Chapter 68
As February drew to a close, Philippe VII returned to Ileang at last.
With him came ten thousand soldiers sent by the empire, filing into Ileang Castle.
The people already sheltering within its walls were awed by the imposing sight of Yelisey Serkov, the imperial supreme commander clad in golden armor.
Although La Rochelle had kept a steady flow of supplies coming, food was never truly abundant. Most of the Bluisol soldiers looked gaunt and hollow-cheeked.
By contrast, the imperial troops had oily faces glistening with fat.
Some of the provisions had indeed come from the Blesk Empire, yet the greater share consisted of rations that should have gone to Bluisol’s own forces.
Gaspard Laman, acting as fellow supreme commander, stepped forward to greet Yelisey.
Yelisey merely gave Philippe VII a slight nod in place of a proper bow. To Gaspard he offered nothing at all, keeping his chin high and rigid.
The arrogance of an imperial grand marshal refusing to bow to the representative of a lesser kingdom was plain.
They’re later than I expected.
Rather than dwell on the insult, Gaspard’s mind turned to larger concerns.
The imperial soldiers had arrived on this land in December of the previous year. Now March was nearly upon them—more than three months had passed.
They had lingered in Equite all that time and only now bothered to march to Ileang. The thought that they had done nothing but consume precious food filled him with both regret and frustration.
It was clear they had no real intention of actively helping Bluisol reclaim its lost territories.
Gaspard let out a quiet sigh.
No matter how much the man displeased him, he could not openly criticize the empire’s reinforcements.
Philippe VII would never allow it, and if word reached the ears of the imperial emperor, the military aid that Raphael had secured by literally banging his head against the floor might be cut off entirely.
Even the finance minister had to swallow the humiliation of a weak nation and set aside his pride.
Only after the formal greeting to the imperial commander did Gaspard turn to offer his respects to Philippe VII. The order was reversed if one considered the proper hierarchy of king and general, yet both Yelisey and the king accepted it as natural.
“Your Majesty has endured much. All of it stems from our own inadequacies.”
Philippe VII had grown thin as well—whether from the mental strain of staying in Equite Castle or simply from being unable to indulge as freely as before.
His prominent cheekbones and deepened eye sockets stood out sharply on that emaciated face.
Yet instead of looking pitiable, the effect made his gaze appear even fiercer and more predatory.
“You have labored hard as well.”
“I remain insufficient in every regard.”
Philippe VII offered the briefest of commendations before turning and walking away.
Gaspard watched the king’s retreating back for a long moment, then guided Yelisey and the imperial soldiers to their assigned quarters.
While Jeanne was traveling to Ileang, strange rumors reached her from every direction. They claimed that wherever First Prince Louis went, he committed nothing but abuses.
He plundered his own people, seized women for his pleasure, and fled at the first sight of enemy soldiers. Some even whispered that it would have been better if Rotinzel had simply captured him.
Divine had paused in a small village formed by refugees fleeing the Rotinzel army to gather information. He spoke with a hollow laugh.
“The scandals I carefully spread with drawings and songs—Prince Louis is broadcasting them far more effectively than I ever could. Bad news really does travel faster, it seems.”
“Rotinzel may be fanning the flames as well. The royal family’s reputation collapsing is hardly a loss for them.”
“Still, for the rumors to spread this quickly after he left… that man truly possesses a remarkable talent.”
Divine’s sarcasm was merciless.
When one considered the effort he had poured into elevating Jeanne as a saint, the speed with which Louis had earned a reputation nearly demonic in the same short span was genuinely impressive.
Jeanne answered with a bitter smile.
Now that the substance of the rumors had been confirmed, their business here was finished. Divine stretched both arms overhead and yawned.
“Well, no matter. If our rival’s reputation plummets, it benefits us as well.”
“Rival?”
“Hm? Isn’t that what he is to you, Your Highness? The reason he marched out with troops in the first place was to keep your growing fame in check. They wanted to become heroes themselves.”
“So that’s how it looks.”
Jeanne fell into thought. The prize they competed for was obvious.
The position of heir to the throne.
And the resolve she had once held in her previous life—to burn herself away solely for the people—shifted slightly.
For the sake of those same people, I must become king.
“You didn’t seriously believe Prince Louis went out to help the citizens, did you?”
“My brother would never do such a thing.”
“See? Even you think so. Still, it’s surprising there’s been no word about Prince Charles. As far as I know, he went with them.”
Divine recalled the fifth prince.
Both remaining in Ileang to fight and volunteering to follow Louis had been his own choices, he had claimed.
Until now she had paid it little mind, but the thought left an unpleasant aftertaste.
Ileang Castle came into view ahead.
The first time she had arrived here, she had been a defeated soldier fleeing the fall of Roire.
Later, when she left with the stated purpose of winning the war, she had slipped out in secret with only five members of the Second Knight Order and traveled across Bluisol.
This time she rode through the main gate openly, leading the entire Second Knight Order behind her.
“Waaaaah!”
News of the battle at Peale Castle must have reached them already. The soldiers cheered as if welcoming a triumphant general.
Yet Jeanne did not look pleased. Her brows drew together slightly.
“What is the matter?”
Fabian, who always watched Jeanne with keen sensitivity, noticed her displeasure at once and asked with concern.
“His Majesty must already be here. He will not like seeing the soldiers greet me this way.”
It was a reasonable observation, but Fabian could not bring himself to speak further against the king. He quietly took one step back.
Jeanne entered Ileang Castle.
The moment she arrived, she went straight to the king. Though the long journey had left her weary, she knew that any delay would only give him another excuse to find fault.
She left the Second Knight Order in Diego’s care. Divine had already vanished discreetly, careful not to draw the king’s eye.
Approaching the throne, Jeanne looked up at Philippe VII with steady dignity.
“Jeanne Claretmer de Roire has returned after completing the mission Your Majesty assigned.”
She deliberately attributed the successful defense of Peale to the king’s command. You gave the order. I merely carried it out. That was the attitude she displayed.
Since she still had no intention of confronting the king directly, Jeanne downplayed her own achievements.
The king’s face remained expressionless; only his lips moved.
“Yes, well done. You have fulfilled your duty as my sword.”
He accepted her words at face value.
At first glance the statement might sound like praise, but closer inspection revealed otherwise.
The one who acts with a sword is not the blade itself, but the hand that wields it.
By calling Jeanne a sword—an object—he was reminding everyone that he held the hilt. The praise was directed less at her than at himself.
A heavy silence settled between king and knight commander.
Their conversation as monarch and knight commander had ended.
Neither wished to speak as father and daughter, so only silence remained.
At length Jeanne spoke first.
“May I withdraw?”
“Yes. Go and rest.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
That was the entirety of their conversation after a long separation.
Not long after Jeanne’s return to Ileang, Philippe VII convened a grand council.
It was the first such meeting held inside Ileang Castle, and Jeanne attended from the very beginning along with the other vassals.
Although every remaining high official had been gathered, the number was far smaller than the emergency meeting held right after the flight from Roire. Many had simply fled.
Gaspard clicked his tongue as he counted the empty seats.
“The reason I have summoned you here is to dispense rewards and punishments for everyone’s conduct thus far, even though the war is not yet over.”
With those words, Philippe VII began bestowing honors.
He read the names from a document he held, starting from the top. It was a list he had written himself several days earlier.
“First-class merit. Mathias Flot Sujet La Rochelle, Liam Killegar, Gaspard Laman, Raphael Asteg. The four above.”
The four individuals who could be said to have contributed most in this war were named.
Listening, Jeanne clenched and unclenched her fist as a foreboding feeling took hold. Liam was the commander who had led the cavalry out in the early days of the war and been annihilated—the worst of all generals.
Though he had once been an outstanding commander and his loyalty to the kingdom was undeniably great, that belonged to the past.
His ignorance of the enemy’s strength might have been the cause, yet ignorance in war was a grave sin. Having led soldiers and knights to their deaths and endangered the entire nation made him even less deserving of first-class merit.
Is he trying to cover his own mistakes…?
Jeanne bit her lip as the realization struck her.
Sending Liam to the vanguard had been the king’s decision.
Therefore any merit or blame given to Liam ultimately belonged to the king himself.
The names called for second-class merit only strengthened her conviction.
Many of those who had followed the king—Simon among them—were listed. Far too few of the knights who had actually fought the enemy appeared.
Those who had served the king personally were ranked above those who had battled the foe.
Only when third-class merit was announced did Laurent of Peale’s name finally appear. Jeanne’s own name was entirely absent from the list of dozens.
Until now Jeanne had remained silent, but at this point she could no longer contain her disbelief. She confronted the king directly.
“Why is Sir Laurent Hotfrey Peale only granted third-class merit?”
Philippe VII’s cold gaze turned toward her. Jeanne continued without flinching.
“He fought with his life on the line and secured victory. In what way is he inferior to those named before him?”
“He defended a castle in the south to the very end. A commendable feat. That is why I granted him third-class merit. What is the problem?”
The king’s tone suggested he could not fathom why she would make such a fuss over the defense of one insignificant border fortress.
He seemed to give no consideration whatsoever to Peale’s vital strategic position or how many troops Rotinzel had committed to seize it.
Jeanne felt something surge inside her chest.
She remembered the soldiers of Peale who had fought desperately.
She recalled Yanis’s militia who had drawn the enemy’s attention from the rear.
Above all, Laurent’s final image—leading his men to the end even when she could no longer command them—remained vivid in her mind.
Yet the king claimed that a man who had given his life for this country still fell short compared to the officials who had merely trailed after him like puppies.
“I cannot accept the current list of merits.”
Jeanne spoke with firm resolve.