seemed all that hostile toward Dedorant lately — so where does that leave things now?'

Of course, there was always the possibility the information was wrong. It could have been the trick of those who delighted in fabricating tales. Atria was currently shrieking that no such thing had ever existed. Dedorant insisted they had nothing whatsoever to do with any of it. And the Novogord Demon Council had issued no official position, maintaining silence throughout. Taking any of that as one hundred percent truth raised problems of its own.

And then, in the middle of all this uncertainty, the decisive event finally detonated.

Whatever the public sentiment of either nation, their leaderships had been desperately trying to preserve that silence. But once things reached this point, suppressing popular feeling became utterly impossible.

A nation, in the end, is governed more by emotion than by reason. The reason is simple: the foundation of any state is its countless people. And the more numerous people become, the more easily they are swept away by feeling.

Atria was the first to reverse every claim it had made until now. Officially, they had said, it was a misunderstanding. A mere accident. But with things as they were, they suddenly cried, "This was clearly a staged production by Novogord!" They howled that it was all a deliberate scheme to drive a wedge between the Empire and Atria.

And with the situation having spiraled this far, Novogord decided it would hold its tongue no longer.

Kaland Estania, Chairman of the Demon Council, stepped forward into the light. In his hand he held a single, small letter — but its contents were anything but small.

"Atria sent this secret correspondence to our Novogord. If we shake the Empire's northern border, they promised to guarantee Novogord's share of the gains to come. They further pledged concessions on the territorial water disputes that have repeatedly flared near the North Sea."

"We in Novogord understand all too well what this means. Yes — let me be frank with you. It is true that we too have had our frictions with the Empire, and we agonized over it. We pondered day and night what course would best serve our national interest. And today, we have reached our conclusion."

"We would rather stand with a neighbor who honors its promises — even one we have quarreled with in the past — than with a cowardly neighbor who makes requests with one hand while plotting to stab us in the back with the other."

The coffee tasted strangely good today. When the same brew you drink every morning suddenly hits different, it can only mean one thing: something pleasant has happened.

"So it finally begins."

I let out a low whistle as I read the latest dispatch from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We had finally set it off. We'd actually set the whole thing off — and set it off gloriously. Part of it was Novogord's skillful performance, and part of it was certainly the power of the staged drama itself. But applause, as they say, only sounds when two hands come together. And by that measure, Atria had been the true, hidden MVP of the whole affair.

Dedorant, I imagined, was cursing up a storm internally. They'd been pressuring Atria's nobles to keep their house in order — and in the end, they'd failed to contain the resentment toward Novogord at all. Worse, they'd let themselves get swept up in their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own public sentiment and hurled the entire game off the table. At this point, it felt almost fated that their team luck was garbage. The ally they'd painstakingly secured, Benito, had scored a spectacular own goal, and Atria — the kingdom they'd annexed — refused to move according to their design.

Atria had provoked Novogord with, essentially, 'You staged the whole thing yourselves and now you feel guilty, is that it?' And with their eyes rolled back in fury, Novogord's demons began cursing Atria even harder than they cursed the Empire.

Yes, it was a staged production. That was precisely the point — the whole reason ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd offered the advice in the first place. Charlois and Chairman Kaland then took that seed and fleshed it out, expanded it, and the result was a magnificent, glorious free-for-all. A masterpiece of chaos, painted in the prettiest colors imaginable.

Atria tried to seduce Novogord into attacking the Empire. And what did that mean? Behind Atria stood Dedorant — so this was, by extension, Dedorant's doing. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But wait — hadn't these Dedorant bastards been groveling at the Empire's feet just recently? And if so, what did that tell you? It meant they'd been talking peace out front while cracking sunflower seeds and scheming in the back.

With that news, the continent descended into absolute pandemonium.

Novogord, who had struck first and loudest, was shouting, "Those Atrian dogs! Punish them!" Atria was wailing, "We told you it was a stage play by Novogord!" The Three Eastern Kingdoms, now firmly in the Empire's camp, were too busy scurrying around going "Ooooooh!" and reading the room to do anything else. And the Holy Theocracy, together with the several southern kingdoms already on poor terms with Benito, immediately hammered down their condemnation.

'So this is why the Empire had spent all this time gritting its teeth, tending to public sentiment, and diligently farming legitimacy.'

Let's not forget. Novogord in the north. Burkhai, Kaden, and Porland in the east. And finally, every other southern kingdom except the Holy Theocracy. Every last one of them had thrown a punch at the Empire and either taken a colossal counterpunch or come within a hair of it.

There was no reason on earth for them to speak up on the Empire's behalf or trash-talk its enemies. Not unless — yes — not unless the Empire had swallowed every humiliation, bitten its lip bloody, grinned through it all, and said, Please, live! I'll spare you! That forbearance was finally bearing fruit.

For the record, the Empire had yet to issue any official position. That was only natural — the friends it had so diligently cultivated were already raising their voices on its behalf, all at once. Rather than stepping forward with a pointed ahem, it was far better to sit quietly in the back and watch the situation unfold. Playing the part of the untouchable supreme power while also making it easy to monitor exactly who was speaking the loudest — efficiency at its finest.

And so, after being drenched in abuse from every corner of the continent, Dedorant finally moved. Did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they clarify that it was all a misunderstanding, as they had every time before? Did they bow their heads to the Empire once more, begging and pleading for mercy?

'As if. They're not nearly rational enough for that.'

Above all, the Empire had chosen silence — and everyone understood exactly what that silence meant. I'm so violently displeased right now that I want to kill every last one of you, but I'm considering my options. And: Don't mistake pleading for your life for actually being spared. The price will be paid in full. Every foreign ministry on the continent had reached that same conclusion.

With things in this state, the method Dedorant chose was brutally simple. The war with De Gaulle — a war they had paused, first to catch their breath and then to keep one eye on the Empire — was resumed. They seized the capital at last and drove forward at a breakneck pace.

I'd thought a great power beyond the western border would at least put up some manner of resistance. Unlike Los Tanica, which had over-invested in its navy, De Gaulle had possessed a genuinely formidable army. Even in defeat after defeat, I'd expected at least one fierce, pitched battle.

But no such thing. They stumbled from one humiliating shambles to the next, and Dedorant stripped them down to their very souls.

In the end, the royal house of De Gaulle abandoned its own kingdom and fled elsewhere. This world was not one of presidents and prime ministers like the one I remembered from my past life. The value a king carries is beyond imagination — nothing like a president bolting. For the king of an entire nation to give up resistance and run away, leaving his own people behind him... there was no coming back from that.

De Gaulle could no longer exist as De Gaulle. Even if Dedorant were to collapse someday and the royals returned, the enraged populace would rise up and drive them out for good.

'And what did Los Tanica ever do to deserve this? They trusted De Gaulle enough to forge an alliance, watched those strutting braggarts get shattered on land, and now the king himself comes fleeing to their doorstep with his family in tow.'

By now, Los Tanica's leadership had to be screaming in despair over the collapse of their morale. The De Gaulle royal family had run straight into their country — and Dedorant was never going to let that slide. It handed them a beautiful justification. Los Tanica would unquestionably be the next target.

Now then. All that remained was the Empire's response. They couldn't stay silent forever. How would they voice their displeasure at the current state of affairs? And in what fashion would they show the continent a hint of the path ahead?

The answer came two weeks after the uproar began.

And I — by imperial command — received my formal appointment to the General Staff Department.