Chapter 244
Chapter 244
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 244
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Eye (3)
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In the past, the protagonist of the 50 Years' War. Tales of Duke Erbe's exploits had spread to nearly every territory on the western front. Half of it was deliberate, part of the groundwork to craft a hero.
But the other half was only natural. Fernandez smiled as the Anak scattered flower pollen over the triumphal procession heading to Libye.
-No need for any shadow play, after all.
'Indeed. The Empire's situation must have been graver than we thought.'
Unlike other regions of the Empire, the area around Libye in the west had no future beyond decline. This land, once invigorated by the war economy and locked into that system for fifty long years, was no different from a ghost mining town.
Like villages before exhausted mines that could yield no more ore, it was filled with elders who couldn't forget their past glory and starving children.
But now, a new engine for growth had emerged. Brief, yet intense as rain in a drought.
Though the western campaign had ended sooner than expected, the national wealth that had flowed into the entire west during that time was no small amount. And to them, a new 'icon' had been born.
-Carbellier! Carbellier! Carbellier!
The citizens surrounding the procession chanted the duke's family name in unison. The duke walked with a pleased gaze upon them. All his retainers strode proudly, their faces beaming with utmost pride.
Fernandez turned his eyes. To the center of the procession, where the emperor's nobles were positioned.
That was when his gaze met Bernard's, who had been staring at him.
"!!!"
Bernard paled and hastily bowed his head to avert his eyes. Fernandez chuckled at the sight.
-Tsk, what a frail knight commander.
'Tsk tsk. It's not frailty; you've made him frail.'
* * *
Holding a victory banquet while reflecting on Ivaris's defeat was quite absurd, but the feast was dazzling beyond measure.
Officially, it celebrated the successful suppression of the beastkin tiger clan's internal rebels. And securing the vast territory stretching from Libye to Ivaris. Ivaris's defeat was being spun not as a loss, but as a heroic tale.
And the true essence? The lavish banquet's real purpose was 'propaganda.' To flaunt King-Duke Carbellier's authority and instill pride in the army and populace.
"Sir Pernin. His Highness the King-Duke summons you."
As Fernandez shared drinks with the beastkin, Bora approached and whispered. Sending the message through a knight rather than a servant—one who was practically his right hand, the knight commander, no less.
Fernandez set down his glass with a sly smile. He rose to follow Bora.
It meant the duke had acknowledged his presence.
* * *
Unlike the extravagant banquet outside, the duke's receiving room held a Spartan meal that could hardly be more frugal.
Minimal servants had laid out thin meat soup barely better than what lowly soldiers ate, and tough, stale bread. Fernandez watched as the servant who placed the plate before him vanished swiftly.
Not a single attendant remained to serve. This room held only the duke and him.
He had been invited to a plain—perhaps even shabby—meal fit for commoners.
"What's wrong, Sir Pernin? Does the food not suit your taste?"
The duke mumbled around a dry hunk of bread. He poured water from a pitcher himself. Fernandez glanced toward the banquet hall visible below the window before replying.
"I hadn't expected a private audience."
"I'm no fool."
The duke set down his bread and quenched his thirst. He brushed crumbs from his hands and fixed Fernandez with a steady gaze.
"No one said it outright, but the beastkin's demeanor toward you was peculiar. It wasn't mere respect for a great chieftain's consort or deference to an influential beastkin noble."
"I've done plenty for the beastkin."
"Does that include secretly dominating them from the shadows?"
Fernandez chuckled at the words. He set down his bread as well.
"Chieftain Hearttaker commands the unwavering respect and admiration of all beastkin. Warriors ready to leap into fire at her command fill these plains."
"I as well."
Erbe wasn't boasting of his authority. He continued the conversation with near-expressionless calm.
"At some point, it became that way. Embarrassing as it is to say myself, I was never a duke revered by my retainers. From the war's start, through its course, to now. At some point, my retainers showed not mere respect, but reverence. And rumors about me became excessively glorified."
"Must be due to your lofty achievements, Your Grace."
"No. Not at all."
Erbe pushed his water glass aside and slowly steepled his fingers.
"After the chieftain proposed the alliance? No—precisely after you first used force against my retainer in this very room. Those who challenged my authority all left Libye. As if sifted out."
"Because he insulted the chieftain."
"And you saved my daughter. From that depraved warlock's ambush."
"I told you that was an inquisitor's deed."
"Once more: I'm no fool."
Fernandez clicked his tongue at the duke's words.
How much had he pieced together? Duke Erbe still regarded him with those deep-set eyes.
"The look the chieftain gives you... it was affection and reverence. Beyond mere respect between lovers—something deeper. No ruler can afford such eyes. The moment you stand above others, it's hard to acknowledge one above you."
"......"
"She's your handiwork too, isn't she? I gathered rumors of Chieftain Hearttaker. A mere slave beastkin who overcame trials, found a shard of a forgotten god, received revelation, and ascended to chieftain—a grand epic."
Erbe remained composed. Hearing of the chieftain stirred a sense of kinship in him.
Successfully quelling 'rebels' and a 'formidable external foe' to become a 'hero.'
Change the groups those labels applied to, and it was much like his own tale.
Every scheme, every tactic has a distinct rhythm. Those from the same mind bear a similar 'hue.'
And as the supreme commander of the 50 Years' War, a knight whose life from birth had been devoted to warfare—his instincts were keen.
"It felt like the same author's script."
"When did you become certain?"
"From when Ravirata showed me favor. That ghost said something vague: 'already bound by pact with someone.' I first thought it the emperor's ploy. But no—why would he incur losses to gift me glory?"
Erbe unsteepled his fingers and gripped his glass. His hand trembled faintly.
"The beastkin were in the rear. The casualties were mine and the Imperial army's alone—mostly ours. So, the chieftain's doing? Or... did the one who forged the beastkin great hero wish to make me one too?"
A terrifying hypothesis. Independent of his will, he had saved even the nobles who insulted him, become an unparalleled hero acknowledged by a sovereign ghost with no ties.
If it was all some grand design...
"Why me?"
What could such a one want from me?
"There are no shortage of more prominent electors, nor those better positioned to connect with beastkin. Why me?"
"You're misunderstanding."
Fernandez shook his head.
"It wasn't to make you a hero, Your Grace."
"......Then?"
"Your daughter. Rene Filippa de Carbellier."
"......!"
Erbe's eyes widened. He faltered briefly... then glared at Fernandez with fury. Veins bulged and writhed on his hands.
"No one touches my daughter!"
"Lady Carbellier must become emperor."
"What......?"
"She must rise as the hero to reunify the shattered Empire, rebuild it into a mighty nation enduring another millennium. The true name of this era. And proclaim the rightful hereditary emperor."
Fernandez spoke calmly to the stunned duke.
"For that, soil is needed. This nation's politics were too stable. Stably corrupt. She needs forces, motive, achievements."
"......"
"Reject the corrupt imperial house. Unify the fractured electors. Succor the suffering people. Not bad, but no masterpiece. For the finishing stroke, one more move is required."
Silence fell.
Duke Erbe was slowly overwhelmed by the man before him. Objectively, perhaps the instinctive presence of a mortal approaching demigod status.
No. From what he had done—and would do.
Humanity's strongest emotion is fear of the unknown. To Duke Erbe, Fernandez was the epitome of the unknown he had never encountered.
An unprecedented threat. Like a natural disaster's unpredictable fury.
What could he do? What would he do? What did he think?
Not a scrap of insight into any of it.
"What is it......?"
"The death of a revered leader and beloved father."
"......Ha."
Such a being pronounced a death sentence.
"That completes the hero. Duke Erbe—if you seek answers, I'll give them gladly. Your lifespan is short now. You must become the cradle for a great hero's birth."
"Why...... do such a thing?"
Not fear of death. His seasoned years scoffed at dread of a future not yet come. No—this was no terror of dying.
Resignation birthing questions. Nothing more.
"The emperor must die, the Empire's corrupt institutions must be purged. All for... yes. Laughable as it sounds. The greater good."
"Ha....... Hahaha."
Both Erbe and Fernandez burst into laughter. Neither took it at face value. A gamble where failure meant losing life and all they'd devoted.
But these two were too shrewd to call it for the greater good. What matter? Whatever dark schemes lay in their hearts, they had tacitly agreed to use each other.
Baring souls doesn't forge friendship between such men. Stronger bonds come from necessity.
To rulers, necessity binds tighter than sincerity.
"Now view the board through the eyes of its architect. Fresh news arrived this morning after my return to the fief."
Word that Duke Vullang had begun marching on the capital. This shocking report pierced the triumphal bustle. An elector raising arms against imperial authority.
"Duke Vullang is rash, but no fool. Even if the current emperor lost authority through blunders, turning blades directly on him is folly."
Pro-imperial electors were bound administratively, economically, nominally to support him. For the many privileges granted in his reign, the many weaknesses he held.
"Civil war will ignite. As you hoped. But answer: Libye holds no full strength to clash head-on with another elector's forces. What must we do in the coming chaos?"
"Acknowledge the emperor's authority. March to defend the capital."
"What?"
"Officially condemn Duke Vullang and side with the emperor."
Fernandez cited three reasons.
First: Externally, the emperor spared no military aid at Libye's request. Repaying that ties directly to Duke Erbe's reputation.
Second: The capital's forces' annihilation doesn't prove the emperor's impotence while pro-imperial electors remain. Vullang will face backlash.
Finally, the crux.
"Libye's King-Duke can hide his intentions."
Others might not know, but electors would suspect the emperor schemed to swallow Libye.
And they'd assume Libye's duke had crossed an irreparable river with the emperor.
If amid that, Libye supported the throne...
"What will others think?"
Some will say Carbellier knelt to imperial might.
Others will suspect the King-Duke's cunning motives.
Some will think he gained concessions from the emperor.
"At least the emperor will be thrown into confusion. Having done nothing but lost troops, if you march for imperial authority..."
All will speculate on Libye's true aims. A simple pro- and anti-imperial civil war spirals into chaos.
Not the Empire splitting in two—but electors distrusting each other. Boundaries blur between factions, devolving into great noble infighting.
Fronts multiply; the Empire rolls toward mutual suspicion and checks everywhere.
Humanity's strongest emotion is fear of the unknown.
* * *
Word of Duke Vullang's march spread through Libye fief right after the banquet ended.
The duke, upon hearing it, promptly formed an opposing force under the banner of safeguarding the throne and preserving peace.
Naturally, the rumor reached every elector's ears. Imperial great nobles, emperor included, shared one thought regardless of allegiance.
'What the hell are they doing?'
All but one.
A man of Count Tremulle house laughed upon hearing it.
"It's begun."
The subtlest stratagem is one where the outcome is already sealed beneath the surface.
Empire's second prince, Robert Benitier de la Tremulle, gazed down at the marching Guire forces and thought.
Chaos had started.
Vullang's army marched on the Empire's heart—some fifteen thousand strong.
Carbellier of Libye countered with five thousand, declaring war.
And Guire of the north: Tremulle's vaunted grand fleet set sail from port.
Toward the eastern electorates.
One who opposed the emperor now defended him; the emperor's son struck pro-imperial electorates.
An era dawned where ally and foe blurred in turmoil.