Chapter 319
Chapter 319
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 319
Chapter Title: War of the Puppets (16)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Renée Philippa de Carvelier. The empire's first female emperor, the great hero who ended her predecessor's tyranny and saved the people, the valiant woman who avenged her father with her own hands.
That was the rumor now circulating among the common folk. Gossip spread faster than any other kind of talk, and this image had been meticulously crafted through Ironside's active manipulation of public opinion.
Thus, Renée believed she had been "gifted" her throne. This laurel crown is not mine. That thought weighed heavily on her heart at all times.
‘I must be emperor-like.’
An emperor must be the sovereign of sovereigns. If a king was the parent of their people, then an emperor had to be the exemplar among those kings.
The emperors in stories had always been that way. In reality, those who inherited thrones were often cunning politicians, but Renée—at least she, who had not solidified her position through her own political acumen—thought otherwise.
“Rise.”
She personally lifted the soldier who had collapsed, gasping for breath. The ragged-looking peasant conscript shrank back in fear at the sight of Renée's brilliantly shining armor and golden laurel crown.
“Stand. Son of the Empire. Take up your spear and defend your homeland.”
“Y-Your Majesty!!”
“Your Majesty” was not a title for an emperor. Yet the ignorant peasant soldier reflexively shouted it and bowed his head. Renée knelt without a care for her cloak getting dirty, supporting him.
“It’s not time to give up yet.”
After raising the trembling conscript, gripped by shock and fear, Renée mounted her horse and surveyed the camp. Despair hung over them like a shroud descended upon the battlefield.
“Cavalry Marshal. When do you think the next assault will come?”
“Their attacks are growing more frequent, Your Majesty. The last interval was half a day, so I expect it sooner than that.”
“We lack intelligence.”
“Count Tremulle’s absence has been fatal, Your Majesty. Once this war ends, we must reorganize Ironside’s network.”
“Once this war ends? Ha… Your resolve is steadfast.”
Renée laughed brightly and clapped the cavalry marshal on the back. A true commander had to focus on the aftermath even amid war.
With her burden somewhat lifted, Renée gazed at the cavalry marshal for a moment before wheeling her horse around.
“Gather the generals. In ten minutes.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
* * *
Renée’s field council wasn’t just for high nobles. She wanted to see all field commanders at once, so everyone from marshals down to frontline unit leaders was present.
One hundred twenty. That was the number of command officers gathered in western Palz now. A vast assembly, but the moment they gathered, Renée let out a deep sigh.
“Thirty missing.”
Thirty had vanished since the last council. They wouldn’t have defied the emperor’s orders, so their absence spoke volumes. The names of the missing officers would be found on the list of the fallen.
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Why should you apologize? It’s I who owes them. You’ve all done well.”
“Your Majesty…”
An inescapable gloom settled over the tent. It mirrored the battlefield’s atmosphere perfectly. If even the emperor’s court was like this, the fact that desertions were so few was nothing short of miraculous.
“Their assaults are coming more frequently. What do you think this means?”
“It means their main force is drawing near, Your Majesty. And Duke Sephor of Bulang…”
“Beastkin nomads, right? Surely you all know the Sephor ducal house is mere puppets of the nomads?”
“Kh-hem…!”
It wasn’t easy to say publicly that an imperial elector house had been seized by ignorant wastelanders. The generals flushed and turned away.
“Great Chieftain Hearttaker is my friend and a reliable sovereign. Moreover, Sir Cerned—her right-hand man—is my betrothed. Have you forgotten that even now, the beastkin alliance is risking their lives on the empire’s frontier to hold back invaders?”
“Your Majesty, however…”
“Enough. Drop it. If we survive this war, I’ll formally decree the extermination of House Sephor and grant the electoral dignity to Great Chieftain Hearttaker.”
“Y-Your Majesty! No electoral title has ever been transferred outside the houses in a thousand years of empire!”
“We live in an age where we must write new history. Hear me, generals!”
Renée slammed the armrest of her throne and shouted.
“In the empire’s history, has an emperor ever devoured his own people and danced to demons’ whims? Has the church ever turned against the throne and interrogated imperial subjects? Have the empire’s fractured electors ever raised spears against each other?”
“…”
“There is only one reason the empire endured eternally! Not history, nobility, electors, or emperor—empty titles all—but because the people living in the empire existed! We are the people of the empire! It was a nation we could proudly proclaim as such! Generals, is the empire proud now?”
“Your Majesty…!”
“Not to me! Since Great Charles the Magnificent, never has the empire’s foundation crumbled like this! Foreign Minister!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
At Renée’s call, a robed noble in the camp stood and bowed deeply. She fixed him with blazing eyes and said,
“Speak! How many electors have answered the summons?”
“Marquis Grimmoire reports leading twenty-six thousand infantry toward Palz.”
“And?”
“…My deepest apologies, Your Majesty.”
“This is reality!”
The enemy assaults were fewer than initial predictions. Likely thanks to Robert’s fierce resistance in the great wasteland and the beastkin alliance blocking the paths to Paltenoia.
What was once reported as two hundred thousand had dwindled to five, six, or ten thousand cavalry in relentless waves. The enemy couldn’t yet consolidate.
A miracle. Like a tidal wave breaking on a breakwater, reduced to ripples in the harbor. It meant imperial breakwaters stood across every region between the enemy main force and Paltenoia.
Intelligence was crippled. Ironsides were semi-independent; Robert coordinated them. For him to plunge into the wasteland himself showed the desperation.
Yet the electors remained silent. The empire was crumbling. They disrespected imperial authority, and with precedent for seizing thrones by force, no law bound them otherwise.
Electors were vultures. The throne could never show weakness before them. Yet Renée’s early reign, heroic coup though it was, couldn’t fully escape the stain of armed usurpation.
“Even those beastkin alliances you call ‘outsiders unconnected to electors’ are staking their lives to defend the empire! And what are you imperial citizens doing? What are those great nobles wearing the ‘electoral dignity’ you so cherish doing now?”
“Your Majesty…!”
“I see despair in your eyes. But not yet! It’s too soon to give up! The electors’ silence stems from our dire straits—our very precariousness! So hold hope. Let even silent electors feel it!”
She could read the electors’ minds. If the emperor fell and Paltenoia burned, they’d march on the capital under the banner of reclaiming territory.
They knew one truth but not two. They didn’t grasp the enemy’s full might. Painful reality from intelligence asymmetry—she could share it now, but no elector would believe her.
They underestimated the foe. A defeated emperor was weak; repelling invaders would elevate their own prestige.
But no. After the emperor fell, the capital fell, they’d scatter like locusts—an uncontrollable disaster.
So she had to show them. The emperor could overcome this, and afterward, her blade would turn on them. Fortunately, though her legitimacy waned from usurpation, her wartime authority as warlord remained lofty.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!!”
Then the tent flap flew open as a soldier rushed in and prostrated himself. Utter rudeness before the throne, but the staff didn’t rebuke him. They guessed the news.
“They’re here?”
“Y-Yes! Your Majesty! The enemy legions advance!”
“Faster this time. Getting quicker.”
-Clank.
Renée rose, donning her arms. Gone was the sheltered daughter of Carvelier lands who had only ever held a dagger. She buckled on her longsword and strode out.
“I expect you all at the next council.”
Don’t die. Greater encouragement than simple words. The officers prostrated sincerely behind her and shouted.
“Long live the Holy Levaunter Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Your Majesty!”
* * *
-Hold! Hold! Don’t retreat!!
Western Palz had become hell. Enemies tore through crude stockades and phalanxes, slaughtering infantry with ease.
Amid it, some frontline imperial officers shone heroically. They held phalanxes firm even against cavalry charges, steadying lines.
But viewed broadly, it was mere tragedy. Individual valor crumbled before collective violence.
Western Palz received constant reinforcements, but it wasn’t enough. Of empire-wide conscription centers, only those under imperial reach near Paltenoia functioned.
Electors were silent. Western Palz wouldn’t hold long. The emperor would die here. No—they all would. Here.
The great capital that had stood a millennium, foundation laid by Charles himself. Precariously, symbolizing the empire’s fall.
Once western Palz fell, no fortress guarded paths to Paltenoia. This was the last bastion.
-Don’t retreat! Don’t retre…!!
-The general’s fallen!
-Run, run!!
Lines collapsed. From horseback, Renée watched, sighing deeply. Enemy numbers exceeded yesterday’s—nearly double the day before.
Had Bulang finally crumbled? Beastkin resistance broken? With the alliance abandoning defense, only the enemy main remained.
“Is it over…?”
Vanguard of two hundred thousand racing from the wastes. Initial count: fifty thousand cavalry. Of those breaching Bulang for the capital: ten to twenty thousand.
They couldn’t stop even that. Preparation insufficient. Time short. Endless excuses tangled in her mind. The conclusion was always one.
Was this the end? Last empress of a fallen empire, etched in history thus?
“Your Majesty, preserve the imperial person.”
“Lord Borwa.”
“I’ve gladly served two of your line, but I’ve no mind to serve a third.”
Borwa chuckled roughly, donning his helm. From the late duke to now, two Carveliers. A third was knightly shame. He shook his head, raising his lance.
“The late duke charged me amid past wars.”
“What was it…?”
“Fear my weakness in failing to protect the people.”
-Clank.
Borwa lowered his visor. His gruff voice echoed through the slit.
“The duke bade me fear only my own frailty, so Borwa of Revié. I fear not the enemy host.”
“Lord Borwa.”
“Thus, Your Majesty, preserve yourself fearless. Value people’s survival over soldiers’ deaths. Hear this old knight’s final loyalty.”
“I’ll remember you.”
“And I, your knight.”
Borwa led Revié knights beyond camp, preparing charge. Carvelier retainers gathered, saluting her briefly.
Renée’s hands paled. Deep despair settled in her heart, but she couldn’t show it to vassals marching to death.
So she smiled. Best tribute to those crafting another heroic epic amid tragedy—and their doomed struggle.
That instant.
-Bwooooooo—!!
A horn blared from the east. Everyone in camp—no, on the battlefield—turned to the dawn hill beyond.
* * *
“Lord Paliamein, take the east with Altkaírn’s knights.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“Lord Pafnarmere, bypass west with Althais’s knights.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“Altbert’s knights follow my banner straight through. Hear me!”
-Clank!
-Clank!!
At his word, all arrayed knights gripped lances and swords. Clanks of steel gauntlets on hilts rang out.
Against the dawn hill, a black-cloaked young knight raised the banner high. Altbert’s, the steel city’s!
“Do you remember? The oath you swore? That day before me, before my sword!”
-Though we cannot save all worldly injustice, we shall not ignore the hand of the sick and weary!
“Law, diplomacy, politics, reality block you! Justice oft treated worse than cheap eastern trinkets! Yet we’re fools who never forsook knighthood in such moments!”
-Holy Pantheon, bless us!
“Justice is neither lofty nor noble! Now mere laughable jest, cheap pity! But remember? Ancestors who staked lives on that light word!”
-Dane, bless us!
The cloaked knight gripped reins and shouted. His horse reared, whinnying long, cloak whipping in wind. He thrust the banner high.
“Follow your king. I’ll never stand behind you. Dane, advance! Death to the foe!”
-Knights of the Round Table! Death—to the foe!!
-Bwooooooo!!
-Thud thud thud thud!!
Along the ridge, a cavalry band descended with sun at their backs. Watching, Renée murmured blankly.
“Fools…”
The eastern kingdoms mustn’t answer the empire’s turmoil. Least of all Dane. La Mertion’s concessions had already stripped Dane of authority in the eastern alliance.
Kingdom prestige, diplomatic blunders, political checks… ignoring all, this young knight led vassals here.
Fools. No gain for them in foreign woes… this battle’s fate wouldn’t touch them. Yet they raced here on mere “help me.”
“Lord Borwa…”
“Yes, Your Majesty…!”
Renée didn’t wipe her tears, lowering her visor.
“Support those idiots. Will you ride with me?”
“An honor, Your Majesty!!”
“We’re the empire, Lord Borwa. Mustn’t we set example for those fools?”
“Then grant me the honor to shout it myself?”
“With pleasure.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty!”
Through his visor, Borwa’s tear-choked voice boomed.
“Death to the foe!!”