Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: The Betrayed General Betrays
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After entering Saint Tuwar, Gerhard swiftly handled only the essential tasks—such as accommodating prisoners and reorganizing units.
"No other movements?"
"None, sir. With so few forces left, they can't even dream of making a move."
"The soldiers need time to savor the victory too. We'll suspend training for a week and minimize guard duties."
"Understood!"
He effectively declared the end of combat operations.
"The liquor... You said we finished it last time?"
"Yes, sir."
"What a shame. Loosen things up a bit so they can enjoy themselves without harming civilians. Advance pay if they want it."
"Yes, sir!"
Having annihilated the enemy's main force and captured their key leaders,
the Imperial officers raised no objections to Gerhard's orders.
-Thud!
"Hey, you saw that, right? Told you I handle a shield like a pro."
"Pfft, if I hadn't backed you up, you'd be dead by now!"
"Yeah, yeah, you're the best."
"Damn right."
"...Crazy bastard."
The officers and soldiers reveled in the afterglow of victory at taverns and markets,
"Oh yeah, you're from the 1st Provisional Legion, right?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
"Didn't your vice commander say he was the overall commander?"
"Huh, yeah?"
"See?"
"...How the hell did you guys lose?"
"Seriously. How do you lose with a general like that?"
"Everyone except General Victor is a total screw-up?"
"Ah."
"Well, uh..."
Soldiers from the 8th Legion, 10th Legion, and 1st Provisional Legion—who had crossed the line of death together—now bonded under the Imperial banner, sharing stories.
While the Saint Tuwar garrison enjoyed their respite, Victor, the man most praised for his contributions, was
"King of Brotan Kingdom, Guillaume Châtion."
"...Who the hell are you?"
At his request to celebrate victory after fully wrapping up Brotan affairs, Victor sought out Guillaume, who was alone in his guest quarters.
My conversation with Anna had helped steady my resolve.
The idea that those who'd left before me, or those watching from behind, might be smiling—that really lightened my heart.
Coming from Anna, who rarely said such things, it hit even deeper.
I should be fine for a while.
Now, I need to give my all as 'Victor.'
For those who believe in me.
"You've had it rough."
I donned the Imperial officer's uniform and visited his quarters.
"Ah, Vice Commander Victor."
The guards at the door saluted me.
On the way back to Saint Tuwar, I'd pondered how to treat Guillaume.
Should I afford him full kingly honors, or hint at his future as a puppet monarch?
The conclusion Gerhard and I reached was the latter.
Someone like him might misread courtesy as a sign they still held leverage.
"I'll speak with Guillaume privately. Make sure no one else enters."
"Understood."
After instructing the guards,
-Creak.
I entered without knocking or announcing myself.
"..."
"...?"
Inside sat Guillaume, dressed neatly in the clothes we'd provided, but wearing a dented crown that clashed with it.
His dignified expression and posture left quite an impression.
"King of Brotan Kingdom, Guillaume Châtion."
"...Who the hell are you?"
"Vice Commander of the Dragonia Empire's Brotan Expeditionary Force, Victor."
"Vice commander? Hmph..."
He reacted indifferently to my introduction, propping his chin on one hand.
His arrogant posture confirmed we'd made the right call to humble him.
"I also commanded the Imperial forces in what is now called the Baldúa Battle a few days ago."
"Ha. The commander sits idle while a mere vice commander boasts of leading the fight?"
He spoke without straightening up, leaning back in his chair.
"Sending a brat like you to rile me up is a decent ploy, but don't overdo it."
I shrugged at his sneer-filled face.
"Think what you want."
"...Outrageous. Before you sits not some petty noble, but the ruler of Brotan Kingdom..."
"Guillaume Châtion."
Having heard enough, I cut him off and approached slowly, step by step.
"Mind your manners. You captured me to negotiate..."
"Guillaume. Châtion."
"..."
I hardened my expression and looked down at him in his chair.
"Seems you're misunderstanding something. We don't really need you."
"...Y-You insolent..."
"Insolent? Maybe."
He flushed red, pressing himself against the chair.
True to form, he was the type to gauge reactions before exploding— no sign of rising now.
...That aside, he still hadn't grasped reality.
Time for a kinder explanation.
"Let me tell you a story. There was a king who bullied nobles with his inherited might and crushed them with authority. He even succeeded in a personal expedition, defying their warnings, and his power soared to the heavens."
"...What is this?"
"But crisis struck. He took every soldier in the kingdom on that expedition and lost."
Savoring his grunts and twisted face, I continued in the tone of reading a bedtime story to a child.
"Of 70,000 men, 30,000 died, and he and another 30,000 were captured. An utter, indefensible defeat."
"L-Lies! Brotan's elite troops couldn't fall to just 40,000 like that!"
"Hear me out. Having dragged all his loyal nobles along, the court was left with those who resented them."
"...!"
As if recalling something forgotten, his eyes widened.
"Then, the enemy offered a peace deal. Turning the kingdom into a puppet state—a humiliating proposal. With no forces left to resist, rejecting it was impossible. He'd gambled everything and lost."
"Brotan still stands strong...!"
"Reviewing the terms, the nobles discovered something amazing. Prepared to lose it all, they found the deal lenient toward sitting nobles! Positions preserved, minimal interference in lands!"
Realizing the implication, Guillaume's flushed face drained to pale.
"Patriotism-free nobles thought: 'Pin the blame on the king as the treaty's signatory, and we keep our power under the Empire, business as usual.'"
"W-What are you... trying to..."
"If the king returns alive, they'll rip his lands and power to shreds, prop him as a figurehead. If dead, install another. Not a bad plan."
His mouth flapped silently.
"Some even hoped for harsher terms—enough to shatter his authority without harming themselves."
"..."
"His captured supporters could do nothing. Why? The Empire hinted at harsher treatment for his backers. Most nobles would abandon a king stripped of might and legitimacy to survive. We both know how nobles tick."
His eyes darted, weighing the logic.
But suspicion of nobles is inevitable for rulers.
Mentioning it plants the seed.
"The captive king tried wielding influence but had only two choices: sign the shameful treaty and live as a puppet forever, or die honorably and let others flee."
"..."
"Between those two, he suffered agony. Sad tale, huh?"
"...Ha, haha!"
Guillaume burst into laughter betraying his buried anxiety.
"What do you know? Think Brotan nobles are as greedy as your Imperial ones?"
"Are they not?"
"You think I don't see your game? I'll never yield!"
He jabbed a finger at me, voice raised, scraping up his last scraps of defiance.
I sensed he needed time.
"Very well. I'll return later."
"Say what you will—my mind's made up! I am the great King of Brotan!"
I left without a backward glance at his shout.
In negative situations, rumination amplifies negativity.
He blusters now, but alone, he'll see my words aren't fantasy.
Besides, his rule verged on terror—his anxiety would dwarf a normal leader's.
"Tell his attendants not to speak with him at all."
"Understood!"
Separating him from nobles served this purpose.
He seemed resolute, but stoking fear in isolation amid enemies is no easy endure.
"How long will he hold out..."
Not long, I figured.
Even if so, we had time now.
Ten days of near-monologue ultimatums and isolation.
Hearing he barely slept, screaming nightly from his quarters, I returned.
"How have you been?"
"Uh, uh..."
"You look worn out."
Guillaume was far more haggard than before.
Gone was any remnant of majesty; he just cowered and shivered at my arrival.
Sharing Baldúa analyses—highlighting his strategic and tactical incompetence—and nobles' reactions to his irrational flight had hit hard.
Or hints that nobles rallied around weak Antoine for blame.
Maybe attendants muttering about scouting king candidates near his door.
"Good news today. Your kingdom's nobles are ready to negotiate. No more war."
"L-Look, V-Vice Commander Victor!"
"Hm?"
Desperate, he who'd clung to dignity called me out.
His trembling voice—barely intelligible—drew my smile.
"First time calling me vice commander. Ready to talk terms?"
"Y-Yes, I-I mean yes! S-Sorry for my earlier rudeness..."
-Clang!
"I-I apologize."
He skipped correcting my insolence but scrambled for his fallen crown, jamming it on— a groveling sight reminding me of power's terror.
I must avoid becoming that.
"Good, wear the crown properly. Even in death, die as Brotan's king, right?"
"W-What? D-Death...?"
"How about nobly deciding, as king and defeated leader, to protect your people?"
"P-Please, please..."
He'd interrupted to salvage pride before; now he gingerly opened his mouth, wary of cutting me off.
Seemed bent enough.
"Still, seeing you like this is pitiful."
I smiled faintly.
"Truth is, we prefer you in place. Legitimately elected king means less backlash than a new puppet."
"...Huh?"
Time to dangle the carrot.
"The Empire will limit and oversee Brotan's army, stationing ours at key points—including the capital, Lebuá."
"T-That means..."
"Cooperate fully in talks and keep it up? We might just guard your crown."
"...!"
Amusingly, his eyes sparkled at Imperial garrisons in Brotan.
"I swear it! Y-Yes, I swear!"
"Oh?"
"Gold? Jewels? Whatever you want! Help me return as king!"
"Hm, hm..."
In the end, he cast away all for his hollow shell of influence.
I paused,
"We'll see."
"Th-Thank you, thank you!"
Leaving him bowing repeatedly, I exited.
A couple more nudges, and he'd make a fine puppet leader.