Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 070
Chapter Title: Rome vs. Rome
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The House of Holstein-Gottorp was originally a cadet branch of Denmark's Oldenburg dynasty.
The current duke, Karl Friedrich, had married Anna Petrovna, the daughter of the famed Peter the Great, and fathered a son named Karl Peter Ulrich.
Though the House of Holstein-Gottorp ruled a small duchy within the Holy Roman Empire, it held considerable diplomatic weight due to Karl Ulrich's existence.
This was because the young boy carried the blood of both the Swedish and Russian royal houses, granting him succession rights to both.
However, considering the feeble national power of Holstein-Gottorp, there was little the child Karl Ulrich could actually do.
He was merely adrift, pushed along by the whims and situations of the surrounding powers.
To put it coldly, for the weak, such a claim to an imperial throne was not a blessing but a curse.
Who wouldn't know that any fool ignorant enough to aggressively assert their rights without understanding their place might one day end up as a mysterious corpse?
Thus, the Duke of Holstein-Gottorp didn't hesitate for even a second when the suggestion came to send his son to Vienna.
The boy, just seven and soon to turn eight, didn't yet fully grasp his own circumstances.
Still, he had a rough idea of how grand the imperial court of the Holy Roman Empire truly was.
"Th-then, if I go to Vienna, will I get to meet Your Highness Franz or Your Highness Teressia?"
"Yes. Study hard there and make an effort to befriend them."
"...Couldn't I go to Berlin instead? I like Your Highness Friedrich. They say he's really good at fighting!"
"Child, no matter how skilled in war someone may be, without the basic national power to back it up, it's all for naught. It may be hard for you to understand now, but if you go to the imperial court, you'll learn what you truly need."
The young Karl Ulrich still couldn't comprehend his father's words.
Like any child his age, to him, prowess in battle was the ultimate measure of greatness.
Whenever he asked how great Franz was, his father and tutors would ramble on endlessly.
Excelling in diplomacy, bolstering finances, pursuing balance over hegemony—too much pie-in-the-sky talk.
'Can't you just smash everything in war?'
To be blunt, hadn't his own house been kicked around precisely because it lacked power?
He'd once overheard servants whispering that if the family had been stronger, he wouldn't have to go to Vienna at all.
But the boy had been born frail in both body and spirit, unable to grow strong.
And so, a fierce admiration for the strong burned in his heart.
Because he himself could never be strong.
He couldn't help being drawn to Friedrich, who embodied strength incarnate.
'But Father and the servants rate Franz Stefan even higher than Friedrich...'
One thing he couldn't understand was why his father and the servants valued Franz Stefan more than Friedrich.
Could he truly surpass the war incarnate who had smashed France?
The boy, still ignorant of what true strength really meant, boarded the carriage to Vienna with bewilderment clutched to his chest.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ For starters, I relayed everything I'd discussed with Andrey to the emperor.
Since it was an agreement that brought nothing but gains for us, his response of "do as you wish" went without saying.
No elders in the Privy Council dared contradict me anymore, so at this point, the deal was as good as done.
In my past life, this era's position had been one of utter powerlessness, but the taste of authority was truly sweet.
Next, I instructed them to prepare suitable lodgings for Karl Ulrich—future Peter III—then outlined the rough plan ahead for Teressia.
"So, what fresh charm did this kid use to capture my husband's heart this time?"
"Is it just me, or does that phrasing feel off somehow?"
Why say something so ominous?
Teressia knew my pure intentions better than anyone, so she wouldn't fall for such lies and slander, but there were vicious fools who actually believed it.
Yet Teressia shook her head, her playful smile unwavering.
"Not at all? I know better than anyone that you have a knack for spotting talented children."
"Well, that's..."
"It's true. You singled out Friedrich back when everyone dismissed him as too weak to adapt to Brandenburg's strict court culture. And thanks to studying your way, the tutors couldn't stop praising how dazzling my progress was."
Well, of course.
I'd already pinpointed their talents and simply guided them accordingly.
"Not just him—Kaunitz, Joseph, everyone you spotlight proves their worth for imperial favor right away. The last two weren't brought in as kids, though."
"Is that the talk making rounds in the court?"
"Less 'court' and more just something that came up while Father, Prince Eugene, and I were chatting. Father even said he'd accept any child you recommend without question."
No wonder things moved faster than I'd expected.
"So, what astonishing talent does young Master Holstein-Gottorp possess? We've got military and diplomacy covered—administration? Pure scholarship, maybe?"
I let out a hollow chuckle.
It was a stretch, but the misunderstanding was so solidly grounded it almost made sense, nodding my head along.
"Hmm... what kind of boy is Karl Ulrich? He's remarkable, that's for sure."
There were endless ways to describe Peter III, but summed up in one line: the undisputed worst tyrant in Russian history, bar none.
Most incompetents just get cursed and forgotten, but Peter III blazed infamy with trollish dominance rivaling Renya Mutaguchi of the Korean Independence Army.
And in my past life, Teressia and I were his prime victims, struck hardest by his bungling—thinking back still makes my neck ache.
"Remarkable how? The kind who can't tell public duty from personal whims?"
"...Huh? What do you mean?"
"Listen. Most who blur those lines still have some basic judgment, right? But from what I know, Karl Ulrich is on a whole other level—zero discernment."
Teressia stared at me, eyes wide in disbelief.
I still couldn't forget it.
In my past life, Austria, allied with France and Russia, had victory in sight.
Not just "one slip-up from winning"—we'd practically won.
No tactical genius like Friedrich could save them after England bailed, leaving Prussia exposed to the France-Austria-Russia pummeling.
Friedrich had even resolved to down his poison vial when newly ascended Peter III suddenly signed a separate peace with Prussia.
When we first heard, neither Teressia nor I believed it.
We just scoffed at Friedrich's petty scheming from the corner.
But once confirmed, Teressia was so flabbergasted she couldn't even curse.
"...No, why?"
That's when I learned true bafflement silences you.
Sure, Russia was nearing its offensive limit, so withdrawing made sense.
I'd grant they calculated Austria unchecked would grow too strong if Prussia collapsed.
But Russia didn't stop there—they returned occupied territories without reparations and even offered to lend troops.
Friedrich must've suspected the new tsar was mocking him; the terms were that absurd.
Common sense says no, right?
What mad king tosses away a sure win and dons the loser's yoke?
Yet it happened. Under Peter III.
Countless theories persist even today on why, but they're tedious and pedantic.
Simple: Peter III was Friedrich's ultimate fanboy.
Shaking off those infuriating past-life memories, I explained his utility to Teressia.
"Though unlikely, Karl Ulrich holds succession rights to both Sweden and Russia. If he hits on even one, it'll bring massive gains later."
"...Planning to become his idol? Sounds like a lottery jackpot—not bad, but common sense says even revered figures look different once you're king. People's hearts shift with position."
That's normalcy, but Peter III's abnormality made him legendary.
If I spent time with him in Vienna from childhood, redirecting his idolization from Friedrich to me?
What profits that could yield—even I couldn't predict.
Peter III's thinking outstripped my foresight anyway.
Let's see how it goes.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Surprisingly, no sooner had talks with Russia wrapped than the Ottoman ambassador sniffed it out and showed up at my office.
"Your Highness! Is it true Austria has allied with Russia?"
"Where'd you hear that nonsense?"
"No one in Vienna hasn't heard."
Andrey that sly fox must've leaked everything before leaving.
My plan to let the Ottomans overhear our involvement naturally, scattering their fronts, was foiled.
Russians act all macho but roll in the cunning schemes solo...
"Russia and Austria are bound by a brotherly alliance. If one enters war, the other follows automatically."
"Yet they didn't send aid against France last time, as I recall."
"We were mobilizing when the war ended. What can you do when the enemy crumbles so fast?"
Lame self-praise even to me, but tension etched the ambassador's eyes.
We'd pulverized Europe's strongest, France—colloquially speaking—so the Austria-Prussia pact shocked even the Ottomans.
"Plus, the Privy Council sees securing Adriatic sea rights as vital for northern Italy's new holdings. Circumstances beyond our control."
"If not just Russia but Austria joins them, we'll have no choice but to declare holy war."
We'll bite to kill, so stay out if you don't want scars.
Would've considered it if they'd offered Adriatic trade for something else, but pity.
They should've learned from how I kept Spain out last war.
"Holy war... I don't care for outdated Crusader terms, but if you invoke it, we'll have to respond in kind."
"...Are you truly declaring war?"
"If you permanently recognize our Passarowitz gains and drop 'Rum Kayser' from your official documents, we'll use it as pretext to stall. His Majesty's words. Thoughts?"
"...Our empire today is far from Passarowitz days."
No chance in hell.
We wouldn't either, after their Danube-Sava line crumbled last war.
They needed territory back, war or peace—no wonder no real persuasion effort.
But that's the law: chase one more lane, lose your nexus; one extra worker, base explodes.
Don't grieve too much if clinging to the Danube costs the Balkans.
Western Rome and Eastern Rome.
Time to end this tiresome rivalry handed down seven times over.