The Kaiser's Command

An official directive regarding the Stahl-Ferdinand Model I had devised was handed down from the imperial court.

In addition to these, the Emperor handed down incredibly meticulous instructions on how the Stahl-Ferdinand Model should be executed.

And yet.

"We won," I said.

"Yes, we did," Franz Ferdinand agreed.

Even though the rules were as suffocatingly rigid as if written by someone with severe obsessive-compulsive disorder, the mere fact that such guidelines had been issued at all meant everything.

It was practically an official endorsement from the imperial court. Rather than banning it, they were essentially giving us feedback, saying, 'We think it would be even better if you did it this way!'

On top of that, the reason the pilot run of the Stahl-Ferdinand Model had been so effective in the first place was the sudden influx of police officers surrounding the Archduke's portrait.

Even if they were secret police tasked with hunting down political dissidents, the imperial court had just officially declared they would dispatch "police" to the scene.

They had even gone so far as to request that the Emperor's portrait be hung alongside ours.

In other words, while the imperial court appeared authoritarian and highly restrictive on the surface...

"It is a bit annoying that His Majesty seems to be trying to steal our achievements, but..." Franz muttered.

"For us, this is the best possible outcome," I replied.

"True."

The Stahl-Ferdinand Model.

No, perhaps the term Stahl-Ferdinand Shock was more accurate.

In an instant, the entire political landscape was turned upside down.

"Let's map this out," I said, spreading a large sheet of paper on the table. "Traditionally, the political landscape was an alliance between the nobility, the imperial court, and the capitalists. The Catholic Church, small business owners, and the working class had a delicate, ambiguous relationship—sometimes allies, sometimes not. The liberals often quietly aligned themselves with the Christian Social Party."

"Indeed," Franz Ferdinand nodded. "The Social Democratic Workers' Party (SDAP) and the intellectuals weren't even in the equation."

"The biggest shift now is the rise of the SDAP."

Together, the Archduke and I analyzed the newly emerging political alignments.

With the rise of the SDAP, the capitalists and the nobility were naturally pushed into the enemy camp.

The capitalists were one thing, but why the nobility?

Because, surprisingly, the SDAP was far more aggressive about industrialization than even the capitalists.

Throughout history, I had seen capitalists who hated industrialization, but I had never seen a socialist who did. After all, industrialization was what created the working class—their very base of support.

Of course, anomalies like Mao Zedong are exceptions.

The nobility was already in a state of utter panic. Some were even imagining doomsday scenarios where the imperial court confiscated their manors, which they valued more than their own lives!

Naturally, the aristocrats, whose wealth relied almost entirely on agricultural income from their estates, had no choice but to despise the SDAP.

And what of the Christian Social Party and the Catholic faction?

The Stahl-Ferdinand Model had completely hijacked the political narrative, and their ambiguous cohabitation with the imperial court was officially dead.

"Tsk, tsk. They should have read the room quickly and aligned themselves with either the nobility or the capitalists," I muttered.

Instead, the Christian Social Party had clung to outdated anti-Semitic rhetoric and ended up completely left behind.

To make matters worse for them, the Pope had indirectly advocated for gradual welfare reform through a papal encyclical, taking a neutral stance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠toward the labor movement.

This conservative Catholic empire was now on the verge of being split right down the middle, caught between the Pope's decree and the alliance between the SDAP and the imperial court.

"We still need to be careful, though," I cautioned. "In a way, the Christian Social Party is investing in the future."

The politics of hate never truly die.

As we push forward with our reforms, there will inevitably be those who feel left behind by the revolution. The power of conservative, right-wing populist politics that champion "order" should never be underestimated.

Of course, they had lost their footing for the time being. Yet, they still held onto the desperate support of low-ranking bureaucrats, ruined nobles, small business owners, and conservative Catholic parishes.

As for the liberals and intellectuals?

They were in absolute chaos.

It was an absolute circus.

Nowhere in Europe could you find a "Red Emperor."

What would happen to the electoral system? Freedom of speech? The ethnic federation?

Wait, socialists prioritized the working class over nationality. Did that mean the dream of an ethnic federation was dead in the water?

Did the SDAP swing to the right, or did the Emperor veer to the left?

"...Honestly, I still can't believe it," I admitted. "What on earth was His Majesty thinking, taking such a relentless, no-retreat stance?"

"Based on my decades of suffering under him," Franz Ferdinand sighed, "the Kaiser is a man who cannot tolerate anything being out of his control. He probably thinks that as long as the socialists abandon their republican ambitions, they are actually a highly disciplined, easily controlled group."

Ah. That makes perfect sense.

A Habsburg was a Habsburg, after all. Their penchant for striking sudden, uncompromising compromises was identical.

Having been beaten down by the Emperor so many times, Franz understood the old man's psychology better than anyone.

In any case, the Austrian intellectuals and liberals were spiraling into madness.

One only had to look out the window.

"Long live the Emperor! A second Bonaparte has risen in the Empire! Long live the Red Bonaparte!"

"The SDAP has betrayed the people and the revolution! Death to the reactionaries!"

"What are you talking about? The SDAP's platform hasn't changed! The Emperor has endorsed Universal Suffrage!"

"Crush the reactionaries!"

"His Majesty is the true revolutionary! Make the Empire Great Again!"

The Kaiser had likely anticipated this chaotic fallout.

Surprisingly, despite the shaking of alliances, the core political structure remained largely intact. High-ranking bureaucrats and the military command were still firmly in the grip of the nobility. The Emperor had undoubtedly coordinated everything in advance to avoid provoking a coup.

Now, the most critical part began.

"Major General Marx Stahl. This is far from over," Franz Ferdinand said quietly.

"...Indeed. The most important part is yet to come."

When you win big, you must always give something back.

As I mentioned, the fact that the nobility and capitalists hadn't completely lost their minds meant that a countermove against us was already in motion.

Just as we expected, it wasn't long before a summons from the imperial court arrived for me.

At first, I thought they were just bringing me in to give me a piece of their mind.

"Are we heading to the audience chamber?" I asked the guide.

"No, Major General Stahl. You and Archduke Franz Ferdinand are scheduled for a private audience with His Majesty in his study."

It seemed he had something highly confidential to discuss, summoning us to a secluded corner of the palace.

"Your Highness... you don't think he's going to have us quietly disposed of, do you?" I whispered.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," Franz replied, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

The Emperor's secretary spent the walk drilling us on all sorts of protocol.

Actually, calling it "protocol" was a stretch.

"The angle of your necktie must not be even slightly crooked."

"If you accidentally touch a book or a document, leave it exactly as it is. His Majesty will rearrange it himself."

"Under no circumstances should you rest your hands on his desk."

"Is that also imperial etiquette?" I asked.

"No. It is because the position of the dust on the desk must not be disturbed."

"..."

There were countless other rules.

Most of them had nothing to do with royal court etiquette and everything to do with avoiding triggering a man with severe obsessive-compulsive disorder.

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I might as well just die.

Regardless, I had a bad feeling about this.

Whether he wanted to scold us or praise us, shouldn't that normally happen in a public setting?

No matter how much I racked my brain, I couldn't imagine what the Emperor wanted to discuss in private.

If I had to imagine a scenario...

Aaaagh!

Pardon the brief Soviet—no, sudden—intrusion of madness.

No matter how hard I tried, only ridiculous scenarios like that came to mind.

In any case, we entered the study to meet the Emperor.

Whether we entered or not, the Emperor remained entirely focused on his documents, meticulously stamping them at perfect right angles.

Was Rule 74... "Keep fresh documents on standby in case a stamp is crooked"?

I glanced at Archduke Franz Ferdinand, but he seemed completely unfazed, waiting naturally for the Emperor to speak first as if this were a daily occurrence.

Ah, so he's always been like this.

Only after the painstaking stamping process was complete did the Emperor finally look up and speak.

"If a single word of this conversation leaks outside these walls, you, Stahl, will never set foot on Austrian soil again."

I had prepared a repertoire of flattery as extensive as the Kaiser's OCD manual, but the Emperor's heavy tone instantly shut down any room for sycophancy.

Then again, the man had been on the throne for fifty years. He had probably heard every form of flattery under the sun. Besides, he was widely known to be a man of integrity who was entirely immune to sweet talk.

"Yes, Your Majesty. From this moment on, I swear that nothing discussed here will ever leave this room," I replied.

"Good. First, Ferdinand. You will step down from the military staff office."

"...Understood," Franz Ferdinand replied quietly. "Who will be my successor?"

As far as I knew, Archduke Franz Ferdinand held the rank of major general in the army and had a staff office under his name.

Of course, ever since the scandal surrounding his marriage to Sophie Chotek, his staff office and military standing had been purely ceremonial—akin to a governor-in-exile of a lost province.

Still, even a ceremonial post has its uses.

I recalled reading somewhere that in the original history, the military was the primary channel through which Franz Ferdinand exerted his political influence. It made sense; for a politically isolated archduke, the army was the only institution through which he could project any real political message. It was no coincidence that he had developed militaristic tendencies.

I expected as much. In exchange for gaining the mass movement and the parliament, he's being told to stay far away from the military.

That was the nature of politics. If you take something, you must give something in return.

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It was a pity, but we were getting off easy. Frankly, the Archduke didn't have much else to give up anyway.

The real question was, who would succeed him?

The Emperor's decision to summon us so secretly to his study likely had everything to do with this successor.

"I summoned you to discuss that very successor. It will be your younger brother, Archduke Otto."

Archduke Otto—formally Otto Franz Joseph.

He was next in the line of succession after Franz Ferdinand.

The Emperor was clearly playing the succession card to keep Franz under pressure.

Even so, this didn't hurt too ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠badly.

Archduke Otto was the absolute worst of the worst, a playboy of legendary proportions.

The first in line, Crown Prince Rudolf, had committed suicide due to depression.

The third in line, Archduke Otto, was a chaotic exhibitionist who once ran naked through a luxury hotel.

And the current Emperor was an obsessive-compulsive patient with a manual of 113 rules.

Good grief. Surprisingly, my Archduke Franz Ferdinand is the most sane one in this family.

"Furthermore," the Emperor continued, "Otto has contracted syphilis."

"Pardon?" Franz gasped.

"Do not make me repeat myself. Did you truly not know your own brother was wasting away from syphilis?"

"...I did not."

Which meant...?

The next in line would be Archduke Otto's son, Archduke Karl (the future Karl I, who historically became the last Emperor of Austria-Hungary).

He was currently just a fourteen-year-old boy.

My god.

There was no need to stress over the succession issue.

In a way, Franz Ferdinand had engaged in his own share of reckless behavior—such as unilaterally joining hands with the SDAP. The only reason the Kaiser had tolerated it was because the other options were so utterly disastrous.

"Yes, syphilis," the Emperor muttered, still staring at his papers. "As if the imperial prestige hadn't already been dragged through the mud because of you, now your brother does this. What a pair."

As we stood there in stunned silence, the Emperor continued.

"That is why I had always intended for you, Franz, to be the next Emperor. However... things have changed now."

In the original history, Franz Ferdinand only began his political activities in earnest around the mid-1900s, likely triggered by the death of his brother, Archduke Otto.

He managed to survive a long time despite having syphilis in the original timeline.

But history had changed.

The moment I began making a name for myself as "Saint Stahl"—the man who could cure syphilis with penicillin.

"Stahl, and Franz Ferdinand. I shall present you with the price for playing along with your little circus. Cure Archduke Otto. By any means necessary."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will ensure his recovery," I replied.

"Ah, and Stahl. Isn't your mentor Sigmund Freud? If possible, bring Freud along to see if he can do something about Otto's exhibitionism as well. Though I doubt even he can cure that madness."

"..."

This mission is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought.