Chapter 71: The Rulers (1)
Chapter 71: The Rulers (1)
Yeah. Sure, you can make a slightly naughty magazine.
I looked that kind of thing up when I was in the army, too.
But shouldn’t there be limits?
I swear to God, this shit was at least as bad as Sodom and Gomorrah from the Bible—if not worse. Fuck.
“B-Boss! Didn’t you say you’d let us create freely?!”
“Th-This…! I said write an entertaining magazine—when did I tell you to write something that throws human decency away?! And you—Sade or missile or whatever your name is!”
“Oh, Boss! Please—do not break the pen that holds my very soul!”
“Shut up! Sade, you! Soul my ass—write one more shitty piece like this and you’re fired! Fired!”
“B-But… I don’t have to stop writing erotic fiction, right?”
“You fucking…!”
“Please! I beg you, Boss!”
“I don’t care if you write erotica or not! Just write it without throwing human decency away, for God’s sake!”
It happened over a week ago, but thinking about it again makes my head feel like it’s splitting.
If I hadn’t read that booklet, wasn’t I about to end up on YouTube two hundred years later with a thumbnail plastered in my face and yellow text?
“Ta-da! Hello, YouTube subscribers! This is Ppusyung-Ppasyung TV. Today, I’ll tell you 16 facts about Ears of the Nation—the world’s first gore magazine and the starting point of bizarre fetishes! What kind of brain did the boss who approved this kind of trash, Guillaume de Toulon, have in his head?”
Ugh, fuck.
Biting my tongue and dying might’ve been better.
“…The more I think about it, the more horrifying it is.”
“Why? What is? What’s horrifying?”
“No, it’s just… something. You don’t need to know, brother. Sometimes ignorance is medicine.”
I shook my head hard at Mathieu.
“What a letdown.”
How the hell could I say I almost ended up getting dragged online two hundred years later in some video titled “The Uncomfortable, Bizarre Truth About Ears of the Nation,”
or that my name was about to get pinned in full on the controversy tab of Namu Wiki and turned into a public punching bag?
Just then, someone opened the carriage window from outside, stuck his face in, and spoke.
“Aaaaaah, my friends! How could you be having such fun without me! Tell me at once what you’ve been talking about—tell it to me, Grussy!”
“…It’s just something.”
Wooooow. Our friend Grussy has arrived. So happy. Ha. Ha. Ha.
“Guillaume! How can you be so cold between us!? I, Grussy, am truly crushed. Boo-hoo.”
“…”
“…”
Mathieu and I exchanged silent looks at Grussy.
‘Hey, Guillaume. Why the hell did you include Grussy on the list? Did you lose your mind from overwork?’
‘I didn’t call him.’
‘Then why is Grussy here?’
It’s hard to explain. Better to hear it from him directly.
I sighed and looked at Grussy, who had his face politely poking in through the carriage window.
“…Whew. Grussy?”
“Hm? What is it, Guillaume!”
“Why… are you going to Austria with me?”
“Why, indeed? Of course, as befits the duty of a friend, I must accompany you! Though my body is usually bound to the army and I could not be in the same place at the same time, who am I? I, Grussy, have boldly taken leave and joined this adventure!”
“…This is driving me insane.”
At Grussy’s matter-of-fact, medieval-knight-like answer, Mathieu stared into space and muttered quietly.
“Hahaha! Mathieu! Are you so delighted that I am coming along!? I, too, am glad to be with you, Mathieu—and you as well, Guillaume!”
Mathieu shook his head violently left and right.
“…Grussy. Sorry to rain on your parade, but we’re not going on an adventure. Where we’re going is an enemy country—a potential enemy country. Do you even know the Holy Roman Empire?”
“What do you mean? France and the Holy Roman Empire are allied nations bound by a mutual defense treaty. How could they harm an allied nation’s minister?”
“Th-There’s such a thing as ‘what if.’ What if.”
“As a knight, if the Austrians understand honor, they would not invite a guest and then harm him. Even barbaric Tatars know that much honor. And the national repercussions they would suffer for violating honor would not be small, Mathieu.”
Oh.
That’s… oddly insightful. Is this really that fool Grussy?
“And worry not. I, Major Emmanuel de Grouchy of the honorable 2nd Dragoon Regiment, will protect the Finance Minister even if I must throw away my life.”
“Ah, yes.”
Yeah, that’s the Grussy I know.
“Hey, Grussy—so you’re not going to protect my life?”
“Mathieu, you are a man of considerable size. Should you truly be relying on others?”
“Then what about Guillaume? He’s way bigger than most people too!”
Pwooooo!
“Halt! Escort unit, halt!”
From the front of our column, someone blew a cavalry bugle and shouted loudly.
The sound of a horse’s hooves clattering against the ground drew closer toward my carriage.
“Finance Minister. Once we cross the Strasbourg border here, we will leave French territory and enter the Holy Roman Empire.”
A young major in a field-grade officer’s uniform leaned his face into the carriage window, saluted, and spoke.
“I see. Tsk.”
Damn it. Maybe because of Orléans, it just feels wrong.
I bit my lower lip.
As if he’d read what was inside me, the major bowed his head and spoke.
“Do not worry, Finance Minister. I, Major Louis Nicolas Davout, commander of the escort, will protect Your Excellency’s safety like iron.”
I extended my hand out of the carriage and answered him.
“Very well, Major Davout. I’ll trust you.”
The major clasped my hand and said firmly.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Italy, the Grand Duchy of Tuscany—Florence.
Pitti Palace.
“…Your Highness Grand Duke Leopold, the Kaiser awaits you in Vienna. Will you truly not go to see him…?”
“No need.”
To the Holy Roman Empire envoy stationed in Florence, pleading desperately, Grand Duke Leopold answered coldly without even showing his face.
“B-But the Kaiser is gravely ill! He is desperately calling for Your Highness, his own younger brother!”
Once again, the envoy cried out loudly.
“No. Need. I said.”
But again, the grand duke in front of him answered coldly, as if he couldn’t even be bothered by the envoy’s agitated voice.
“…Understood. This humble servant will take his leave.”
In the end, the envoy bowed his head at the grand duke’s unyielding words and left the room.
Only then did Grand Duke Leopold rise and walk toward the balcony.
A lively city spread around Florence’s artery, the Arno River—the view of Florence filled Leopold’s eyes.
Leopold inhaled deeply, exhaled, and murmured softly.
“…My brother is gravely ill, huh.”
Kaiser Joseph II.
King of Austria, Hungary, Croatia, and Bohemia—and Leopold’s elder brother.
If the childless Kaiser was said to be at death’s door, it meant the seat of Kaiser would soon pass to Leopold himself.
“My brother is looking for me now for that reason as well.”
The moment Leopold set foot in Vienna, his brother would surely appoint him Imperial Regent and tell him to run the affairs of state.
“That cannot happen.”
Leopold murmured.
His brother, Joseph, had failed.
Perfectly.
A scarecrow Kaiser who could not bring nobles, clergy, or commoners—anyone—to his side.
Wasn’t it obvious from there that it was doomed?
“There’s no reason for me to go now and take on my brother’s ruined image. If I wait, the seat will come to me anyway.”
If Leopold accepted the role of Imperial Regent from his brother, Leopold would surely become a second scarecrow Joseph.
Then he needed to appeal to the empire’s real power-holders.
That he—Leopold—was different from his dreamer brother.
So he had to ignore his brother’s demands thoroughly.
The more he ignored his brother, the more the empire’s real power-holders would support Leopold.
Staring toward Vienna, far away and out of sight, Leopold slowly spoke.
“To Joseph, my brother… it is regrettable and saddening, but the living must find their own way to live, must they not.”
“I do not wish to become a scarecrow like you,” Leopold added.
“Brother Joseph. Please—unlike in this world, may you live a life in Heaven where you can freely do everything you desire.”
Leopold slowly made the sign of the cross.
In the name of the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and the Father—may his brother rest in peace there.
Amen.
Kingdom of France, Corsica—Ajaccio Port.
“…What the hell?”
Napoleon scanned his surroundings and muttered without realizing it.
“Why is Ajaccio… like this?”
A strange air he had never felt in his hometown seemed to be hanging over all of Corsica.
In the end, Napoleon stopped a middle-aged woman carrying a basket of fish and asked, “Ma’am! Hold on—look at me a second.”
“W-Who… huh? Aren’t you Young Master Napoleone? When did you get here?”
“Haha, I just arrived. Um… did something happen in Corsica?”
“…Come this way a moment.”
At Napoleon’s question, the middle-aged woman glanced around, then took Napoleon’s hand and led him into an empty alley.
“…There aren’t any French people around, right?”
To the auntie asking while constantly checking the surroundings, Napoleon—without understanding why she was so wary—nodded and answered.
“Yes… well, it’s a back alley. No one’s coming here.”
Still not reassured, the woman lightly covered her mouth with her hand and told Napoleon, “…Teacher Paoli has returned to Corsica.”
“…What? T-Teacher Paoli?”
Napoleon’s eyes widened instantly.
Pasquale Paoli—the Corsican independence hero who had resisted French rule—had returned to Corsica.
As Napoleon stood there with his mouth slightly open in shock, the woman nodded.
“Of course. Would I lie to you, young master? Not long ago, he slipped in secretly on an English ship—yes, that’s what happened.”
Only then did Napoleon understand what this tension hanging over all of Corsica was.
“So that’s why the mood’s like thin ice… Ah! Ma’am—my family’s doing well, right?”
“Of course. Everyone’s doing fine.”
“I see. Ma’am, thank you so much.”
“Anyway, you have to be careful not to let the French sons on the island find out Teacher Paoli is here. Young Master Napoleone, you understand, right?”
Holding Napoleon’s hand, the middle-aged woman stressed it again and again.
“Of course. Thanks for telling me.”
Napoleon left the alley and started walking toward his family home—Maison Bonaparte.