Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 061
Chapter Title: Triumph
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The Treaty of Lorraine easily secured ratification from every nation involved.
France had no choice but to hold out any longer, and Britain stood to lose nothing substantial, so no conflicts arose.
Far from it—shrewd Britain even boasted that they had single-handedly prevented a great war through their leadership.
📰 Breaking News [Walpole's Justified Leadership! Puts an End to the Franco-Austrian War!] 📰 Breaking News [Without the British Empire's Intervention, Paris Would Have Fallen. French King Expresses Gratitude to the British Parliament!] 📰 Breaking News [Habsburg Shows Respect, Brandenburg Listens Intently, and France Bows Its Head? An Interview with the Century's Mediator, Prime Minister Robert Walpole] What a load of bullshit.
Britain's shameless self-congratulation was, in a way, my own handiwork.
Through Ambassador Robinson, I'd suggested to Walpole that weaving in that kind of publicity would further bolster Parliament's authority.
It must have struck Walpole as a brilliant idea because he immediately plastered those cringeworthy headlines everywhere, and apparently, his approval ratings in London had shot through the roof.
It made my stomach turn, but what could I do?
With France knocked down for the time being, Britain was now the only single nation posing a threat to Austria.
Besides, Britain was infamous for its sleazy tactics—always expanding its alliances through what they called "hateful diplomacy." Keeping on their good side was the best move for now.
Another war was inevitable before long, and if those pirate bastards decided to meddle then, everything would go to hell.
Blowing my nose with the promotional articles Robinson sent in real-time, we pressed on—and on.
At last, I returned as the triumphant general.
"Open the gates!"
Boom!
With thunderous cheers, the batteries on the city walls fired off a 101-gun salute.
"Hooray!"
"Your Highness Franz! Your Highness!"
"Prince Eugene is here too! Look over here, Your Highness!"
The city was packed to the brim, not just with locals from Vienna but crowds from across the nation eager to witness the triumphal procession.
Even the nobles had staked out high vantage points, peering down at us through telescopes for the best view.
"There! General Leopold Joseph is there too!"
"Joseph, the Incarnation of Slaughter!"
"They say he personally beheaded a thousand French soldiers on the battlefield?"
"Word is he bathed in the blood of those frog bastards!"
"Raaah! So cool! A real man's man, Joseph!"
Exaggerated rumors spread like wildfire, solidifying into accepted fact.
I glanced at Joseph, wondering if the attention was overwhelming him, but surprisingly, he didn't look bothered at all.
They say overwhelming adulation can short-circuit the brain.
That was Joseph to a tee right now.
Of course—who had he ever experienced tens of thousands of people unilaterally chanting his name in ecstasy?
He even raised a hand toward the citizens, basking in the roaring cheers.
"Hahaha! That's right! I am the Frog Hunter! France's Nightmare! The Butcher of France, Leopold Joseph! Everyone, give me even louder cheers!"
"Hooray!"
He looks thrilled. If you can't avoid it, enjoy it—excellent attitude.
As long as he's happy, it's fine. I'll just leave him be.
From my ornate carriage, I maintained the dignity befitting my soon-to-be imperial status, leisurely raising a hand in acknowledgment of the cheers.
Behind me trailed tattered remnants of French and Sardinian flags, while captured cannons stood as irrefutable proof of our victories.
How many wars had the Habsburgs waged against France with such a resounding, overwhelming triumph?
The citizens and nobles alike were in full festival mode, and even Charles VI at the end of the procession, before St. Stephen's Cathedral, couldn't hide his excitement.
"In honor of Franz Stefan's historic victory, I bestow upon him the glory of the Order of the Golden Fleece!"
"Hooray!"
"Furthermore! I hereby declare that Franz Stefan shall formally wed my daughter Maria Theresa and become a member of the House of Habsburg!"
With Britain and France's firm approval after all the stalling, there was no longer any need to hesitate.
The Emperor dropped the bombshell that the wedding would take place this very year, and the citizens' reaction was pure ecstasy.
Maria Theresa would turn exactly eighteen next year by Western reckoning... so it should be fine, right?
By this era's standards, she'd long passed the age of adulthood, and even by modern ones, she'd be undeniably an adult next year.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Maria Theresa beaming beside Charles VI, looking like she owned the world.
She's so overjoyed... no helping it, then.
At least it wasn't too young an age for marriage, so that was a relief.
"Hey, look. Doesn't Prince Franz have a bit of a complicated expression?"
"Maybe... because Archduchess Maria Theresa is getting too old now?"
"Ah... could be. Maybe His Highness wanted to marry her when she was fifteen or younger at the most? If those damn French hadn't interfered, he could've had an even happier wedding!"
...You slanderous liars. I've memorized your faces.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The triumphal procession that plunged Vienna into a frenzy of ecstasy didn't end as a mere celebration.
I'd judged that wrapping it up with just the parade would lack impact.
It wasn't only for the common folk—I needed a decisive blow to make the soldiers who'd fought, those who would become soldiers, and their families truly follow me from the heart.
Beyond such political aims, I also wanted to show basic respect to those who'd laid down their lives for the nation.
In this era, not even into the 20th century, there were no dedicated facilities or events to honor war dead.
But having lived through the modern age, I knew full well how profound such memorials could be.
The nation remembers those who gave their lives for it.
Not just in empty words, but in tangible form.
Like a national cemetery in modern terms.
Of course, what was utterly commonplace by modern standards was seen as radical here.
Too progressive a policy might breed resentment, so I had to temper it with the era's sensibilities.
I funded from my own pocket a grand national military cemetery on Vienna's outskirts, naming it the Heroes' Grove.
The colonnade bearing the nobles' names was made as opulent as possible, encircled by oval arrays of plaques for the common soldiers.
At the entrance hung the word Gemein-Wohl—"Common Good"—inscribed by my own hand, and before the assembled soldiers and citizens, I solemnly doffed my hat.
I bowed my head in silent prayer, then turned to face them.
The soldiers and their officers gazed at the cemetery with brimming eyes, suppressing a surge of emotion.
Bearing their stares, I spoke gravely.
"Noble citizens, loyal soldiers, and sons of the Empire standing in silent vigil!"
This was no mere political theater.
It was a reminder: if I judged everything by maps alone, ignoring the people beneath, I'd end up worse than in my past life.
Politics, diplomacy, war—all are human endeavors in the end.
Don't forget. I'm prepared to do anything for the Empire's prosperity, but even that is ultimately about people.
If I crossed that line, I'd become a mustachioed devil, dyeing the world in tears and blood.
"The colonnade we tread today is not the glorious end of a triumph, but the first letter writ in your blood.
> The great victory we have seized was not forged by His Majesty's sword alone. It was your hearts that spilled blood like steel and flame, awakening this Empire's dawn!
>
Thus, I have raised this Heroes' Grove. May those who sleep here eternally gaze upon Vienna's prosperity, born of their sacrifice. As long as the Empire breathes, as long as the Imperial House endures, we shall never forget you."
I turned to Joseph, whose eyes glistened with moisture.
"Leopold Joseph! Do you remember the names of your comrades who followed your command valiantly unto death?"
"I do!"
"As do I. Now, I shall call forth the names of the heroes we have sent on! Colonel Kubert von Levenstein! The iron bastion who halted the enemy's flight across the Po with a single volley!
> Captain István Berci, 3rd Hungarian Hussar Regiment! In the chaos of battle, he jammed a wagon wheel into the cannon's muzzle, preserving the Empire's pride by keeping our flag from their grasp! Your names shall ring from today as the bells that cleansed the battlefield, and your houses shall bear those honors forever upon their breasts!"
I wanted to recite every name carved into those walls, but reality forbade it.
Still, I swiftly named those who'd earned the greatest merits before death, then laid flowers at the base myself.
"The soil wet with your blood has become the ground we tread tomorrow. In the name of the Empire, the citizens, and one subject of the realm, I bow before your devotion, your blood, your glory, and your sorrow."
Finally, I plunged my sword point-down into the earth and bowed deeply.
Eugene followed, doffing his hat and bowing solemnly; then all officers and soldiers joined in silent tribute.
The very next day.
Nearly every general with ties to the military came calling to express their gratitude.
The rewards for risking death on the field had already overflowed.
Now was the time to convert this overflowing support into real power.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ As Vienna basked in the euphoria of victory.
Berlin's atmosphere was no less electric.
"Hooray!"
"Long live Prince Friedrich!"
"Glory to Tyr's Incarnation, the God of War, Prince Friedrich!"
At just twenty-one, crushing 70,000 French troops in his debut campaign was so overwhelming it needed no embellishment.
Prussia, already steeped in militarism, was drunk on the crown prince's unprecedented feat—some even proposed making this victory day a national holiday.
"Long live! Long live! Long live His Majesty Friedrich!"
"Hey, you lunatic! It's 'Your Highness,' not 'Your Majesty'! The King is still alive!"
"Oh, right. But he'll be king soon enough—what's the harm?"
Friedrich's name echoed through Prussia like the earthly avatar of the war god Tyr.
When your king's a living god incarnate, isn't it only natural to praise him above even the monarch?
If the king were active, maybe not—but Wilhelm had holed up in the palace, silent as the grave; no one knew what he was doing.
He hadn't even shown his face during the triumph, stacking up massive ill will from nobles and citizens alike.
"Come on... even if it's his own son returning as a great hero, shouldn't he at least welcome him?"
"Rumor has it His Majesty is jealous of Prince Friedrich's achievements?"
"What? Why on earth?"
"Because the prince is too brilliant—might threaten his own throne. That's why he skipped the triumph altogether."
It sounded like something to earn a hanging, yet astonishingly, the rumor spread across Berlin.
As if someone had deliberately sown it.
And, predictably, Friedrich knew exactly who was behind it.
"Was it you, Sister?"
"Yes. I'm heading to Vienna soon—thought I'd leave our little brother one last gift before I go."
"How is His Majesty's condition?"
"Worsening by the day. Funny thing—they say people repent and change on their deathbeds? I held out hope, but no. He told me to go to Vienna, seduce my husband, extract state secrets, and report back. Can you believe that's what a father says?"
"Truly regal words."
They say one must cling to one's original intent, but Friedrich had learned from Wilhelm that some people deserved to lose theirs.
"Sigh... I hear Prince Franz and Archduchess Maria Theresa's wedding is coming up soon? Those two are really going through with it. What do you think?"
"What do I think? I congratulate them."
"Oh? No bitterness or complicated feelings from my dear brother?"
"None at all—you're off the mark. I'm thrilled, actually. If Prince Franz becomes Holy Roman Emperor and you marry his sister, then we can truly join as rulers of Germany."
He was fated to become King of Prussia, while Franz would claim the Roman throne.
Now family, pursuing grander goals together—what greater fulfillment could there be?
Gazing at the fractured lands of the Holy Roman Empire, divided into dozens of principalities, he smirked.
So much work lay ahead until only two names remained amid those loathsome shards: Prussia and Austria.
The war was over, yet his heart pounded relentlessly.
An endless thirst. The youth hatching from his shell as the god of war remained ravenous.