The Decisive Battle
The sight of Claude V that greeted them inside the burning palace was pitiful beyond measure.
Clothes burned and torn to shreds. Hair scattered in wild disarray, as if it had been forcibly hacked off. And a face half-melted, as though seared by open flame.
Anyone could see he had thoroughly tasted the fire.
The rightful King of France — abandoned even by the royalist faction, confined to a solitary cell — was struggling to escape the palace alone, without a single attendant at his side.
"…Is that guy really the king? For real?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, he is."
His appearance was so wretched that even after seeing the crown on his head with her own eyes, she still could not believe it and had to ask again. Yet Matilda, the former royal treasurer, nodded with a bitter expression.
That old man dressed like a beggar from a third-world slum was indeed this country's king.
"Is that so."
Hmm.
Hmmmm.
It wasn't as if I didn't know and was asking out of ignorance. A man wearing luxurious armor emblazoned with golden fleur-de-lis, draped in a silk-woven cloak — how could he not be the king?
A crown or scepter alone might have been borrowed by the royal family's last loyal retainer to fake his death, but that dazzling full royal set could never be a disguise. There was no way he would have had time to put all that on while the fortress was under attack. If he had, I'd have been willing to acknowledge the old man as a master of disguise.
"Spare me! Just spare me! Anyone, please — just spare me!"
But no matter how you looked at him, he wasn't a master of disguise. He was just an idiot. And Matilda, who had worked as the royal treasurer, had already confirmed he was the king.
"Shall I spare you?"
The whole situation was so absurd that I found myself saying something I didn't mean at all. To think that such a wretched creature had sat on the throne calling himself king.
I had known of Claude V's incompetence well before the war, but I had still expected him to have at least one hidden quality. The king I finally faced was a wretched old man with not a shred of dignity about him — so much so that even looking him in the face felt like a waste of time.
"Y-you'll spare me? Do you know where the exit is? Please, tell me! If you just get me out of here, I'll give you anything!"
Yet His Majesty the King was not content with mere ordinary incompetence. He began the advanced spectacle of begging for his life from the rebel leader — and all because he couldn't find the way out of his own palace.
"Well, sure. People can be like that when they're panicking…"
It wasn't entirely incomprehensible. When people face a crisis, their memory fails and their judgment clouds. Judging by his condition, he had already taken a faceful of flames once — and people who can maintain composure after the agony of melting skin are vanishingly rare. In both my past life and this one, I had only ever seen two such people. Needless to say, neither of them was normal.
So one could say His Majesty's disgraceful display was a kind of declaration of humanity, proving he too was merely human…
"Rebecca, restrain him for me. I have questions, so don't hit his face."
"Understood."
As a king of a medieval feudal kingdom, he was a complete failure. The man who should have been the idol of every knight and the beloved of all his subjects — what was the point if he was this ordinary? This was no longer a matter of mere incompetence. Claude V was someone who should never have sat on the throne in the first place.
"Um, sorry to keep asking, but was the succession really carried out properly? Was there some accident along the way, or…"
"No. He is indeed the legitimate eldest son of the previous king. Unfortunately."
"That really is unfortunate."
But according to the laws of succession, this was correct. Damn. If there had been some hidden story, I could have at least shifted the blame. This just meant the Kingdom of France had been destined to destroy itself. Or perhaps the Duke of Orléans would have staged a coup and usurped the throne.
"Insolence! How dare you lay hands on the royal person! I will cut off your limbs and smash your skulls to feed to the dogs!"
Anyway, this guy was not it. No matter how I thought about it, a country ruled by this… this idiot could never have functioned normally. His severe premature aging and the burns on his face made him look like an old man, but he was only forty-eight or forty-nine this year — he still had plenty of life left in him. Given his personality, he would never have abdicated to a successor and would have lived long, continuing his reign of incompetence. The kingdom's future had been utterly hopeless from the start.
"Ha! Insolence? You call that insolence?"
But something about that must have really gotten under Rebecca's skin, because she began thoroughly stomping on Claude V's back as he lay face-down on the floor. This wasn't a metaphor — she was actually stomping on him. The king, who had been disgracefully pinned face-down by a girl who looked no older than a middle schooler, was now being mercilessly trampled by her while screaming.
"If you have eyes, you should have seen! If you have ears, you should have heard! The Goddess's own representative has personally come all this way, and instead of prostrating yourself and confessing your sins, you dare spew such nonsense!"
And as she stomped on the king in a fury, Rebecca finally prepared to redirect her boot toward his head.
"I'll tear that filthy mouth of yours into a thousand pieces! Every last one of your bloodline will be thrown into the flames without exception—"
"Stop. Stop."
If she kicks his head with that kind of power, he'll die. And I was about to ask where his heirs were — what is she doing saying things like that?
"My dear Your Majesty, where might our precious children be?"
Claude V had three sons and two daughters. And of course, they were the legitimate heirs to the French throne. European succession laws did not reject matrilineal inheritance outright. So they needed to be dealt with.
I didn't know how much of a threat the children of a king abandoned even by the royalists would be, but there was no need to leave the seeds of discord behind.
"What?"
"Where did you hide your brats?"
I didn't know if I would end up killing them. It wasn't as if I felt no resistance to killing people. If they were young enough for their identities to be rewritten, or stupid enough to lack common sense, I could coax and soothe them into living new lives and leave it at that. If not… I would have to stain my hands with blood once more.
Whether they were innocent or not didn't matter. Thousands had already died or been permanently disabled in the battle at the Clermont-Ferrand fortress. Rather than fail to snuff out the embers of another war over a mere five lives, I would gladly stain my hands with blood and earn someone's hatred.
"Your Majesty. This girl will present you with two choices."
So this was a question born of pure curiosity. Would he prove through a brave decision that he had at least one useful quality, or confess that this country's king had been a completely unnecessary human being? If he showed me even a single virtue, I would at least send him off with proper dignity.
"If you tell this girl the whereabouts of your children, I will arrange for you to leave the kingdom and spend the rest of your days in comfort on a distant island—"
"The boys all went north! Louise left long ago and we've lost contact! Only Bianca remains here in this fortress with me. Hey — you better keep your promise!"
But if he continued his disgraceful behavior to the very end… Wait. I hadn't even finished talking. I hadn't even brought up the second option yet.
And why is one of them still here? I confirmed there were no civilians before setting the fire.
"Ah. No way."
Just as I was about to ask the king for a more precise location, Matilda suddenly let out a sigh so deep it seemed the ground might collapse beneath her.
"Forgive me for interrupting… Saintess. Do you have more to discuss with His Majesty? If not, I would like a moment of your time."
"Uh, I just need to ask where the princess who's supposedly still in the fortress is."
"Yes. I know where she is. So you have no further business with His Majesty, then."
I nodded readily.
Claude V, robbed of his conversation partner, finally recognized Matilda and was about to spew all manner of vulgar curses — but Matilda's boot planted itself in his philtrum even faster.
"Oh. The resignation kick."
She just hit an already-suffering old man with a tooth extraction and a nasal vessel dilation procedure at the same time. She's going to blow her entire severance package on settlement money the moment she gets it.
"Hah. I never thought a day like this would come… Saintess? What are you doing?"
"Confirming the kill."
But what needs doing right now isn't a facial redevelopment project — it's cremation.
I carefully approached Claude V and bestowed upon him the warm grace of fire.
Then I approached Rebecca, who for some reason was wearing a contented smile, and clung to her like a leech.
"Could you give me a piggyback ride?"
"If that is what you wish, gladly."
I just used up all my Divine Power executing that improvised auto-da-fé. With the fire resistance buff gone as a result, I need to stick close to Rebecca to endure the heat.
It was a little scary that she seemed pleased I had burned Claude V to death, but she was on our side for now, so it should be fine.
"Matilda, do you have any spare cloaks like that?"
"This? There should be about three more in the treasury…"
Still, better to grab a fireproof suit just in case.
In case Rebecca ever betrays me… no, that possibility is zero, so not that.
I never know when I might have to set myself on fire and charge into enemy lines again. Next time, I need to prepare the equipment first so I can fight even longer.