Estiang-Style Negotiation (6)
Honestly, I felt a bit wronged. Sure, there was plenty of room for misunderstanding. That guy, the first Northern Grand Duke of the Korean Peninsula, Yi Seong-gye, had turned his horse around at Wihwa Island with the troops squeezed out of him to conquer Liaodong. But I wasn't Yi Seong-gye, and I had no intention of invoking the Four No's and marching on the capital. I certainly wasn't about to emulate the fascist forefathers by advancing on the capital instead of Rome.
If anything, I was more like Belisarius during the reconquest wars. Here's 15,000 troops—go smash 100,000 enemies and reclaim North Africa. You win? Okay, now take 7,000 and land in Italy to crush the Ostrogothic Kingdom. Win that too? Why'd you win? Something like that. Justinian constantly suspecting him of treason was spot-on.
"What clause would Your Majesty like to add?"
"Well, I haven't thought that far yet. As the Grand Duke knows, this came up rather suddenly. Ahem."
This was awkward. It was necessary, but even I could see it looked suspicious. Quietly building strength until suddenly proclaiming yourself Emperor of the West or some nonsense, then smacking Austria in the back of the head while they were focused on France—like Prussia. I had zero intention of making the emperor say, "I'll give you Rome and the throne too! Just spare me!"
I tapped the armrest thoughtfully, then spoke up as an idea struck me.
"The Grand Duchy can't feed itself anyway. Cut off the wheat shipments north, and we'd wither on the vine."
"True enough, but..."
"Just evacuate the civilians and food inside the walls, lock the gates, and hunker down. With so few troops, they'd overextend on a siege and self-destruct."
"So you're saying just avoid battle and hold out?"
"At least from my perspective, there wouldn't be any good way to break that stalemate. Sieges require three times the attackers' numbers—fewer troops, and it's hopeless."
"Hmm..."
The emperor hummed thoughtfully. He was probably running scenarios in his head.
"And Your Majesty, victory in war is simple."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Outnumber the enemy six to one, secure supplies and arms, and ensure the commander's orders are followed to the letter. Guaranteed win."
"You're stating the obvious like it's some profound secret."
"The world breaks those basics more often than not. It's obvious, but stick to fundamentals. Just the basics."
Only then did the emperor's face light up with realization. Well, it was the recipe for victory. Yang Wenli said it, so it had to be right. Come to think of it, Eugen Kim had implied something similar—even Napoleon would fold in that setup.
The point was straightforward anyway.
"Berg's soldiers are battle-hardened elites, but there are too few. Even mustered fully, we couldn't match six-to-one, let alone parity."
"Hmm."
"As Grand Duke of Berg, my diagnosis is clear: the North lacks not food, but people. Beyond the cliché, people are literally the most precious resource—that's why I'm busting my ass here."
Now the emperor looked like he got it. In short, it was me saying, I'm harmless. No way did I know how to make nitrogen fertilizer or triple-crop in Russia's hellish climate. If I did, I'd have started there ages ago. So yeah, choking food supplies would hurt meaningfully, making rash moves risky.
"I understand your point."
Relief washed over me as the emperor flashed a lazy smile, like a weight had lifted.
"You've given me the justification to sell it."
"'Justification for persuasion' sounds too merchant-like. How about loyalty to your sovereign?"
"That does have a nicer ring."
The emperor chuckled.
"Don't worry about this part. Even if you recite my words verbatim, I can preempt any backlash."
"Thank you."
I bowed, inwardly sticking out my tongue in admiration. What a sly old fox. No wonder he'd dragged out this settled matter—preempting every contingency. Guess that's what makes an emperor.
I'd never cared much for the throne before, but now I wanted it even less.
"If you turn your banners against me after all this, I'll haunt you. Every night in your dreams: 'You bastard, you bastard, I trusted you—'"
"Your Majesty, even so, a bit of dignity..."
"You'll change when you age, Grand Duke. Old folks have only spite left—teasing the young becomes our sole joy."
The emperor cackled, then cut off abruptly.
"So, how many years are you thinking?"
The subject was implied, but I'd simulated this endlessly in my head, so the answer slipped out reflexively.
"About five years."
"I'll be seventy-three then. Wouldn't be odd to meet the goddess."
"You seem hale and hearty. Personally, I'd love twenty more years of vigorous rule."
"You rascal—telling this shriveled geezer to keep at it for twenty years? Nonsense. I've done over forty; that's plenty."
The emperor snapped back immediately.
"Even if I croak tomorrow, I can face the goddess proudly: 'I fulfilled my duty admirably.'"
"Maybe we should hear from the goddess herself..."
"Anyway, five years isn't far off."
"Pardon?"
"What I want, Grand Duke, is to go down in history as the emperor who eradicated the northern threat forever. Forty-plus years ruling this empire, my hands stained with too much blood—least I can get is one good line at the end."
His expression was deadly serious as he muttered, then grinned.
"Don't look so grave. I've told the Court Count already—not spilling secrets just to you. Sorry if you were hoping."
"I wasn't..."
"Anyway. To trust worthy vassals is a fine emperor's virtue."
The emperor rose, patting my shoulder.
"I've taken enough of your time. Go mingle with the young ladies—oh, and check on my daughter while you're at it. You're at the ball to build bonds."
As he shuffled out, I spoke up. No lie detector here, but he didn't seem deceptive. All an act? He'd be headlining a theater, sweeping Best Actor at some Blue Dragon Awards equivalent.
This blanket trust felt strangely good, so I couldn't help asking.
"Why the sudden total faith in me, Your Majesty?"
"Sit in this seat forty years, and you'll sense it naturally. Lies for face-saving or truth—you just know."
"..."
"And what I trust is House Berg. Hundreds of years defending the north for the empire, unwavering loyalty to House Valentino. The three Berg Grand Dukes I've known."
His wrinkled eyes turned back, as if to say, That answer you? I nodded. It did.
Damn, that'd inspire loyalty in anyone. I need to steal that tolerance technique for my knights later.
The banquet hall was as lively as ever when I slipped out of the side chamber—mellower, even. Nobles kept strict etiquette, but the vibe was pure feast-and-revelry, with the court orchestra's music filling the air. Pairs of men and women swirled across the floor in dance.
"Go on. Don't get snagged like before. Young folks should stick together."
The emperor had shoved me out, but still. I'd just had a profoundly useful chat—baring souls like true lord and vassal. I'd basically gotten a blank check: Trust you completely; do whatever. Cross the line, though, and it'd be iron fist like Zhu Yuanzhang purging his own.
So, time to aggressively recruit fresh talent north...?
That was it. The emperor wanted his legacy; shortening the timeline might thrill him. At sixty-eight, Grandpa Giovanni deserved payback on his final long bet.
Buzzing to rush north and get cracking, I spotted red hair amid the dancing crowd.
"Hm..."
Coincidentally, Helena in the corner looked up too. Our eyes met; she flinched. Why's her makeup smeared like a panda? Cried? Who pissed off that firecracker? Original story didn't have her sniffling in corners.
I tilted my head, then looked away. Someone scratched her temper, that's all.
As I shrugged it off, a small voice stopped me.
"Um... Your Grace."
"Ah, it's you."
Aisha had crept up quietly. Made up her mind already?
"Faster than expected. I said decide before heading north. Ready to work under me?"
"...Yes."
She nodded. Her jewel-blue eyes, once flowery prose in the novel, now gleamed with resolve.
"If Your Grace needs me, and my abilities can help others... yes, I want to serve you."
"Wise choice."
My lips curved up. No need to drag this out.
A spirit mage. One who grew stronger just breathing? Sold.
"Time to settle it, then. Guide me to your father. I'll handle the messy details."
"Yes...!"
Determined, she nodded vigorously and led the way.
Leste Duke's illegitimate daughter and Berg Grand Duke—an odd pair drew glances, but I ignored them. At the hall's edge, a middle-aged noble stood with a glass in hand.
Leste Duke. Aisha's sire, the novel's Aisha-abusing villain.
Spotting us, his face twisted instantly.
"...I distinctly told you to stay huddled in the corner. Defied me and caused trouble after all?"
"D-Duke... it's not..."
"Shut it. Don't want to hear."
He glared at Aisha like vermin, then turned to me with a wholly different expression.
"...Apologies, Grand Duke Berg. If she's offended you, it's my failure to control her—forgive me."
"No, that's not why I'm here."
I shook my head, guessing his misconception, and cut to the chase.
"I want to hire your daughter. Here for your permission."