The Hannover Revolution
No matter how many times I see him, the man is an enigma.
After being momentarily stunned by her proposal, Romul had awkwardly lowered himself into a chair. Watching him, Adelheid thought he looked less like a prince from the so-called Kingdom of Iron and more like an unassuming young man living in seclusion deep in some mountain valley. Even a royal scion of Remus might feel tension when sitting face-to-face with an imperial princess, but considering what he had demonstrated over the past two days, his demeanor was utterly bizarre.
Wearing a subtle smile that was half performative charm and half genuine curiosity, Adelheid replayed the report she had received from her subordinate just moments earlier.
"So, having observed Prince Romul throughout the day, what kind of man did he seem to be? Did he appear to harbor any hidden intentions?"
"That is... I am honestly not sure, Your Highness."
"Not sure?"
Had an ordinary soldier offered such a vague response, she would have reprimanded him on the spot for lacking military discipline. But this man belonged to Adelheid's personal guard—a veteran who had proven his mettle countless times across brutal battlefields. If a soldier she had handpicked delivered such an assessment, there had to be a reason. She waited in calm silence for him to elaborate.
"At first, while he didn't strike me as a reckless delinquent, neither did he seem particularly competent. He commanded little trust from his men, and it seemed there were unpleasant whispers trailing him back in his homeland."
"Hmm. I have heard that in Remus, to be recognized as royalty, one must prove their martial worth through standards far more draconian than those imposed upon our own imperial family."
"Precisely, Your Highness. Nothing about the prince brought the Kingdom of Remus to mind. He did put forward a plausible plan, but striking the enemy's rear with merely several dozen men seemed utterly suicidal. Up until the clash began, I was convinced we would suffer staggering casualties."
"Yet this officer was informed that we sustained not a single casualty in the rear today. Did he simply place absolute faith in the prowess of Blade Wind?"
The dreaded moniker of General Lucius, who had inflicted grievous agony upon the imperial front lines, had reached Adelheid's ears many times, even though she had never personally set foot on the Remus campaign. But the guardsman slowly shook his head.
"Without Blade Wind, the operation certainly would have been impossible to pull off... Yet it was thanks to the prince that every single one of us survived."
"..."
Now that the conversation was touching upon what she truly wanted to hear, Adelheid refrained from offering an empty interjection, silently prompting him to continue.
"He kept claiming to suffer from battlefield motion sickness, dry-heaving in the back of a cart throughout the engagement. Yet every now and then, he would bark out sudden orders to the men. And without fail, every single time he did, an unforeseen enemy ambush materialized."
"A man retching from motion sickness detected enemy ambushes before anyone else? Quicker than you, or even Blade Wind?"
"Yes, Your Highness. In hindsight... I cannot help but wonder if our ability to tear through the enemy without ever being flanked, surrounded, or cut off was entirely because he constantly directed the general to alter our course. That suspicion refuses to leave my mind."
"I see. Hence why you are 'not sure.'"
"At one moment, it felt like being dragged around by a troublesome young master, but at another... it felt as though we were being commanded by a grizzled veteran who had spent his entire life waging war."
No presence. No prestige. No apparent experience.
Yet terrifyingly shrewd.
"Indeed. No wonder you could not make sense of him..."
"The soldiers of Remus were just as stunned, though they took pains to hide it before us. Blade Wind, at least, seemed to grasp something, appearing rather satisfied."
"You have done well. Dismissed."
"Er, so... would it be all right if I called you Lady Adelheid? You aren't, uh, going to have my head lopped off for insolence later, are you?"
Watching Romul casually cross boundaries as naturally as breathing, right after appearing to tread on eggshells, Adelheid found herself completely sympathizing with her subordinate's bewilderment.
Just what kind of creature is he?
Had he concealed his talents his entire life, or had he simply never been granted the stage to reveal them? Neither explanation fit cleanly. Faced with an enigma that defied all the human nature she had witnessed across years of military command, a soldier's wariness stirred within her, swiftly accompanied by another feeling.
I want to know. I want to understand what kind of man he truly is.
Pure curiosity, burning within her as an individual.
"Tell me, do you care for drink? Thanks to you, a bottle of fine private liquor was discovered among the supplies seized from the besieging camp. Some empty-headed officer or noble's private guard must have smuggled it along for his own indulgence. It falls far short of what a prince and an imperial princess ought to share when toasting victory, but on a battlefield, one must make do with scarcity, would you not agree?"
"Pardon? Ah, alcohol... I do enjoy it. If Her Imperial Highness is pouring, even stale, flat beer would be beyond price."
"I believe I instructed you to address me by my name."
"...Was that not a joke?"
"This lady does not care for jest."
Under ordinary circumstances, Adelheid would have smashed such contraband in front of the entire assembly for corroding military discipline, or distributed it so every soldier could moisten their lips. But ever since resolving to commit treason, she had developed a sudden, uncharacteristic appetite for petty rebellion. She wished to spend this monumental first act of defiance with the very man who had inspired her transformation.
The moment the cork was pulled, a rich, biting aroma of aged oak permeated the air. Adelheid poured the amber liquid into two rough wooden cups. An imperial princess and an enemy prince, clinking crude wooden mugs meant for common soldiers on the march inside a hastily pitched tent, rather than fine crystal in an opulent salon—Adelheid thought the spectacle might seem laughably absurd to an outside observer, yet she felt not the slightest hint of displeasure.
"Romul. Tell me... should this lady succeed in this revolution and ascend the imperial throne, what is it that you wish to obtain?"
After taking a smooth sip, Adelheid quietly cast her first stone into the still waters.
"A cessation of hostilities and a lasting alliance between Remus and the Empire... that is the absolute bare minimum, is it not? More importantly, that is a benefit reaped by the Kingdom of Remus, not you as an individual. You chose to stand with this lady out of your own personal volition, not by the decree of your kingdom. Surely you cannot be satisfied with merely that."
"...Well, if possible, I would be deeply grateful if you could advocate on my behalf later, so Remus doesn't decide to hold me responsible and execute me."
"Bwahaha!"
To orchestrate an upheaval of this magnitude, deliberate for a few seconds, and then request nothing more than a guarantee on his own life—the imperial princess discarded her decorum entirely and burst into raucous laughter.
"Was that meant to be humorous? I did say I disliked jokes, but it seems I must retract that statement."
"Pardon?"
She could not tell whether it was genuine humility or cold calculation, but she decided not to scrutinize it. The reply was simply too delightfully entertaining in its own right.
"For a prince of the Kingdom of Iron, your ambition is pitifully modest! Demanding that I crown you the King of Remus would scarcely balance the scales of what you have done!"
She had framed her willingness to support his ascent to kingship in a veiled manner, yet his reaction defied her expectations once more.
"Why in the world would I ever want that...?"
Grimacing with the absolute disgust of an overworked subordinate saddled with pointless drudgery by an incompetent superior, Romul took a deep draught from his cup.
"Ugh... No thanks, count me out."
"Why? Do you despise the thought of reigning? Look upon the Crown Prince. Merely because I became an eyesore, he invented nonexistent crimes to execute a younger sister who had served him with lifelong fidelity. Be it an emperor or a king, it is a seat from which one can do whatever one pleases within their realm. Do you truly find that unappealing?"
"And that man who could do whatever he pleased went and did exactly that, and now he's paying for his karma in real time, isn't he?"
"A fair point! Haha! You truly are a fascinating man."
Could she have laughed like this had anyone else spoken those words? Adelheid was certain she could not.
"Do you dislike Remus? From what I can see, your life has not been particularly smooth. Do you harbor resentment toward your homeland?"
"...It isn't resentment. It's true I was treated poorly, but even so, my circumstances were far better than those of commoners or petty nobles. I was entirely content to be treated in a manner befitting my station."
Romul drained the rest of his cup in a single gulp. Feeling Adelheid's unsatisfied gaze lingering on him, he shifted his eyes away, but when the silence dragged on, he finally muttered in a low, shrinking voice.
"Not that I ever expected them to drop me into a total shitshow like this without telling me a damn thing, mind you."
"I see. In that case, once this lady ascends the throne, there will be no need to wage war against Remus."
"...What?"
"Had you harbored a burning vendetta against your motherland, this lady intended to seize power, stabilize the realm, and immediately mobilize the imperial legions to raze Remus to the ground and place you upon its throne. But since you truly hold no desire for the crown, I shall forgo the notion."
"...Wait, what the hell?"
"Do not forget, Romul. This lady has not allied herself with the Kingdom of Remus. I have joined hands with you, the man who chose me. Never lose sight of that distinction."
Having tasted their first victory and indulged in a modest celebration through the night, the morale of the subjugation force—or rather, the Revolutionary Army—was dialed to a crisp, focused high by morning.
They were seasoned veterans to the last man. In short order, the remaining supplies and armaments were packed and organized for maximum march efficiency. The troops stood primed, ready to move the instant the order dropped.
At this moment, the sole tent left standing in the encampment was the command pavilion. Inside, Adelheid, her staff officers, General Lucius, and I were gathered around the central table, thrashing out our strategy to pull off a successful coup d'état.
"Thanks to Prince Romul's supplies and decisive actions, our immediate logistical shortfall has been averted. However, it is still insufficient to sustain a protracted war. Therefore, we must either seize the imperial capital in a swift, decisive strike, or secure the frontier provinces to guarantee an uninterrupted supply line."
"A lightning campaign versus a war of attrition... extreme options on opposite ends. Yet the Empire is currently plunged into an unprecedented state of chaos and vulnerability. Even if we march at less than full preparation, our odds of victory right now are far higher than facing a reorganized Central Army months down the line."
"That is correct, Your Highness. On paper, the standing forces garrisoned within the capital and its surrounding territories number two hundred thousand, but that force has never assembled in reality. Dispatched repeatedly across multiple fronts, the remnants currently defending the capital tally around twenty thousand... and the finest ten thousand were deployed right here against us. The fifteen thousand hastily conscripted or raised from local noble levies were either routed yesterday or remain tied down skirmishing with rebel remnants from the frontier. In truth, the force actively defending Byron likely numbers only a few thousand."
"Then we hold the numerical advantage. The quality of our troops is superior as well... yet imperial royalty and high-tier masters still reside within those walls. It will be no walk in the park."
Defense was inherently easier than offense. For that reason, a mere numerical edge was far from a guarantee of victory.
"The decisive factor will be the intervention of the Ducal houses..."
The great territorial lords ruled their respective provinces with near-monarchical absolute authority, and the private armies they maintained rivaled standard state legions. Should they actively throw their weight behind the Crown Prince, the success rate of our coup would plummet into the dirt.
"The southern and northern ducal domains are distant; even after we arrive at the capital, we will have a window of time before they can react. But the Eastern Ducal House is our greatest peril... especially given the Eastern Duke's fervent loyalty to the Crown Prince."
There was zero chance the Eastern Duke would sit idly by while the Crown Prince, his primary political benefactor, was deposed. His entry into the fray was virtually guaranteed. While his military strength was the weakest among the three great dukes, his standing private forces still numbered three thousand elite soldiers. If he enforced martial conscription, that figure would multiply overnight.
Just as the shadows in the tent deepened with grim contemplation, Belle, who had been standing guard outside, slipped through the flaps and approached me with careful steps.
"Your Highness, a reply has arrived."
With a hushed whisper, she pressed a tightly folded slip of paper into my palm. Unfolding it, I found a single concise line penned across the surface.
[Approved. Therefore, see to it that you succeed without fail.]
They actually signed off on this madness.
I had to hand it to them; when it came to sheer audacity and decisive action, my homeland's leadership was undeniably impressive.
With a modest spark of unexpected patriotism blooming in my chest, I cleared my throat to draw everyone's attention away from the maps.
"Excuse me, but it seems you won't need to waste a single drop of sweat worrying about the Eastern Ducal House. Let's just steamroll straight into the capital as fast as humanly possible."
Those arrogant bastards in the East were about to find their pants so thoroughly on fire, they wouldn't dare march a single league in our direction.