Chapter 82: Turbulent (2)
Chapter 82: Turbulent (2)
He was not worried.
At the very least, the Murderer Knight Order would never lose. They had been the vanguard that trampled and massacred their opponents during the Eight-Year War, after all.
'And since they've been causing that much trouble, their skills won't have rusted either.'
So, as he had done before, he left the Revolutionary Army to Deon Hart's knight order. There was no need to concern himself further; he could simply receive the report afterward.
The Emperor sat at the highest seat in the conference hall, leaning his elbow on the armrest and idly stroking the corner of his mouth as he watched those continuing the debate.
Whenever his golden eyes, which resembled those of a wild beast, flashed, the nobles exchanging opinions flinched, but no one pointed it out.
What demanded their attention now was none other than the Emperor's notification from moments ago. An agenda tossed out as if to drive home the point that this war was not over.
[Which kingdom should be chosen as the next target of conquest.]
These words were spoken at a point when the Kingdom of Ireon had just been subdued and its subjugation wasn't even fully settled.
Even though many had opposed the war from the start, no one dared to take issue with this.
It was not because their minds had suddenly changed. It was simply because they could feel in their very skin that the Emperor's mood was exceptionally foul right now.
Valuing their lives as they did, they could say nothing and had no choice but to continue a meaningless debate.
Then, amidst the suffocating atmosphere, one noble dared to open his mouth toward the Emperor.
"Your Majesty, I apologize profusely, but no matter how I think about it... this war seems difficult."
A trembling, shaky voice. The nobles around him sucked in their breath.
The speaker himself seemed to think he was dead as soon as the words left his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, yet the Emperor did not punish him right away.
The wild beast, who had been observing the conference with his chin resting on his hand, slowly lowered his arm and straightened his posture.
Something resembling a smile drew itself across his previously expressionless lips.
"The reason?"
"The issue of military strength... is significant."
"The issue of military strength...."
The Emperor immediately understood what he was trying to say.
Instead of speaking, he nodded his head slightly, as if telling him to continue. Emboldened, the noble slowly began to elaborate.
"A conquered kingdom is a variable in its very existence. A certain number of troops is required to monitor them and prepare for any contingencies. Even the Revolutionary Army within the Empire serves as an example of such a variable."
"And since I have no intention of stopping the war, the number of troops available for operation will continue to decrease."
"Yes, precisely. There are limits to operating forces absorbed from conquered kingdoms, so this problem will only worsen over time."
Battles inevitably produce casualties. It might be manageable for now, but as they fought the next war, and the next, the ripple effects of the vacant positions would crash down like a rolling snowball.
Furthermore, occupying a kingdom meant stationing a certain amount of troops there as well. Considering this, it was obvious that the forces available for future operations would drop drastically.
'If we completely crushed the occupied royal family and squeezed out every last soldier like we did during the Eight-Year War, perhaps we could endure... but.'
The fact that the Emperor had accepted Ireon Kingdom's surrender and spared the royal family already set this situation apart from the Eight-Year War.
The noble glanced furtively at the Emperor.
Fortunately, it seemed things were still alright for now.
"......Supplies can be obtained through conquest, but not soldiers. The Imperial Army, unlike the armies of other kingdoms, is a military force with strong pride in and loyalty to the Empire. Soldiers acquired through conquest could never be the same."
"H-Hey, there. That's enough."
Afraid the Emperor might explode any moment, another noble beside him cautiously dissuaded him.
Other nobles with personal connections to him also quietly called out, not wishing to watch the head of an acquaintance fly off right before their eyes.
"Indeed, as for troops, we can always replenish them by conscripting commoners. Just sweeping through the slums would be sufficient. They are citizens of the Empire fighting for the Empire, so their loyalty would be a given...."
"Nonsense! The morale of soldiers is also crucial in war! How enthusiastic can a man who was dragged here by force possibly be!"
"If they want to live, they'll pick up a sword and fight on their own."
"You can't possibly mean that...!"
"That's quite enough. Focus on the original agenda, Margrave Amiabl! Even if their morale is low, with sheer numbers, how could they possibly..."
"There are limits to pushing through with mere numbers and operating them like puppets according to a commander's stratagems! That is why...!"
The Margrave, Tender Amiabl, who had inadvertently grown heated and raised his voice, unconsciously whipped his head around to look at the Emperor, and his breath stopped. Other nobles who had thoughtlessly followed his gaze likewise briefly held their breath upon seeing the Emperor.
The Emperor's golden eyes glared at them, seething with killing intent that looked ready to erupt at any moment.
"......."
"......."
Amidst the silence, the Emperor raised a hand and stroked his chin. Even at this minor action, the nobles flinched violently.
"I did not know you possessed such talent. How beautifully you can bark."
"......."
"However, I happened to hear some bullshit that I simply cannot let slide."
A cool voice fell, as if bringing the chill of a midwinter mountaintop right into the room.
"That as for troops, we can always replenish them by conscripting commoners."
Overwhelming killing intent poured out across the entire conference hall.
Something had gone wrong. Sensing their lives hanging by a thread, the nobles hurriedly bowed their heads. The Emperor, who had surveyed them with a hardened expression, made no effort to hide his displeasure as he began to speak, biting off each word as if chewing and spitting it out.
"Do you all know, why commoners pay taxes?"
During the Eight-Year War, he had conscripted the populace. That unpleasant affair, which had forced him to squarely confront his own priorities and selfishness, had lodged itself in a corner of his heart.
It was a measure laid out as a last, last resort when military strength ran low. How utterly vexing it had been even as he gave that order.
And now they were casually offering up as a solution the very thing that had plunged him into guilt, severe self-loathing, and triggered his nightmares in earnest.
"Taxes are the price paid for protection and welfare."
In exchange for collecting taxes, one protects the people and ensures they can make a living.
That was the duty of a noble who held a territory, and the duty of the Emperor.
"And yet, while collecting those taxes, your solution the moment troops run low is to immediately conscript the very people, is that what I just heard?"
He didn't even expect welfare. That was not as easy as it sounded, and it was something even he himself had failed to achieve.
But at the very least, protection was something that must be provided.
"Not 'I will offer up my personal soldiers,' not 'I will personally go to war!' No, without a moment's thought, you speak of conscripting the populace!"
"......."
"And on top of that, you say that because citizens of the Empire are fighting for the Empire, their loyalty is a given? There are limits even to barking out of turn, just what are you mistaken about to say such things! For the citizens of the Empire, defending the Empire is a choice; for the Empire, protecting the citizens is a duty! The citizens can abandon the Empire at any time if the Empire fails to do its part!"
"How could mere commoners...."
"Then! If the Empire does not treat its citizens properly, do you think the citizens would stay and take up arms to defend it?! You are gravely mistaken, utterly laughable. I can already see it clearly: that paltry position of yours crumbling under the turned backs of the Empire's citizens, your heads laid upon the guillotine."
"Your Majesty!"
"Your words are excessive!"
"Excessive?"
Did they truly not understand why he was this angry?
During the Eight-Year War, when troops ran short, the Emperor had first commanded the nobles to participate in the war. So they could not be unaware that such a method existed.
It was simply that, to them, their own safety and wealth were more important than the citizens of the Empire.
'I, who pushed the war, have no right to be angry, but....'
If the Emperor was not in his right mind, shouldn't those beneath him at least keep their wits about them? What were they thinking, losing their minds together?
Disgusting. Both these people, and himself. That was why he could not contain himself.
Without realizing it, he clenched the hilt of the sword that was leaning against the throne.
The only reason he became aware of his own action was the sound of the Chancellor clearing his throat.
"Cough."
The sound, meant to clear the atmosphere, brought him sharply back to his senses.
As the mood slightly softened, the others seemed to regain their senses as well. The nobles, who had been keeping their mouths tightly shut with terror-stricken faces, hurriedly bowed their waists.
"We apologize."
"I, your servant, was foolish."
"......Yes, foolish indeed."
The Emperor, who had been scanning the pale complexions of the nobles, let go of the sword hilt and rubbed his face. A black specter flickered at the edge of his vision.
He didn't need to ponder what it was about. Clenching his teeth, he spat out the words.
"Being so is not a sin in itself, but for those standing above, foolishness is a sin. Do you not know how the lives of countless people are determined by a single document you draft, a single word you utter? It seems you all need to reconsider what Noblesse Oblige truly means."
"We are deeply ashamed."
"......I apologize to Margrave Amiabl, but I have no intention of postponing this war, nor of ceasing it. So, let me make this perfectly clear: if military strength runs short, I will command you all to participate in the war first."
Just as it had been during the Eight-Year War.
"The criteria will be the same as then. If a family has more than two men, one must definitely participate alongside more than half of the family's private soldiers. If not, more than two-thirds of the private soldiers must be offered up."
"......."
"The conscription of commoners is, in the end, merely a last resort."
"......."
The Emperor, who had been silently watching the silent nobles for a moment, let out a soundless sigh and crossed his legs.
With his posture noticeably more relaxed, the atmosphere among the nobles also eased a little. Having given them a moment to compose themselves, the Emperor soon opened his mouth again.
"Now then, let us return to the original agenda."
Which kingdom would be best to wage the next war against?
.......
After concluding the meeting and returning immediately to his office, the Emperor tossed his sword to one side and sat down in his chair. Resting both elbows on his desk and pressing hard on his temples, he looked down absently at the tabletop.
There sat a piece of pottery he had been examining before the meeting.
One of the spoils of war from the Kingdom of Ireon.
Royal pottery, was it?
He was a layman when it came to crafts, so he had no particular eye for such things, yet it was so exquisite and elegant in line that even he could feel its magnificence.
And the thought he had at that time was....
'Could I sell this and convert it into war funds?'
He consciously tried not to dwell on the unpleasantness of the conference, focusing instead on the object before him.
But it was a futile effort.
As the Emperor, who had been turning the pottery this way and that, lifted it to check the bottom, he discovered something strange.
A black stain on the white pottery.
Thinking something had smeared on it, he rubbed it with his thumb, but nothing came off on his hand.
Staring blankly at his clean thumb, the Emperor shifted his gaze back to the pottery. As his eyes landed on it, the black stain moved.
Squirmed.
And then, swoosh—
Like ink bleeding across paper, the pottery began to stain black.
Knock, knock.
"Your Majesty, it is Ardal...."
Crash!
At the sound of something shattering, the expression of Chancellor Ardal, who had been standing before the door, hardened. He hurriedly opened it and entered without waiting for permission, his eyes widening as he witnessed the disaster spread across the office.
It was shattered. The priceless royal pottery.
"Y-Your Majesty... what in the world is this...."
His lips trembled. At the subsequent groan-like voice that escaped him, the Emperor let out a dry laugh, "Ah," and answered indifferently.
"......The pottery was ugly. It seems it was a defective piece."
"Ugly...! Your Majesty, you don't know the first thing about pottery!"
As always, the Chancellor's cry was ignored. The Emperor stared blankly down at the broken pottery shards.
......The hallucinations were getting worse. They hadn't interfered with his daily life before.
The thing that had swallowed the pottery had definitely been a hallucination. An entity confined to the realm of the mind, unable to directly affect reality.
He raised his head. His eyes met a black something that stood behind the Chancellor, giggling in his direction.
'.......'
Ha, the Emperor laughed, as if to show it.
The Chancellor furrowed his brows, as if to ask how he could laugh after causing such a scene, but the Emperor paid no mind.
The low mood in the conference room had also been because of this. He needed to focus on state affairs, but it kept interfering, so how could he possibly be in a good mood?
He had no intention of living out his full lifespan anyway, yet why was it urging him so?
'Impatient bastards.'