Emperor of Zero (ZnT/Napoleon Bonaparte) Thread 2

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Scraped from here.

Well, I guess this story has gone a lot farther than I ever anticipated...
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Alright, an update, which, frankly, is a plea for aid and I decided to post an hour before this forum died.

I've been busy for the last month ( I graduate in one week), but the fact is that I'm stuck - I have the outline for the chapter, but I don't like it and it doesn't jive well with my long-term plans. . And so I'm asking for someone to basically have a PM conversation with me so that I can bounce off ideas and figure things out. Needless to say, this will probably include the long-term themes I have planned for this story.

If anyone's willing to help me out, please do so. I frankly can't write the next chapter in a satisfactory way by myself.
 
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    • An update! Yay! And I get through a chapter which I really didn't want to write, and on to the good stuff afterwards! Really, in a sense, this is the last chapter of Part II.

    ...
    ...


    "To the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."
    - Moby Dick.
    …
    …
    "Um… please, thank you."

    The elven girl clapped her hands together and bowed slightly as a servant ladled out a bowl of soup. But instead of gratitude for her thanks, he jumped back in terror even as he continued to hold a full pot, and then scurried out of the room. With her sad smile on her face in the aftermath of that gesture, she picked up a nearby wooden spoon and dipped it in, before she stopped and then looked in front of her.

    "Do you want some?"

    "No."
    She blinked once or twice, and then began to eat. Meanwhile, Napoleon watched her from the other end of the table. A fireplace burned cheerfully next to them.

    It had been quite a battle, he thought. Foucard had truly gone nuts upon seeing this girl, and Napoleon had actually been forced to activate his Gandalfr runes and wrestle him to the ground to shut him up. But even then, he continued to rant about the elf girl outside and how they were all going to die. From Napoleon's perspective, to watch a member of what was to become his future Imperial Guard panic and gibber like a shrieking infant was quite depressing.

    It's not like he didn't know about elves. He had read about the creatures when he was still back in the Tristain Academy's library. They were a people who lived far away from other humans, in some distant holy land, and the main physical difference between them and humans were the long pointy ears that they possessed. But aside from that, this elf looked like a normal human, with a thin, delicate body, a woven green tonic, and an aura of kindness exuding from her. Well, thought Napoleon, he would have probably to make an exception for that chest. He had thought his second wife, the stupid girl he had married to keep the Emperor of Austria happy and to get a son, had a decent sized bosom, but that was nothing compared to this girl. It was ridiculous and…

    Napoleon snapped himself out of his reverie. He didn't know whether their females were all so blessed, but that wasn't the important thing. After all, elves were dangerous. Because they possessed that holy land which was apparently located in the south, humans and elves generally disliked one another. However, elves possessed a far superior lifespan and magic which far outclassed the capabilities of humans. The books had told him that meeting a single elf was a cause for an entire human army to retreat, and the reaction of his soldiers to this girl had made it apparent that they believed it.

    He glanced behind him as he grumbled slightly. He had hoped to meet with this elven girl alone, but Foucard would have none of it. The bodyguard stood behind Napoleon, but he had been joined by Martin and Napoleon's four subordinates. Stewart's back leaned a little too casually by the wall while his hand dangled a mere centimeter away from his sword, ready to draw it at the first sign of provocation, while Napoleon noticed that Robert de Gramont watched the girl without hiding an expression of disgust and hatred. If that wasn't enough, Napoleon had also relented and had summoned the other members of his guard. Fifty soldiers currently stood at attention outside his headquarters, and Napoleon had reluctantly given out orders. If they observed anything going wrong inside the headquarters from the outside, they were to charge in with their bayonets. The degree of awe and fear that this little elf girl who hungrily spooned soup into her mouth struck into the hearts of his allies couldn't help but fascinate him. It appeared that despite all their power, they still needed to eat. But he had far, far more important things to do than watch her, so he began to talk.

    "So, you said that your name was Tiffania?"

    The elf girl was clearly famished, as she had stopped spooning the soup into her mouth and had just lifted the bowl to drink directly from it. But upon hearing Napoleon's inquiry, she set it down.

    "Yes. My name is Tiffania Westwood."

    "'Westwood?'" commented Martin. "That's an odd last name for an elf."

    The elf nervously pushed her index fingers at that observation.

    "Well…that is… I'm only half elf. My father was a human."

    "What was his name?" asked Martin.

    Martin seemed to remain much calmer in Tiffania's presence, and his voice didn't betray any fear. But it didn't seem to help, as Tiffania once again pushed her fingers together and glanced wildly about, like a trapped animal. That was not a good starting avenue for an interrogation, and Napoleon turned and signaled Martin to stand back before he looked back at Tiffania.

    "So, Tiffania. What reason does a half-elf have to come to my headquarters?"

    The elf girl blinked at Napoleon for a moment, her expression confused and frightened.

    "A-are you willing to help me? A mixed elf?"

    "If you didn't think I would help, why did you come here?"

    "Well, I didn't have anywhere else to turn to. There's a nearby village, but I don't think they can help me. B-but…"

    She hesitated again. Someone sighed in irritation behind Napoleon, but he ignored it.

    "Please, Tiffania. There's no reason for you to worry. What is your problem?"

    The girl once again pushed her index fingers together out of nervousness before she finally responded with a plaintive voice. Having seen it a third time, Napoleon committed the tic to his memory as she continued.

    "I own an orphanage which houses about 25 or so children. But we can't get food these days because of the war. I can tell that you aren't Albion, but aside from that, I don't know who you are. But, please…"

    "That's a lie."

    One voice spoke up behind Napoleon, and then the sounds of footsteps could be heard approaching the table where Napoleon and Tiffania sat at. Robert de Gramont slammed his right hand on the table as he glared at Tiffania with unhidden hostility.

    "There's no reason to trust you. You are an elf. A monster that can destroy us all. Your orphanage is likely a trap meant to lure and kill our soldiers."

    "W-what? I…"

    As Tiffania instinctively shuddered out of confusion, Napoleon closed his eyes. Meanwhile, Robert continued.

    "So answer me, elf. What are you doing with an orphanage? Why do the villagers trust you to care for human children? No commoner could be that stupid, to trust children to a creature which uses human blood for your dark rituals."

    "W-what? But that's not true!"

    "Don't lie to me!"

    Robert's left hand now slammed down on the table. The rest of the group began to murmur amongst themselves.

    "You don't think I don't know the stories, elf? I know the stories about your kind perfectly well. I've heard about how you will fatten up human children in the dungeons of your temples, slaughter them on your holy days, and then use their blood and entrails as sacrifices to their gods. How did you hide your temple by the village? You used magic, did you not?"

    "B-but…I…"

    "Some kind of elven magic to convince that you wouldn't kill their children? Mind control? Hypnotism? Perhaps everyone in that village is your thrall, and could give you food if you wanted to and you're just trying to-"

    "Gramont!"

    Robert at first looked at Napoleon, but the Emperor had said nothing. He had continued to sit with his hands folded over his face, staring intently at Tiffania throughout the interrogation. The girl had all but broken down to deep tears as she covered her face with her hands. Instead, the voice had come from the group, as Julio had stepped forward.

    "Elf or not, that girl is a guest of your superior. Surely not all Tristanians treat their guests in such a manner?"

    Robert's face flushed white at the mockery laden in Julio's remark.

    "Are you mocking me, Romalian priest? You, of all people, should know that the elves are more dangerous than anyone! They must be treated with suspicion at all times!"

    "Perhaps. It's true that they don't believe in Brimir, and that really is a problem. But that doesn't mean we'll burn them all at the stake yet. Or maybe you would enjoy that? You do seem to have a habit of enjoying battle, as your discussion today and that little incident at Jor-"

    "You dare!" Robert roared as his right hand swung down.

    But then he stopped. Before he could reach his wand, Napoleon had grabbed his arm before it could make a move. The Emperor stared directly into Gramont's eyes as he did so for a few moments. Then Robert moved his face, and without saying anything else, he tramped over to the rest of the lieutenants and sat down on a wooden chair with a huff. In the meantime, Napoleon turned back to Tiffania.

    "The sun is setting, Tiffania. You should find somewhere to sleep for tonight. I can give you a decision by tomorrow."

    The elven girl now openly sobbed out of fear, though she lifted her heads up at Napoleon's words. However, she shook her head as tears dripped down her cheeks.

    "I-I need to get back to the orphanage. P-please, you have to help me."

    "There's nothing to worry about, but you'll have to wait until morning as it's too dangerous. Is that all right?"

    Tiffania hesitated for a bit, but then she nodded. Napoleon then looked back towards the men and waved Martin over.

    "Find her a place in this camp for her to sleep, and I mean a proper place for a lady. I will check on her in the morning to make sure she's fine."

    The soldier saluted, and with another gesture by Napoleon, he kindly escorted Tiffania out of her seat. The two walked out of the room, though Tiffania took great care not to make eye contact with the lieutenants and soldiers watching her. As the two left and the door closed after them, Robert spoke up.

    "What are you planning to do with her, Captain? You're going to help her, are you not?"

    "Yes, I am."

    There was a tone of finality in Napoleon's voice, and it prevented Gramont from arguing the point further for now. In the meantime, Napoleon glanced over at Stewart, who had chosen to stand at attention after Tiffania had left.

    "Yes, sir?"

    "Do you have any objection to helping an elven girl?"

    "Not particularly. Do you want me to go help her?"

    Napoleon shook his head.

    "Pick out one of your better lieutenants, as well as 40 men. Get three day's rations for them as well as enough food from the supply trains to feed another 25 – no, make that 26 – for three days. If the situation is dire enough, tell him to evacuate the orphanage and protect the children and the elf."

    Stewart nodded in approval and saluted, which Napoleon returned.

    "That is all, then. Everyone is dismissed."

    Upon those words, everyone began to file out of the building. Foucard and Martin whispered among themselves, but Napoleon could tell that they weren't discontent whisperings. Most of the soldiers, while definitely paranoid of elves, seemed willing to help an orphanage out, or at minimum follow their leader's orders.

    However, one person stayed behind. Robert de Gramont remained, his arms folded and his expression filled with frustration at Napoleon's command.

    "I don't understand what you're doing, sir. She's an elf! You can't trust her! What if she really will kill those men, what will we do then?"

    "Then we will lose 40 men and a good lieutenant."

    "Exactly! That's too high of a risk! There's no way we can-"

    "Too high of a risk?"

    Once more, a slight edge remained for a moment too long on Napoleon's voice.

    "You're one of my direct subordinates, Gramont. Yet you're unwilling to sacrifice 40 men for an objective?"

    "B-but there is no objective! We don't gain anything by helping this orphanage out!"

    "I don't think she's lying, to begin with."

    "What?"

    Robert stopped at the aside, but Napoleon continued.

    "If she was lying, she would have done more under your questioning than babble like a moron. I doubt that girl's capable of lying at all. But even if I couldn't tell, I would still send the men. After all, if she's lying? I lose 40 men. If she's not? Then I gain the gratitude of a creature worth an army by herself. I'd say that's a fair tradeoff, wouldn't you, Robert?"

    Even with that analysis, Robert still looked displeased.

    "Are you saying that you intend to use an elf? To fight alongside us?"

    "Of course," Napoleon countered smoothly. "We are in rather desperate straits, Robert de Gramont. We can use all the help we can get before we clash with Cromwell's army. Now please, depart. I have things to do."

    Robert's expression still held suspicion and discontent, but he obeyed. With a snap of his heels, he saluted Napoleon and then left the room. Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle after the last of his generals had left.

    "He really is a true Tristanian. His devotion to the faith of Brimir means that he's completely suspicious of Tiffania, but his stance as a loyal soldier means that he never suspected his superior officer for a second.

    Ah well, it's not that important anyways. He'll find out when the right time comes. I don't think he'll have a problem anyways."

    …
    …

    It's a fact of war that it's always the little luxuries that you miss the most when you're on the battlefield.

    Oliver Cromwell could attest to that. He just wanted socks. Nice, clean, fresh socks which didn't have holes and which he could actually change out of. But no, he had not brought any socks with him on the night which they had prepared for the attack on Saxe-Gotha, and now they were marching to finish off the remnants of the Tristanian Army without time to collect fresh socks. It was really quite a shame.

    He also didn't like the fact that his men so enthusiastically waved at him now. Part of him was grateful at the acknowledgment, and he fulfilled the proper role of a ruler as he waved back at them. But he couldn't help but think back to their faces the day before the attack on Saxe-Gotha. The day before the battle, he had played the role as the commander of the Albion forces. He marched in front of them and exhorted the need to defend their land from invaders and how anyone who died for the Holy Albion Republic in this battle would be remembered for eternity as brave heroes.

    They hadn't cheered him, which he had been prepared for given how poorly this war had gone from the very beginning. But what they had done was worse. He noticed their faces throughout the speech, sullen, indifferent, without a care about whether they won or not. And to be ignored, to have his words go through one ear and out the other? That was a fate far worse than being booed by his men.

    Now, after the victory they had achieved at Saxe-Gotha, they cheered him. But he couldn't forget those faces which had greeted him and which had frightened him even more than any time that Sheffield had been cross with him. Now he knew that to be a king was truly a terrifying, joyless affair. How could he have ever joked about the idea of wanting to be one?

    "Is everything alright, Cromwell?"

    He jumped with a start, but then realized that his secretary Sheffield had ridden up to him while he had reminisced, a calm smile on her face. In return, Cromwell faked a smile and shook his head towards her.

    "Everything is fine, Sheffield. I don't believe I've thanked you enough for what you've done for our people. Your spell with the Ring of Andvari may have singlehandedly saved our kingdom."

    "It was no problem," She responded in a gracious voice. "You know that it is now my duty to serve Albion and you to my fullest capabilities."

    "Is that so?"

    The words slipped out of Cromwell's mouth before he could think, and he cursed himself for being incapable of shoving them back in. Sheffield's eyes moved, but he quickly attempted to cut her off before she could think about their meaning too soon.

    "Anyway, that was quite the fantastic magic there, Sheffield. How were you capable of accomplishing such a feat?"

    The smile completely vanished from Sheffield's face, and her eyes now noticeably narrowed.

    "It is a magic I learned from Rub al Khali, my faraway home. I do not think you will ever be capable of learning that magic for yourself, if that is what you are asking."

    Cromwell nervously laughed at the cold statement.

    "Of course, of course! I never intended such a thing. It just made me curious, that's all. Rub al Khali must truly be an interesting country! I should like to visit it someday."

    Sheffield shook her head.

    "It was only through a quirk fate that I was able to cross the great desert which separates Helgekinia from Rub al Khali, Cromwell. Besides, a ruler does not have time to do such things."

    There was nothing more said between them for a minute or two. Cromwell fidgeted about on his horse, while Sheffield remained expressionless, though she snuck small glances at the Albion leader every now and then.

    "Cro-"

    "Ah! General Wentworth is up there! I must speak to him about the plans for the war!"

    Cutting Sheffield off, Cromwell gave a small wave to Sheffield before he kicked his horse and rode on ahead. He glanced behind himself at his secretary, who gave a wave back.

    Nevertheless, the gesture brought no joy to Cromwell's heart. That conversation had only cemented his suspicions. He knew that without Sheffield and what she did to the Ring of Andvari, he never could have defeated the Tristanian army, but the more he thought about it, the less and less he liked it. He really didn't know anything about her. She told him that she came from that faraway land of Rub Al Khali, but who knows whether anything she said was true, especially since she never bothered to describe what that exotic country was like no matter how much he needled?

    And even if she was telling the truth about that, he didn't know anything else. He didn't know her past, what she fought for, or even the magic that she had used to turn the Tristanian soldiers against their lord, as she intentionally remained vague to such inquiries. After all, Cromwell thought, people don't just give away entire kingdoms unless they have a very good reason, and yet he had no idea what that reason really was for Sheffield. True, she had talked about it being a stepping-stone for a later incursion into the Holy Land, yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized what an unlikely ideal that was. Who knew whether she was really working for Cromwell, or someone else? He didn't know. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that was bad.

    As he rushed through his thoughts, Cromwell's horse finally caught up with Wentworth. He was a young dashing man, at least 30, who possessed a fine brown beard and enjoyed fancy uniforms. Ignoring the receiving salute, the ruler of Albion signaled the general to ride a little closer to him.

    "What is it, your Excellency?"
    Cromwell hesitated for a moment, and he threw one quick glance at Sheffield. As far as he could tell, she had continued to watch him intently while he had ridden ahead. That settled his decision. Nudging his horse, he moved even closer to his general and spoke to him in a voice just loud enough so that Wentworth could hear over the din of the marching army.

    "I want you to take one of your spies and have him track Sheffield at all times. Tell him to report everything directly to me. Anything she does that's even remotely unusual, I want to know."

    Wentworth blinked in confusion, and then turned and stared back at Sheffield for several long seconds. While Cromwell groaned in frustration at the suspicious movement, he resisted the urge to smack the head of the general, as that would have no doubt made things stranger and more suspicious for her. But at last, the general turned back towards Cromwell and nodded resolutely.

    "Very well. It will be done by the end of the day."

    Cromwell relaxed at those words, but then the general continued to talk.

    "You also want to hear about the latest reports, do you not, Your Excellency?"

    "Reports?" Cromwell paused on that word idly for a bit. "Oh, yes, the reports! About the war, of course. Against Tristain. That would be good to hear now."

    The general decided to ignore Cromwell's confusion.

    "We're currently about a day's march away from the village of New Cromwell. We believe that the enemy army is somewhere to the south of it, as there's a series of hills which can make for an excellent defensive position. Hopefully, the usage of our… new… soldiers can demoralize them."

    The general lingered on that word with distaste. As useful as the spell was, Cromwell saw from his tone that Wentworth did not enjoy the magic which had turned the Tristanian soldiers against their comrades.

    "What about Tristanian's fleet? What do we know about them?"

    "As far as we know, they're resting at La Rochelle. They'll have to wait until their army arrived there to evacuate them given that they need to have a port to have them embark, and Tristania in general doesn't possess enough dragon knights to make a difference. Under the current circumstances, I don't believe that they'll play a factor in this next battle. It's just our army versus their army. No other reinforcements or anything like that."

    Cromwell nodded in approval at those words.

    "That's good. We'll end this war as needed. After that, we'll try to secure peace with Tristain."

    "Are you sure about that course of action, sir? Tristanian will be in chaos once this army is destroyed and they learn of Henrietta's death, and Gallia will soon attack them as well. I do not believe we should seek a negotiated peace. Instead, we should attempt to re-invade Albion and liberate the country for the good of our Republic."

    "We didn't declare war to conquer Tristain, general. We declared war because they wouldn't give up the Prince of Wales to our justice. We have captured him, and thus have fulfilled our objectives. If we attack in order to try to conquer all of Tristain, Germania won't idly sit by this time. Besides…"

    Cromwell once again looked back on Sheffield for a moment before he turned back to the general.

    "We have to make sure that the revolution at home first is truly secured from foreign enemies. That is my biggest responsibility as the protector of Albion."

    …
    …

    Napoleon looked out at the setting sun, but he continued to grumble as he stood upon the top of one of the hills to the south of New Cromwell. There was so much to do, and so little time. It had been about a day and a half since he had discussed affairs with the elf, whom had recovered from Gramont's interrogation and her initial fears. Stewart had dispatched a small force with the elven girl to find her orphanage and secure the area, and while they ran the risk of running into the Albion army, the village and the orphanage were supposedly fairly isolated, making that unlikely.

    But there were other problems. Destroying the entire general staff at Saxe-Gotha and replacing it with himself did pose severe military consequences. While he normally avoided a hierarchical, rigid system of command in favor of directing several independent armies, he didn't really have a choice here. He had recruited his men and lieutenants in an attempt to replicate the independent armies of his past, but there wasn't enough time before the battle. Even now, as he looked out of his telescope at the Albion army which now was only about 5 miles away from Tritstain's army, they had to figure out their own staff and loyalty and such matters. He would have to direct this personally to a larger degree than was normal for his commanding style.

    A footstep tramped on the grass behind him, but instead of acknowledging the visitor, Napoleon only pulled out a map of the area and read over the terrain once again. It really was an exact replica of that battle so long ago, at the peak of his might, when he had battled a colossal Austrian and Russian force.

    "What is it, Julio?"

    The young Romalian priest bowed respectfully to Napoleon before taking a few steps forward.

    "I'd like to reexamine our various roles in the battle one more time. Could you explain it to me again?"

    Napoleon stared at Julio suspiciously for a bit. Then with a sigh, he knelt down on the hill and spread out the map. There were a series of drawings indicating the positions of the Tristanian and Albion forces.

    "Stewart mentioned these hills which we're currently standing on, and advised us to form a defensive line around them, correct?"

    Julio nodded in response.

    "We will do no such thing. Tomorrow we will abandon these hills to the enemy."

    Julio opened his mouth in confusion, but then shut it. That was interesting, Napoleon noted. He had met Julio during his examinations of the Tristanian while it had rested at Saxe-Gotha and instantly distrusted the boy. He was too smooth and too suave as his little jibes with Robert de Gramont proved, but the main problem Napoleon had was that Julio's loyalties didn't lie with Tristain or Albion. Instead, he worked as a priest under the Pope of Romalia, and had been apparently been dispatched by the Pope to minimize casualties. Still, he couldn't deny the boy's prodigious skill. The boy knew how to fight and map strategy, and also possessed considerable skill at riding dragons, something which Napoleon obviously possessed almost no knowledge about. And while the boy's initial loyalties had been a concerned, he had been shocked and horrified by the magic which Albion had been used as well as concerned about the fate of Princess Henrietta, and thus had committed himself temporarily to the service of Tristain.

    "We will let the enemy have the hills, and will at the same time weaken our right flank who will hide behind a series of streams and river located behind the river. Cromwell is headstrong, and if Touraine is right, he will need to attack sooner rather than later anyways or risk the spell which controls our men collapsing. I will take advantage and invite an opening on our right flank."

    "Then you intend to strike with your left flank as there won't be many Albion men left on the hill, correct?"

    Napoleon looked up from the map as he noted Julio's observation.

    "Not bad, Julio. That was a good strategic insight. Your master should feel proud."

    Julio bowed at the compliments, but Napoleon chose to continue to speak.

    "We'll retake the heights. That'll split the enemy in two between the group defending the heights and the group attacking our right flank. We'll demolish the enemy defending the heights. Then we will secure it and focus on destroying the last group with the bulk of our forces.

    "I truly am impressed, Bonaparte. But how sure are you that it's going to work? It seems to be fairly complicated."

    "It's not that difficult. In fact, it's one of my simpler plans, and more importantly, I've used it before, on a field called Austerlitz. But you said you wanted to know your role, right?"

    Julio nodded in assent, but then he looked up from the map. Napoleon could hear the sound of approaching hoof beats, but he also heard a single person shouting along with the horse.

    "Captain Bonaparte!"

    It was Stewart. The subordinate galloped away on his horse and waved his hat with its feathery plume repeatedly as he attempted to attract his master's attention. Even from so far away, Napoleon could see the sweat beading down his neck.

    "To the southwest! Look to the sky, the sky!"

    Napoleon looked in that direction, and at first he could see nothing more than the clouds. But then he noticed some faint black specks coming from the setting sun. As Julio looked on in confusion, Napoleon opened his telescope and looked through it in that direction.

    He could make them out be the flying ships which were so common to this land but which Napoleon still found to be so bizarre. But while Napoleon couldn't see any clear signs of a flag or insignia on the ships from this distance, it was strange.

    "Stewart, our ships are docked in La Rochelle, which is to our southeast. And Albion doesn't have enough ships for us to worry about. So whose ships are coming from the southwest?"

    "Gallia!"

    Stewart finally managed to get his horse besides Napoleon and Julio, though he did not dismount.

    "Those are Gallian ships, belonging to King Joseph of Gallia!"

    Napoleon continued to look in the telescope while his expression remained serious yet calm.

    "Gallia. Stewart, do you know why they would be here?"

    The new general shook his head.

    "No, but it isn't good. Gallia's always been friendly to Albion, and they didn't condemn the government like all the other countries did. They could be fighting on the side of Albion! They could drive our fleet away, and then we would be trapped, or they could attack us here or-"

    "Could."

    "What?"

    Napoleon's expression hadn't changed in the slightest from his news, which confused Stewart. This was a cause for panic. The Gallian ships were fully capable of destroying the Tristanian army. But his leader showed no more concern for this than if Stewart had ridden up to Napoleon telling him that one of his favorite pairs of boots went missing.

    "They 'could' do that. Hold position. Do not attack the Gallian ships. I want to know what their intentions are first. Julio, return to your position and prepare for the retreat tomorrow."

    Stewart gnashed his teeth together out of apprehension and worry, but both of Napoleon's lieutenants understood the importance of the chain of command. They saluted and left the scene, leaving Napoleon alone with his thoughts. It was only when Napoleon was sure that his subordinates could not see him that he stomped one foot on the ground.

    …
    …

    "They came!"

    Cromwell had been tired. Having arrived at the small village of New Cromwell, he had made himself comfortable in the Mayor's office and had finally procured some socks. But he had remained tired and exhausted this entire time, as he couldn't suppress the fear of the future battle.

    But with the latest news, he couldn't help but dance a little jig in delight. Gallia had come! He had sent the report of Henrietta's death directly to Joseph hoping that those news would finally persuade that lazy and flirtatious king to get out of his stupor and fight with his secret ally, and his plan had worked! A vast Gallian armada had shown up to help him defeat the remaining Tristanian forces! He had done something right, by himself, without any prodding or aid from Sheffield! At last, he showed his independence!

    He wouldn't need Sheffield after they defeated the Tristanian forces, and he didn't trust her anyways. He'd have her executed. Yes, executed, not imprisoned. You couldn't trust a witch like her to remain in jail long anyways. And then he'd solidify his base of power, and make sure of the security of Albion, his country. Not Wales, not Sheffield, not anyone in the world! Albion belonged to him and him alone!

    A messenger jumped into the room as Cromwell continued to dance.

    "Your Excellency, His Majesty King Joseph of Gallia himself is here on those ships! He wishes to send you a message of greeting, and thus asks that you show your location."

    The mayor of New Cromwell was a short fat corrupt little man, but Cromwell didn't mind as he had taken care to stock his office with fine liquors and wines which he now sampled. Tilting a bottle back into his mouth, he nodded to the messenger in an indication of approval for the request.

    Even so, Cromwell's chest couldn't help but puff up with pride. Joseph had no doubt been difficult to work with, given his work ethic or rather lack thereof. But now on the battlefield, this king of possibly the mightiest nation in Helgekinia now acknowledged Cromwell as an equal. That truly was an indication of the success he had obtained as ruler of Albion.

    He half danced, half lurched to the balcony of the Mayor's house and watched as the flag of the Holy Republic of Albion was raised in front. He couldn't help but giggle in delight as he continued to watch the incoming Gallian ships as they got closer and closer. In the far distance, he knew that the opposing enemy no doubt watched the spectacle of these Gallian ships as they sailed into Albion. He wondered what they thought. Perhaps as exhausted as they were, they would just throw their arms down and flee right there. That would be good. Then he wouldn't have to fight at all.

    Gradually, gradually, the Albion ships flew into the village of New Cromwell and past the Tristanian army. Cromwell watched his army stationed nearby as they began to cheer the Gallian arrival.

    BANG BANG BANG.

    As he struggled to open a second bottle of wine, Cromwell couldn't help but grumble as someone loudly knocked on the door

    "It's open, it's open," he cried out.

    With another loud bang, the door to the office swung open. Wentworth stood in the threshold. His face was pale with shock and horror, and without a word he rushed up and grabbed Cromwell, whom instinctively latched onto his general's arms in return.

    "W-what are you doing, man? Why are you panicking?"

    The general abruptly let go of Cromwell and grabbed the desk. He was trembling throughout his body. Cromwell couldn't tell why.

    "M-my spy… Sheffield…"

    Sheffield, thought Cromwell through the haze of alcohol? Who was that? Oh, right, Sheffield. The secretary he intended to execute and who was no longer a threat.

    "Oh, her? You have impeccable timing, Wentworth. I no longer need to worry about Sheffield in the slightest. Call off your spy. She's no longer a threat; I'll take care of her myself later."

    "She boarded a Gallian ship."

    Cromwell blinked in confusion due to Wentworth's ramblings. But a sixth sense within his body slowly began to pierce a haze through the alcohol.

    "I couldn't hear that, Wentworth. What's wrong?"

    With that question, Wentworth lit up, and once again grabbed Cromwell.

    "My spy tracked her! Followed her over the past day! And she rode off about four hours ago, and so he followed her.

    AND SHE BOARDED A GALLIAN SHIP! Your Majesty, Sheffield's a spy of Gallia! We can't trust her! We can't trust Gallia! We need to get out of here now and get our army to-"

    In his panic, Wentworth had continued forcing Cromwell back towards the balcony. And then the two looked at the Gallian ships. And in their shock and horror, they realized that dozens of them had arrived in New Cromwell, and their cannons were pointed directly at the Mayor's building where the Albion flag had been raised.

    "Oh, no…"

    Wentworth gasped out those words, but then he heard a small giggle from his master.

    "Your Excellency?"

    Cromwell's eyes lit up. With a single smooth gesture, he grabbed Wentworth's arms and tossed the general over the balcony. Wentworth flailed helplessly as he flew through the air, only to land in a cart of hay underneath.

    "Ptooh! Ugh…"

    Groaning and spitting clumps of hay and grass out of his mouth as he struggled to extricate himself from the cart, Wentworth looked up at the balcony. He saw that Cromwell was also looking down upon him, the leader of Albion's expression filled with a peculiar serenity.

    "Get out of here, Wentworth. Your king commands you to live, for my sake as well as Albion!"

    The tone of those words made it clear that it was not a request. It was an order, the last order given by the final leader of the Holy Republic of Albion. And Wentworth knew that it had to be obeyed, as he struggled out of the cart and dashed off. But even as he did so, he heard the last loud remarks of his master.

    "I am Oliver Cromwell! Leader of the Holy Republic of Albion! I am nobody's puppet! Not Gallia, not Joseph's and not you, Sheffield!"

    Cromwell extended his arms to the sky as he addressed the Gallian ships. For the first time in his life, his voice spoke without the slightest hint of the fear which had plagued his life.

    "I will curse you both, traitors alike! Brimir will curse you! I do not know what you are after, but I swear that I will come back from the grave! And your dreams will turn into ashes, and your desires into dust! When you are destroyed, not by me, perhaps not by Albion, but by someone greater than you scum, remember my anger and my wrath!

    AND CURSE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, YOU-"

    And then the cannons from dozens of Gallian ships fired upon the building where Cromwell stood.

    The building was demolished in an instant.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • In other words; ZnT has reached the Napoleon Threshold.
     
    2
  • Threadmarks
    • "Let nobody think Stalin might reconquer Germany from the Urals! It is as if I were installed in Slovakia, and could set out from there to reconquer the Reich!"
    - Adolf Hitler
    …
    …
    "It's over! Long live Tristania!"

    Guiche de Gramont heard the shouts and chants of praises throughout the camp. He had seen it, as well as everyone else in the army. The Gallian air fleet had appeared over the skies of Albion and at first his comrades in the Guard as well as the rest of the army became upon apprehensive at the sight of so many ships. Even as soldiers rushed to prepare their weapons should the worst arrived, men whispered to one another in panic and concern about how they could survive an attack from both Gallia and Albion.

    But the Gallian ships had surprised everyone. Instead of allying with Albion, they had bombarded and attacked the Albion forces. As he continued to walk, Guiche could hear the din of battle from the location of the enemy camp. No matter the result, everyone knew at that moment that the war was over. Even if Gallia lost, Albion would be too weak to defeat their army, and Tristanian could just march in and mop up the remaining forces and crush Cromwell. Gallia was the deciding force; Albion could no more than stand against Tristain and Gallia than Tristain could stand against Gallia and Albion.

    Discipline had consequently broken down in the Tristanian army due to the celebrations. Men, regardless of their social status or origin, hugged one another and cheered for victory, for their homes, and even to their captain. Even if Napoleon hadn't actually led them to victory, he had kept them alive. He had saved many lives that night in Saxe-Gotha through his organized retreat and had averted total disaster. Now all of the soldiers could return home to a peaceful land while hailed as victorious warriors. Besides, their leader remained popular among the troops. He connected to them in a way that none of their commanders had even done before and was popular. The Tristanian soldiers weren't willing to follow him to the ends of the earth or break the rules of reality to fight with him now, but he remained well-liked. And so the celebration and cheers of the victorious army continued.

    But for Guiche there was nothing to celebrate. Nothing at all.

    So as his comrades celebrated, he slipped away from the Tristanian camp and began to walk…somewhere. Guiche possessed no plan to go somewhere in particular. He just put one foot in front of the other and stared doggedly at the landscape in front of him. It had been the first time he had noticed how beautiful it was. The terrain consisted of rolling, lush hills and beautiful grass that appeared as if it was a scene from a painting and not a battlefield. Guiche remembered reading about a Germanian thinker who had proclaimed that one should contemplate art as a way to escape from the sufferings of this world. Perhaps he could calm himself and avoid those thoughts by observing nature.

    "Huh?"

    He had walked a fair distance away from the encampment, but Guiche saw a pair of figures talking to one another at the top of a hill. Both of them had their backs to him, but Guiche recognized one of them instantly. No one ever mentioned it in front of Napoleon, but everyone made fun of him behind his back for that hat he wore seemingly at all times. Guiche had no idea where he found that monstrosity, nor did he desire to know. Yet while he could identify Napoleon from two hundred yards because of that thing, Guiche didn't know who the other person was. He also wore a black hat, though it was circular and slouched over his head. A white travelling cloak covered his shirt and also prevented Guiche from seeing any uniform and identification.

    Guiche decided to approach the pair. The two continued to stand there talking as he got closer, though he couldn't hear anything they said. But when he was about thirty feet away, the other man bowed towards Napoleon and mounted the nearby horse. He passed Guiche as he rode off, and the boy noticed that an emblem of crossed wands rested on the front of his shirt. That was…

    Realizing who that figure likely had been, Guiche dashed up the rest of the way to Napoleon. The commander's back was towards Guiche. After the messenger departed, he had pulled a small military telescope from under his coat and was looking towards the battlefield. This particular hill was a bit taller than the others nearby and thus made for a strong vantage point, Guiche realized. He could actually see the battle between the Albion and Gallian forces to some degree. Yet while he wondered about how Napoleon had discovered such a useful location, he also thought about the first man, the person who had worn the symbol of Gallia.

    "That man was from Gallia, sir?"

    "Yes," Napoleon responded while still holding the telescope. "A messenger. King Joseph Gaul desires to talk with me. I'll be heading to his flagship the Bucentaure shortly."

    "Alone?"

    Napoleon shrugged.

    "He said I could bring bodyguards, but there's no point. Gallia is strong, and they brought a lot of soldiers. They're destroying the Albion forces with little effort. They could destroy us with only a little more. There's no reason to bring a bodyguard when they could kill me anyways."

    Guiche didn't respond. While he didn't like the idea of his superior officer going alone, an instinct within him said that it was probably better not to object. Instead, the two continued to look out on the battlefield. But out here on that hill, Guiche realized that was the wrong word. The Albion forces were running pell-mell from the battlefield. Only the Tristanian forces whom had been possessed continued to fight, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. They were slaughtered en masse with magic spells and gunfire.

    "This is a slaughter, a massacre. This isn't war." Guiche breathed.

    Napoleon nodded. He closed the telescope and finally turned towards Guiche. The young boy saw how tense he looked.

    "It's absolutely disgusting," Napoleon observed. "I had hoped to save our men who had been possessed by Albion's foul magic. But it looks like I won't get the chance given Gallia's ferocity."

    "What? But that's not right. Sir, you need to stop them!"

    "I had the messenger ask King Joseph to stop fighting before we talk, but I doubt that will actually occur. He has no reason to stop."

    He grumbled a little bit and sat down on the grass. Then he abruptly stared at Guiche. The young boy instantly turned his eyes away, but Napoleon continued to look at him for a few seconds more.

    "You're upset that I selected your brother to be one of my lieutenants, aren't you?"

    Guiche jumped at those words. He had heard about it, about how Napoleon seemed to be able to understand people by looking at it. But to see and experience it first-hand was different.

    "H-how, that's not true!"

    The words came out with a little more force than he expected. But Guiche couldn't help but avoid the fact that he had left the encampment because of the smoldering resentment in his heart. He had of course, performed his duty as a soldier and noble of Tristain. But that was only the duty of a Gramont. He had performed no deeds of glory and had earned no treasures or tales of victories. Over the course of this war, a war where Tristain had fought for its very survival, he had done absolutely nothing. He had trained with the Guard and had made some friends. Martin had particularly warmed up to Guiche after their battle. But while he had marched from the Academy to Rosais to Albion, he had never fought in a battle. And now his oldest brother, the person he had been chasing his whole life, had been made one of the main lieutenants of the Tristain Army. It was intolerable.

    Guiche lapsed into silence out of embarrassment. As Napoleon took notice, he sighed and scratched his chin.

    "There's no need to be so impatient, Guiche. You are young. There will be more wars, and you can obtain your honor and glory there."

    "What-!"

    Those outrageous words made Guiche lose his composure. He threw his arms about wildly.

    "Tristain hasn't been in a war for about three hundred years before this, Captain Bonaparte! There won't be another one in my lifetime! This was my one shot at honor and glory, my one chance to show that I'm the equal to my brothers! Now it's gone, and Robert will go home as a lieutenant, noticed and loved by everyone in my family, while I'll return to being a laughingstock!"

    "You're wrong. Guiche de Gramont, things are beginning to change in this land. Forever. There will be more wars, more times when you can finally enter the battlefield. This little conflict with Albion will not be the greatest moment of your life."

    Napoleon stepped off the hill and began to walk away from it and towards Guiche. He stopped in front of the boy, and then clapped his hands on Guiche's shoulders.

    "You will have your moments. I chose to work with Louise because I believed her to be special. I believe the same with you. If you continue to wait for your chance with absolute certainty, Guiche, I promise you it will come. It will then up to you to seize it."

    Guiche hesitated as he pondered what to say to those strong words. But then Napoleon interjected again.

    "In fact, I believe I have a perfect opportunity for you. Your familiar is a mole, correct?"

    …
    …

    Twenty minutes later, Napoleon arrived at a hill near the Gallian ships on horseback. The messenger had not actually told him the location of the Bucentaure. Instead, Napoleon had received a letter of identification and had been asked to wait here for a courtier who would take him to the flagship of the Gallian fleet.

    However, there was no courtier. Having no choice, Napoleon dismounted and chose to wait. Fifteen minutes later, another courtier appeared. It was not the same person, but he wore the same uniform and hat like the previous messenger. The courtier rode up to Napoleon and stopped, though he did not dismount.

    "Greetings, Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I am a servant of the great King Joseph Gaul. I have been instructed to show you the fullest extent of our hospitality."

    "Of course," Napoleon said. "I am Napoleon Bonaparte. I am currently commander of all Tristanian forces in Albion. I assume you are here to escort me to the Bucentaure?"

    But to Napoleon's head, the courtier shook his head.

    "In due time. But my Majesty wishes to expound upon the greatness of our history and our culture first. He has instructed me to give you a short tour of our ships."

    Napoleon inwardly groaned. He hated this about monarchs. How they always, always had to do the pompous stuff before they received anyone. But he had no choice.

    "Very well. Lead the way."

    The courtier nodded and rode towards the fleet. Napoleon followed him, but the courtier stopped shortly afterwards in front of the nearest ship. He pointed at it.

    "This is the Rouen, one of the prides of our navy. It was constructed in…"

    It took only a short amount of time for Napoleon to remember that "short" is a vague, meaningless term. King Joseph Gaul had apparently instructed the courtier to give a brief history on every single ship that had flown to Gallia. The courtier mentioned how many guns each ship had, when it was constructed, and all sorts of details about the ship, no matter how large or small it was. And Gallia had sent over a hundred ships to Albion.

    Two hours later, the courtier and Napoleon at last arrived at the final ship, the Bucentaure. Both of them wore serene expressions, but Napoleon was irritated to say the least. The headache which he had endured ever since Louise's departure had not helped during this pointless riding.

    "Please, Captain Napoleon." The courtier said.

    The flagship was not capable of landing on the terrain of landing on normal ground, but as Napoleon approached the ship and identified himself, a rope ladder was flung down. Napoleon dismounted from his horse and walked towards the ladder.

    "Thank you for listening so kindly, Captain Napoleon. I hope you have a productive chat with His Majesty."

    As the courtier gave his farewells, Napoleon idly wondered whether he could just draw his sword and impale the man. But instead, he climbed up the ladder and finally threw himself onto the deck. Sailors and workers milled about on the ship, but Napoleon saw that two people stood in front of him. The first figure, a large, imposing blue-haired man wearing a mantle, bent down and helped him up while the second person, a dark-haired woman, stood back and watched.

    "How do you do, how do you do?" the man asked. "I am King Joseph Gaul. You're Captain Napoleon Bonaparte, the leader of this great Tristanian army, right?"

    He had been the first person in this land to pronounce his name incorrectly, Napoleon observed. For some reason, Joseph gave a special emphasis to the "na" syllable in his last name. For now, Napoleon ignored it and nodded.

    "Ah, that's good, that's good!" Joseph said in a happy voice. "It's a pleasure meeting you! Not that I exactly know what we're going to talk about. But Sheffield here decided that it was good to meet with the commander of the Albion forces, especially in light of Your Majesty's death."

    The words tumbled out of Joseph's mouth as he pushed the dark woman forward to introduce her, but then in an instant he covered his mouth with his hand. But it was too late. Napoleon had focused on dusting himself off while Joseph prattled, but he sharply looked up upon hearing the words of the Gallian king.

    "Did Albion kill Henrietta?"

    The woman, Sheffield, frowned at Napoleon's statement but Joseph seemed to give it no mind. Instead, he walked forward and wrapped Napoleon up in a giant hug. The Emperor gave an initial struggle in response, though it was no use. Joseph was a huge man, at least a foot taller than Napoleon and clearly far stronger, and Napoleon was a bit weary after the long tour.

    "I'm sorry, Bonaparte! I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have said it right here. Perhaps this isn't a good time to talk and you need time to mourn?"

    "No," Napoleon responded without hesitating. "This is the best time to talk for me."

    "Well", said Joseph as he disengaged himself. "That is splendid! Or, not so splendid given the circumstances. Perhaps "good" would be a better word? No, that doesn't really work…"

    The Gallian King then abruptly ignored Napoleon and began to talk to himself about which adjective suited the atmosphere the best. The sailors who watched their king gave snorts of laughter. Napoleon in the meantime glanced at the woman besides. Sheffield shrugged her shoulder and began to tap Joseph on the back.

    But then for some reason, the ever-present headache which had assailed Napoleon since Louise's departure sharpened in intensity. He was forced to take a step back from the pain, even as Sheffield had managed to snap Joseph out of his reverie by suggesting "melancholy."

    "Oh, oh, yes, that is a good word! Hey, Bonaparte, are you all right?"

    The pain seemingly only lasted a second before it subsided. Napoleon managed to right himself up quickly enough to avoid great suspicion. Now was not the time to deal with it. He was an Emperor who could take and endure anything, after all.

    "I'm fine. Is there a place where you would like to talk?"

    "Yes, this ship contains a cabin just for me. Splendid, isn't it! I'm glad you brought no bodyguards. That's always the best way to form trust between people! But I'll have to bring Sheffield along, because she'll help me with all the little things. So, shall we go?"

    Napoleon looked around first. He glanced at the sails, and then at the sailors, and then at Sheffield. Finally, his gaze lingered on Joseph's face for a bit longer, and then he nodded. The three of them thus descended into the ship towards his cabin. It was a long walk, partly because of the size of the Bucentaure, partly because King Joseph kept proclaiming that he knew the way.

    After six dead ends, many sighs, and even more suggestions from Sheffield, they finally arrived.

    "It's a bit crowded, Bonaparte, but it'll do just fine. Allow me to let you in!"

    Joseph opened the door and the three walked in. Napoleon wrinkled his nose in irritation. Joseph's cabin was a crowded, disorganized room filled with junk. Numerous chess sets lay about the room, and a board located on what appeared to be Joseph's desk had a game in progress. However, the board was oddly arranged. The chess pieces were not facing the back and front of the desk, but rather the sides, as if the person sitting behind the desk had been playing with himself.

    A table rested by the door with two chairs on opposite sides. Napoleon and Joseph sat down while Sheffield leaned against the wall. A decanter filled with red liquid and a pair of glasses also lay on the table, and Joseph eagerly picked up it up and poured the drink into both glasses

    "Some of the best wine in Gallia. You should visit our fair country someday, Bonaparte. There will be plenty of time for sightseeing and travelling with the war over."

    He pushed one glass over to Napoleon while he drained the other one. Napoleon looked at the liquid, but he did not pick up the glass, which caused Joseph to laugh loudly.

    "Oh, come on, Bonaparte, it's not poison! We're all friends here! Now, why don't we have a chat and-"

    "Before we begin anything, I have a request. I didn't feel like mentioning it in front of your sailors."

    Joseph nodded and stroked his beard.

    "Of course, of course, Bonaparte! We should try to make you comfortable before we have a pleasant talk! What is it?"

    Napoleon tossed his head in Sheffield's direction.

    "Tell her to leave. Now."

    Sheffield stiffened a bit at those words, but the Gallian King gave a chuckle and raised his arms helplessly.

    "I do want to make you comfortable, Bonaparte, but that's not fair. I can't do that. I don't even know what we would talk about if Sheffield wasn't around. She's the one who knows all the official stuff better than I do and-"

    "Oh, stop it."

    For the first time since he had met Joseph, irritation crept into Napoleon's voice. He leaned back into his chair and picked up the glass.

    "You may be able to fool your courtiers like that, King Joseph Gaul. You may be able to fool those sailors up on the deck. But don't think you can act like the buffoon in front of me and I'll buy it. If you continue to do so, then I'm going to leave, because I will not be some puppet you can mess around with by acting like a buffoon and giving me a pointless tour of your fleet. Quit playing around already."

    Having finished his statement, Napoleon drained his glass. Joseph said nothing. He looked away from Napoleon and seemed to stare down at the ground. But then the Emperor heard a small chuckle from Sheffield.

    "Those are some nice tattoos you have on your left hand, Bonaparte."

    Napoleon looked down at his hand, where the Gandalfr runes remained.

    "You're familiar with them?"

    Sheffield leered at Napoleon, and then moved one hand to her forehead. It was covered by thick, dark hair which she brushed aside to reveal a set of runes. They were inscribed into her forehead like the runes on Napoleon's left hand, and he could see that while they looked similar, the runes were not exactly the same.

    "My master told you that my name was Sheffield, but I'll introduce myself properly for you. I am Myozunitonirun, the Mind of God, a Void familiar to King Joseph Gaul and the greatest and most powerful of them all. To meet another Void familiar, namely Gandalfr, the Left Hand of God? That is a great honor."

    She continued to leer at Napoleon. But then her smile dropped upon watching his reaction. Napoleon simply stared blankly at her for several seconds. Then he slowly began to smile. The smile turned into a snort, and then the snort gave away to complete laughter. He continued to lose his restraint by the second and eventually doubled over as the room filled with the base, hysterical sound of unrestrained laughing.

    "Hey, King Joseph Gaul." Napoleon gasped out. "Your servant may be important to running your court, but I didn't think we needed a court jester for something this important!"

    "What?!"

    Sheffield shrieked in fury. The runes on the forehead began to glow as she faced Napoleon.

    "Do you doubt my power, Gandalfr? Compared to you, I am the superior familiar! Do you wish to continue to mock me and face my wrath?"

    "Oh, sure," Napoleon replied. "Go ahead. Show me how much strength you possess and how great those scratches on your head are, servant."

    He slowly emphasized the final word. Something about the way he said it made Sheffield stop, though her runes continued to glow.

    "Yes, I am a servant. So are you! Our past incarnations were servants of Brimir himself. That is true power! Do you not recognize the great power that you possess, Gandalfr?

    Napoleon's only response was to redouble his laughter. It became so loud and intense that for a second he fell out of his chair, though he caught and eventually righted himself. His voice still broke with bouts of laughter.

    "Power? This?" Napoleon said as he held up his left hand. "This isn't power, Myo-however you call it. Power is authority, to rule, and to control. Using a sword well isn't power, commanding the person who uses that sword is. And I accomplished that without Gandalfr. I am more than Captain Bonaparte. Before my partner summoned me, I was the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and the supreme ruler of a country far greater than any on Helgekinia. I fought armies which outnumbered me five to one and survived; I conquered all the relevant parts of the world! And I'm supposed to be intimidated by some woman, a servant, who is content to serve others despite the fact that she proclaims herself to be powerful? I have never heard of a better joke!"

    "What a ridiculous statement!" spat Sheffield. "I am a servant, a proud one to my great Master. You're just disappointed because you know that your master is weak, and that's how you justify it."

    "My partner is skilled and capable. But that person does not possess my capabilities nor does he necessarily share my desires. If he requests something from me, then perhaps I will do it. But we work together for our own interests, nothing more!"

    Napoleon continued to laugh some more as he now rested his head on the table out of amusement. Eventually, he calmed down as the laughter turned into small chuckles. Sheffield opened her mouth several times as if she wanted to say something, but she never did. Instead, she brushed her hair back to where it was and contemptuously stared at Napoleon. But then Napoleon heard a deep, gruff voice speak up.

    "You meant 'if she requests something from me', did you not?"

    It did not need to be said from where that statement came from, as Napoleon looked at King Joseph Gaul. But instead of the happy grin, Joseph wore a confident arrogant smile as he poured himself another glass of wine. The fanciful, whimsical king who spent his time fiddling over silly words had disappeared and the true, unhidden personality of the King of Gallia had emerged.

    "You may be no one's servant, Napoleon Bonaparte, but it's touching to see you attempt to protect your master's identity through such a manner. But it accomplished nothing, as I already know the identity of your master. I knew that Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere was a Void mage the minute she destroyed the village of Tarbes. I didn't know that she had summoned a familiar, much less Gandalfr. Still, it is truly interesting to see the Gandalfr familiar, the Shield of God, in command of the Tristanian forces in Albion."

    "It was an accidental slip of the tongue." Napoleon coolly responded. "And thank you, King Joseph. I'm glad to see that you knew how to pronounce my name correctly after all."

    Joseph chuckled in response, before turning to Sheffield.

    "I no longer have a reason for you to be here. Leave us."

    "B-but Master, this man is dangerous. He is the Gandalfr familiar. He could kill you before I could intervene to protect you. Then what would I do?"

    "He won't do that," Joseph responded. "This is not a conversation between I and a commanding officer, this is a discussion between kings. He is a king, any member of royalty can tell that from his demeanor."

    After hesitating, Sheffield nodded. She quickly bent down on one knee before Joseph before she stood up and laugh, though she threw a final dirty glance at Napoleon. As the door closed Joseph turned to him.

    "I did tell Sheffield that you won't kill me because we are kings, but given what you said to her, I must say that I think I know what really happened on that night in Saxe-Gotha."

    Napoleon gave a thin smile as he leaned back into his chair.

    "I have no idea what you're talking about. And even if I did, you don't have any proof. There is none. But yes, you're right. I have no reason to kill you."

    "Very well." Joseph said. "And you're right about the fact that I have no proof. I don't think there ever will be anyone other than myself who will be capable of figuring out what you did – I wouldn't be able to were it not for some letters I received from Cromwell which explained the situation from his perspective. I had already destroyed them to hide the fact of our cooperation from spies, and even then I don't know the details. Perhaps I could have saved them to blackmail you, but what's done is done."

    He smiled again and drained his cup before he continued.

    "At any rate, I didn't ask you here to talk about that, or even Gandalfr and Myozunitonirun – Sheffield just broke in like that, probably to intimidate you. There is something much more important that I'm interested in, which is the future of Helgekinia."

    "I'm guessing then that you came here to make the commander of the Albion army a proposition."

    Joseph shrugged in response.

    "I attacked Albion because I hadn't anticipated Cromwell doing as well as he did and that had the potential to become a real problem. But things have changed, especially since the commander is quite a different person and played a different role in the war than I had known or expected. This is especially so because while Princess Henrietta is dead, the Prince of Wales was only captured by Albion and is still alive. Both Tristain and Albion are going to undergo a lot of change in this timeframe, and even if you were not Gandalfr, as the temporary commander of this army, you will be an important person in your country. I intend to manage this change in a… beneficial direction.

    "So," Napoleon said, "What are you proposing?"

    Joseph smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

    "I'll have my forces leave Albion. I'll declare that I intervened purely because you managed to convince me through letters of the necessity of your cause. I'll even forge evidence to do so. And Tristain can do what you like with the country.

    In return, Albion possesses two magical artifacts of great value which belong to their Royal Family. One is the Founder's Music Box. The other is the Water Ruby. In return for my help, I want both of them."

    Napoleon pondered his words.

    "What are those magical artifacts and why do you want them?"

    Joseph shrugged.

    "I have my reasons, and I don't feel like discussing them with you."

    Napoleon inwardly grumbled. He cursed himself for not knowing what they did.

    "If Wales is still alive, why are you talking to me and not to him?"

    "Asking you to do it kills two birds with one stone. If I asked and persuaded Wales, I'd resolve my interests with Albion, but not Tristain. Besides, I have to keep up my reputation as the Incompetent King which I couldn't do if I pried those from Wales. "

    Joseph leaned forward and poured himself yet another glass. He held it aloft as he examined Napoleon.

    "I can negotiate with you about what aid I can give you, but I want those two things. That isn't negotiable. So, what do you intend to do, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte?"

    …
    …

    "Help me, Father! Help me!"

    On a raised platform in the middle of a village, a boy screamed and pleaded. His terrified cries drowned out the sound of a nearby priest who read from a book. But there was nothing he could do. His arms were tied behind him, and his head was fastened in a sort of wooden stock which locked around his neck. All he could do was to helplessly flail his body about and beg for his life.

    For the boy was the son of the Count of Noyon. Three weeks ago, he had imbibed several bottles of his father's finest whiskey and thus set out on a drunken rampage in Valliere territory. Now, in the same village which had borne the brunt of his destruction, a burly man who wore a black hood stood behind him, his giant axe gleaming in the morning sun.

    "Shut up, you stinking murderer! Burn in hell with your magic!"

    A tomato flew through the air and impacted Noyon's son in the face. He coughed and spluttered only to be outdone by the sound of jeers and laughter. The villagers had thronged about in the village square. Executions always served as a good source of entertainment, and the fact that the criminal had destroyed many of their homes and property only served to exacerbate their anger. Were it not out of fear of the retribution that their Lady Karin would enact for breaking her justice, they would have stormed the platform and torn him limb for limb. And as everyone knew, Karin was watching the execution.

    It's not like she was in the village square with the rest of the peasants. Miles upon miles away in her castle, she sat at her throne. But a crystal ball rested on a table which had been set next to her chair, showing the anguished expression on the boy's face. Karin derived no pleasure from watching him. But this was justice, and she had to watch the roots of the law that she meted out. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. From Karin's viewpoint, the cleanliness and order of her justice served as a clear sign of its beauty.

    The priest continued to pray, the boy continued to plead, and the crowd continued the jeer while the executioner stood by his victim in a stony silence. But back in Karin's castle, Jerome once again wheeled in the tea cart. Karin noted that besides the usual pot of tea and cups, there also rested a book and a large white envelope.

    "I see that Siesta has been making good progress."

    The butler nodded as he prepared the tea.

    "This is the first book she has finished. Apparently it is about farming techniques and improving agriculture. Siesta told me that she's discovered all sorts of ways to improve farming. For example, apparently if you plant crops closer to one another, they'll help each other to grow."

    "I see," Karin observed. "That is interesting. I will read it later. What about the letter?"

    The butler finished pouring the tea. He handed the cup as well as the letter and book to Karin.

    "I received it from a messenger not fifteen minutes ago. He said it was urgent, so I thought to prepare you a cup while you read it."

    Karin nodded in thanks. She pulled out her wand and used it to slit the envelope open, and then began to read. Jerome watched her eyes scan further down the page, and became satisfied that his master was content. He thus took a few steps back and began to wheel the tea cart out of the room.

    SMASH.

    Not a word was uttered. Karin didn't need to. Before she was a member of the Valliere family, she had been Karin of the Heavy Wind. She was the greatest wind mage in the history of Helgekinia, a legend who could battle entire armies and fire dragons by herself and with the spell which had become her namesake. A normal mage would have not been able to blow a massive hole in the thick stone walls of the Great Hall by just pointing their wand and casting a spell without a word. But Karin was not a normal mage. Even as Jerome had served under Her Ladyship for so many years, he gaped at its power. The tea cart had been torn in half by the spell, and if he had taken five more steps, he would have been caught in its radius and likely killed.

    The butler without a word looked up at his master. Karin's right arm was outstretched as it still held the wand which had destroyed the hall in her anger, but her left hand gripped the paper. For her to lose control in such a way…

    "What has happened, My Lady?"

    Jerome slowly spoke those words, concerned about setting off Karin even more. But she just remained as she was for a few seconds more before she lowered the letter. Her face had turned pale white from shock.

    "It's an account of the war I received. Apparently, it is over. Gallia finished off the Albion forces.
    But…"

    "But?"

    Karin hesitated a few moments longer. Her arms trembled as she looked at the letter.

    "Her Majesty is dead."

    The butler gaped. For a few, long minutes, the two just stood there, thinking about the implications. Jerome finally asked another question.

    "What about your daughter, Louise? Is she-"

    "Oh, she's dead."

    The butler's eyes widened in shock.

    "Are you serious?"

    "The letter doesn't actually say whether Louise died, but she was on the battlefield," Karin responded. "So she's dead. Either she died attempting to protect Her Majesty from whatever killed her…

    Or she didn't, and is still alive. And in that case, I'll kill her myself for failing at her duty."

    "B-but Your Ladyship…"

    "Are you disagreeing with me, Jerome? With the Rule of Steel?"

    Jerome instantly remained silent. He knew better than anyone else that however rare they were, his master could exert incredible power in her rages. Glancing at him one more time, Karin rose from her throne.

    "I will be retreating to my bedchambers. I am not to be disturbed for any reason, Jerome. If anyone knocks on my door for the rest of the day, I will answer them with the Heavy Wind. Take to care to thank Siesta for me."

    "I would note that she has been far busier these days." Said Jerome. "She's been sending less time at the graves of her children and she has spent times talking with the villagers. I think she will manage to improve and recover from her loss. I will be happy to see that."

    "I agree," Karin noted. "Still, keep a close eye on her. If Her Majesty is dead, then I'll definitely need those books ready as soon as possible."

    Jerome bowed in response and remained in the Great Hall. Karin walked through the stony halls and past the paintings of Valliere ancestors. It was only when she reached the safety of her room and closed the door that she began to weep. While she did so, she realized that she had instinctively taken her crystal ball with her from the throne room. The prayers had finished, and the executioner at this moment raised his axe. And in the confines of her room, no one heard Karin whisper two words.

    "I'm sorry."

    …
    …

    Sheffield grumbled as she made her way up to the main deck. How dare that lowly commander mock her? She should have killed him right there and saved her master so much trouble. Master Joseph only needed the Void mage, Louise, for his plans after all. What became of the Gandalfr familiar was not his concern, and so they should have killed him and removed the protection to Louise.

    And what arrogant words! She didn't serve Joseph just because she was a servant; she had reasons to do so! But for a familiar to not bother protecting or thinking about its master was ridiculous! She couldn't help but feel sorry for Louise, not that that would keep her from doing her duty.

    She opened the door to the deck and stormed to the bow with a huff. She looked down below the ship, towards Albion. It was a beautiful country and its terrain was truly the complete opposite of her old home in Rub al Khali. But her home didn't matter. All that was important was fulfilling Joseph's desires and making herself useful. Then perhaps one day, he could understand her feelings.

    "Oi, oi, oi. Joseph didn't throw you out of his deck now, did he?"

    And hearing that voice definitely did not improve Sheffield's mood as she turned away from the battlefield.

    "That's none of your business. You look just as beautiful as the last time I met you, Wardes."

    Wardes smiled and bent down on one knee, but then he glanced to his right.

    "Show the proper decorum, Menvil."

    The fire mage glared at Wardes before he shrugged his shoudlers.

    "So, you're telling me Gallia's the country that really hired me, not Albion? Pretty disgusting to skulk like that."

    "No," responded Sheffield. "Gallia didn't hire you. I hired you."

    "What's the difference?" said Menvil. "I've heard the story from the sailors. You're King Joseph's secretary, but you're always rutting after him and-"

    "YOU!"

    Sheffield flung something at Menvil. He dodged it easily and pulled out his wand as the object flew past him.

    "What? You're denying it? Now isn't that precious, Wardes? It's just like a little schoolgirl who accidentally runs into the guy he likes. What an adorable stor-"

    Menvil then felt something coming from behind him. He instinctively ducked and saw the object that Sheffield had thrown rush past him again. Now that he had a second chance to look at it, he realized what it was.

    "An alviss. A little magic doll which can work autonomously. That's quite an interesting toy you have there, Sheffield."

    "I have a few more of these, White Flame." Sheffield spat. "Would you like to see them?"

    Menvil fiercely grinned in response. But before either of them could make a move, Wardes strode in between them with his one arm raised in the sky.

    "I wouldn't have a problem with you two killing each other, but this is King Joseph Gaul's ship. The two of you can find a better place to resolve your differences than aboard the most important Gallian ship."

    Sheffield and Menvil glowered at each other, and then at Wardes. But they knew he was right. Menvil put away his wand, and the alviss retreated underneath Sheffield's clothes. Wardes sighed in relief, and then turned to Sheffield.

    "So, does King Joseph have any further missions he wants us to do after our supervision of Cromwell?"

    "Yes," admitted Sheffield. "There is one, a big one. But before you do that, the two of you are going to have to go back to Albion. There's something His Majesty needs you to do. One of our assets has gone missing, and that could affect our future plans."

    Menvil rolled his eyes.

    "Assets? Quit acting so spooky and mysterious, Sheffield. If you want us to get something or someone, tell us who it is and I'll go after it. Okay?"

    "Fine. Fouquet has gone missing."

    Wardes looked at Sheffield in confusion.

    "You gave her an impossible mission on that night when I broke her out. You ordered her to kill Princess Henrietta. Why does it matter that she's gone missing?"

    "Fouquet knows too much. About me, about Joseph, about how we work. I had hoped to eliminate her by giving her such a mission. But she hasn't reported in ever since we told her to return after Henrietta's death. That's a problem, and I want you to find her."

    Sheffield looked back towards the bow and down at the continent below her.

    "She was in Albion in the last reports, waiting for her chance to strike. Head there and find her as soon as possible. I don't care whether she's dead or alive."

    …
    …

    "Are you serious?"

    Julio Chesare gasped out the words which everyone wanted to say. The sun was now red as it began to set. Napoleon sat on a chair in his tent, his expression of total dejectment.

    "Yes. Gallia has no reason to lie about this. Her Majesty is dead. She died in the attack on Saxe-Gotha."

    His lieutenants stood in front of him, utterly stunned by the news which he had uttered. He had returned from the Gallian ship about an hour ago and had gone straight to his tent before he had summoned them. All of the lieutenants had so many questions to ask, but they said nothing.

    "Inform the men as soon as possible. They have the right to know. But we don't have time to mourn yet."

    "Don't have time?" Stewart said. "We have plenty of time! The war is over! We should take some time to mourn Her Majesty as soon as possible."

    Napoleon shook his head.

    "It won't be proper to mourn until we head home to Tristain. Until then, we're still an army. We'll head north to Londinium, both to rescue the Prince of Wales and to retrieve her body. Then we'll leave and hold a proper funeral for her.

    In the meantime, inform the soldiers. But try to keep them calm. I don't want them rampaging and destroying Londinium out of anger when we arrive."

    His words made sense, and as much as the generals hated it, they agreed.

    "There isn't much to say afterwards", Napoleon continued. "This war is basically over, and we'll have peace again. It'll be up to us to continue to create a better future for Tristain with Her Majesty gone. Now, does anyone have anything further to report?"

    He didn't expect anything. There was so much to do, but he had figured that his lieutenant would be too shocked by the news to do anything. Even he had been somewhat surprised to hear of her death, especially since he knew Henrietta was a capable mage. But then Stewart cleared his throat.

    "Captain, I do have something to report about the elven girl and the orphanage."

    Napoleon looked over at him in acknowledgment.

    "I trust the men are safe then?"

    "Well yes. The men are fine. It appears that there really was an orphanage there, and we gave them food and made sure they were well-treated. The elven girl was delighted.

    But…"

    "But?" Napoleon said.

    Stewart seemed awfully hesitant. He seemed to chew over his words for a few moments before he spoke.

    "One of our men went poking in her house. And he discovered that Fouqet, the legendary thief and murderer, in one of the beds."

    "What?!"

    Two people spoke up. Napoleon and Robert de Gramont looked at one another, and the latter turned to Napoleon.

    "You understand, sir? The elf was hiding a criminal! That proves that she can't be trusted and-"

    Napoleon simply raised his left hand in Gramont's direction, who immediately understood the gesture as a way of asking for silence. He turned back towards Stewart.

    "Did you manage to capture her?"

    Stewart nodded.

    "She was asleep and away from her wand. It wasn't particularly difficult and apparently she surrendered without a fuss. They left the orphanage and have brought her back to the camp."

    Napoleon mulled over Stewart's words as he pondered about what to do. He thought of Louise, who he had not seen for quite some time after he had sent her off. She had panicked and cried helplessly when she had returned that day and heard what that thief had done to her classmates. It had been pitiful to watch. But eventually he came to a decision.

    "Bring her before me as soon as you can, Stewart. I would like to speak for her. Are there any further things to discuss?"

    Robert de Gramont looked like there were many things he wanted to discuss, but he held his tongue. The other four lieutenants did not say anything, and so with a gesture Napoleon dismissed them. They filed out of the tent, leaving Napoleon alone with only his thoughts and a headache that just wouldn't go away.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • SO I wander what's got Louise. The headaches could be related to distress. And Karin just saying Louise is dead like that? Without finding out hte circumstances. What if Louise was sent off the field of battle before everything.
     
    Just finished reading all of the story up 'til now.

    Have to say that I am like where this is going. Almost like one of those massive train wrecks going in slow motion where I know it's horrible, but I can't look away.

    Keep up the good work, Largo!:)
     
    HecateGW said:
    Just finished reading all of the story up 'til now.

    Have to say that I am like where this is going. Almost like one of those massive train wrecks going in slow motion where I know it's horrible, but I can't look away.

    Keep up the good work, Largo!:)
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    You're not the first person who's described my work in such a manner. And I'll admit I find it amusing because there's been avenues where I could have taken this work but rejected explicitly out of a desire to avoid emo dark junk.

    For example, the Fouquet arc was completely changed around in this story because Henrietta sent Agnes instead of Louise, which hence meant Wales survives because Agnes could persuade Wales to flee which Louise couldn't. But I had seriously, seriously considered the idea of Henrietta just sending Wardes instead, with all of the disastrous implications that carried. That would have created a completely different story, since Wales would have died among other things. It's quite interesting to see how such decisions can create such massive divergences.

    All the same, this chapter to me represents a critical watershed, as it symbolizes the diverging canons. And frankly after this chapter, I think I have more or less a rough idea of how this entire story is going to play out. It's frustrating yet wonderful.
     
    3
  • Threadmarks
    • "No proper work ethic these days."

    Yet while Andre Giono grumbled those words to himself, there was no one around who could listen. In the middle of the day, his print shop should have been bustling with activity and noise. In fact, three hours ago, his workers had arrived at his shop, ready to fill the next sets of orders that continually came in these days. They had groaned and mumbled as Giono read them off with enthusiasm, but they had gotten to work without a word of complaint.

    But that was before the news had spread all over the town of Her Majesty's death. Work had ceased immediately when the town crier rushed by, yelling the news for all to see. Many of the workers simply broke down in tears right then and there. Those that did not told their boss that they could not be expected to work today given the horrible and tragic news, especially as the noise of wailing could be heard all across the city of Tristania.

    But Giono did not shed a single tear. He liked the princess and was sad about her death, but Giono was significantly older compared to his workers. He had been alive when Henrietta's father died, and he even remembered of the death of Henrietta's grandfather when he was a young man. The death of another monarch, even one as beautiful and gracious as Henrietta, was an event which Giono really didn't care much about one way or another beyond what it would do for his business. Everyone died, after all, and all the more so when you were off fighting in a faraway country. If he hadn't cried when his own wife had died of an illness nearly ten years ago, he definitely wouldn't cry over Her Majesty's death. Working and remaining strong served as the best means to honor her passing, he reasoned.

    But his workers disagreed, and Giono was ultimately forced to concede. But even though the print shop remained empty, the orders remained at his desk and work had to be done. Giono for a moment contemplated the idea of resting within his room or going outside. He could hear the cries of the mourners outside and they would be interesting to watch. But with a sigh of his shoulders, he walked over to the desk where the orders lay and began to organize them. If his workers would not do their jobs for now, then he would simply do it himself. He'd probably dock their pay next time as a penalty.

    He hummed a little tune as he continued his work for the next few minutes. But then without knocking, someone opened the door to his shop.

    Giono looked up from his orders at the person who stood in the doorway. This individual was dressed completely in black. He wore a long black coat, a black shirt, and a wide-brimmed black hat. His thick, long beard and his eyes were also completely dark. He held a small wooden box in the crook of his left arm. One who encountered him in the street might think that he had dressed completely in mourning upon hearing of Henrietta's death.
    But Giono only laughed upon seeing the individual. He left his desk and walked up to the man with a smile.

    "Barbaras! My friend! I haven't seen you in a while!"

    The other man also gave a gruff laugh, before he leaned forward and kissed Giono on both cheeks.

    "It's good to see you too, Giono. You've definitely improved since the last time I saw you."

    The printer once again laughed.

    "It's been about a year, right? The last time we saw each other was when you bailed me out of that jail after I had a little too much to drink, right?"

    "Bailed out? Giono, I bribed the judge to let you go. After what you did with the donkey, the wooden duck toy, and those herbs, it's a wonder that he didn't try to have you drawn and quartered."

    "Tristain's banned that for a century now."

    "They would have made an exception."

    Barbaras patted Giono again and looked around the shop.

    "Still, it's good to see that you've improved. It's quite an excellent little shop. I'm glad that my investment with you finally paid off."

    Giono blinked for a few moments.

    "So I blew some money you gave me on good wine. You don't expect me to pay all of it back, do you?"

    "Well, let's see." Barbaras said as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a notebook. "Over the last three years, I've given you about 200 new gold altogether to finance your little drinking incidents, which is about twice as much money as a day laborer makes in a year. Factor in 15% interest and over the years that comes down to about…"

    Barbaras perused his notebook for a few moments, and then looked at Giono. The printer's face had grown ashen as he had watched him calculate. But then Barbaras loudly laughed again.

    "Oh, come on, come on, Giono! Can't you take a joke?"

    "It's not like I would know." Giono grumbled. "You moneylenders do take your debts pretty seriously."

    Barbaras shrugged.

    "That's our job. Just like you take your printing seriously, I take my money and investments seriously. And business has been booming over the last few months given how fast the government's been borrowing to finance the war."

    "I could write a report on your profits tomorrow." Giono mockingly threatened. "I think that would get the people upset. The Princess would likely have to default on you and…"

    He slowly stopped as a confused expression appeared on his face. Barbaras blinked and stared at Giono for a moment.

    "Hey Giono, is something wrong?"

    But Giono said nothing more for a few moments more. He continued to stare at the floor while he thought. Finally, he raised his head and looked at Barbaras, though he still kept his puzzled appearance.

    "Hey, Barbaras. Who's in charge of this country now?"

    Barbaras thought about it for a moment, but then he shrugged.

    "I'm not sure. I guess the throne goes back to the Queen. But…"

    Barbaras didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to. Both men knew about the problem. The Queen of Tristain, Henrietta's mother, had been completely stricken with grief after the death of her husband. She had abdicated and given the throne to Henrietta as a result. The question became obvious. If she had been completely unable to run the country after the death of her husband, then how would she react to the death of her only child?

    "Well the nobles will figure something out." Giono observed. But he saw Barbaras's face grow dark at those words.

    "Yeah," he muttered. "I'm sure those bloodsucking leeches will think of another scheme."

    The printer groaned at that statement.

    "Have they tried to rip you off again?"

    "I've told you about it before, Andre. I'd rather loan a hundred gold pieces to the lowest beggar in this city than to any noble. The beggar may just fritter that money away on drink, but at least he'll admit that he did a bad thing. Nobles just fritter it away and then act completely shocked when I demand they pay back the loan. And then when I charge them higher interest rates because they're so risky, they go straight to Henrietta and demand that I lend to them at lower rates, which they promptly use to spiffy up their castle instead of investing it. It's not good for business."

    He threw up one hand in frustration, but the two then lapsed into an awkward silence for a bit. But then Barbaras spoke up again.

    "Anyways, I might as well tell you why I'm here anyways."

    He held up the wooden box.

    "I was travelling through Tristain the last few weeks in order to collect the money which people owed me. One day, when I was resting, a little boy ran up to me with this box and asked me to deliver it to you. He said it contained an important book and that he wanted you to publish it."

    "A little boy?" said Giono. "Any book he wrote can't be that important."

    Barbaras shook his head.

    "He didn't write it himself. Someone told him to give it to me, but the boy wouldn't tell me who. I haven't opened it or looked inside, but I'd like to know what's inside.

    He passed the box to Giono. It was surprisingly heavy, the printer noted. He carried the box to a nearby table and undid a latch. He looked inside with surprise and then finally lifted the contents out of the box. It turned out to be a large sheaf of pages. Giono quickly thumbed through them.

    "It's about a hundred pages altogether." He stated. "Whoever sent this to me certainly must be very dedicated."

    Nevertheless, Giono flipped to a random page and began to read. Barbaras observed his expression. Giono looked confused as he glanced at the pages, and he saw that printer's expression grew more and more confused as his eyes travelled down the page. After only a minute or two, he finally looked up.

    "Well?" Barbaras asked. "Is this person's writing any good?"

    Giono seemed to hesitate over his thoughts for a moment.

    "It's very…interesting. You should take a look, Barbaras. I have a feeling you might like it."

    The moneylender walked over and glanced at the same page which Giono had read. Yet while Giono had appeared confused as he read the page, Barbaras's expression showed delight. As he finished, he laughed loudly.

    "This is excellent! Most excellent! I like whoever wrote this very much. I should like to meet him some day."

    He clapped his hands together and turned towards Giono as his beady eyes shone.

    "How would you like another loan, Giono? I can give you a jumpstart; make sure you can print this text as soon as possible."

    Giono couldn't help but groan.

    "And how much interest would you charge for this?"

    "Interest? For this? Two percent. No, make it one percent interest! Your business needs to expand anyways, and you won't get better terms than this! Just the sort of thing I'll do for my friends."

    Barbaras began to enthusiastically walk about the print shop while Giono watched; as he wildly gestured about ways which Giono could improve his shop. The papers continued to lie on the desk while the two talked. And if someone had stood by that desk at that moment, he would have seen these words at the top of the page:

    This is supposing the present race of kings in the world to have had an honorable origin; whereas it is more than probable, that could we take off the dark covering of antiquity, and trace them to their first rise, that we should find the first of them nothing better than the principal ruffian of some restless gang, whose savage manners or pre-eminence in subtlety obtained him the title of chief among plunderers; and who by increasing in power, and extending his depredations, over-awed the quiet and defenseless to purchase their safety by frequent contributions.

    …
    …

    The streets of Londinium were deserted. No one left their buildings. But thousands of pairs of eyes stared at the conquering army which now marched through the streets of Londinium, their commander at the front.
    It had been three days since Napoleon had talked with King Joseph. The Gallian ships had departed shortly afterwards, leaving the Tristanian forces alone to retake the capital and to liberate Wales. And Albion possessed no more armies which could hope to threaten the invaders.

    Yet as Napoleon should have reveled in the joy of victory, he didn't feel anything. Part of the reason for this was simply due to his experience. He had marched through countless towns when he had fought in Europe. Compared to the cities of Prague or Naples or Berlin, Londinium just really wasn't all that impressive or imposing. In fact, Napoleon decided that Londinium was only slightly more cultured and interesting than Moscow, and that was accounting for the small fact that Tsar Alexander II had burned the city down in the face of Napoleon's advance.

    But Napoleon had now become seriously concerned about Louise. He had no clue where she was. When she had received the fake letter from Jerome, she had promised to him that she would return to Albion before the end of the Silver Pentecostal. That had actually factored into his original plans. Louise would leave Albion long enough for his coup to successfully occur, and then she would return just in time to play a role in destroying the Albion forces. Yet even a week after the Silver Pentecostal had ended, there was no sign of her. She wasn't in immediate danger. The familiar bond meant that Napoleon could tell that much about his partner. But he couldn't tell where she was or what she was doing. For all he knew, Karin could have imprisoned her within the estate, and he would have to seek a way to break her out from the clutches of a powerful woman who seriously mistrusted him.

    As Napoleon rode and worried, the march of the victorious warriors continued in total silence. The troops continued their parade for the next hour as the slow train of men continued their pace. However, it finally concluded as the Tristanian troops assembled in front of the Albion palace, the White Hall.

    Napoleon gave the signals to his lieutenants, and the troops halted in front of it. He had given all of them orders about the temporary occupation of the city and thus they rode off and began to direct the bulk of the army. The Guard in the meantime had marched directly behind Napoleon, and he extended a finger.

    "Guiche, Martin, Foucard. The three of you are coming with me in the castle."

    The three of them nodded and followed directly behind Napoleon. They crossed the courtyard which remained as empty as the city. No one came to greet them as they reached the main doors and so Napoleon pushed them in himself. As he walked in with his bodyguards trailing behind him, he noted a solitary figure in the hall.

    "It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Wales." Napoleon called out. "Have your countrymen had the good sense to put you back on the throne?"

    Wales sat on the throne which occupied the center of the main hall. He was dressed in fine clothes befitting of a monarch, and on his hand rested a splendid blue ring. But his head was bowed, and he did not speak or move in the slightest in response to Napoleon. After several seconds had passed, Napoleon arched his eyebrows, and then signaled his guards to advance. As they walked forward, their footsteps echoed within the Hall and broke the silent and empty room. Nevertheless, Prince Wales did not move or speak.

    "Do you suppose they killed him?" Guiche loudly whispered.

    Napoleon gave no response as he strode forward. But Martin shook his head.

    "Albion's not that stupid. Killing Wales when the war's already ended would just infuriate us, especially since we've lost our Princess. And I don't see any blood."

    Napoleon finally stopped twenty feet away from Wales. He then took off his hat and respectfully bowed before him.

    "Prince Wales, are you feeling all right?"

    No response. Napoleon sighed and turned to Martin.

    "It could be a trap. Martin, use your magic to rouse him."

    The wind mage nodded, but Guiche stepped forward, a rose in his hand.

    "Please, Captain. My magic is more suitable for this scenario."

    Napoleon stared at Guiche for a few moments and then slowly nodded. He stepped forward in front of his captain and pointed the rose at the prince.

    "Genero."

    A petal from the rose flicked off and floated down to the ground. It then transformed into a tall metal golem, complete with a sword and shield. With a wave of Guiche's wand, the creature marched towards Wales, clanking all the way. The men waited with bated breath as the golem advanced to check on the health of Prince Wales. It advanced within ten feet from Wales, then five feet, and then it stood directly in front of the Prince. With another gesture from Guiche, it moved one of his arms to lift up his head.

    "Oh, stop it."

    The minute it touched him, Wales finally looked up. He slapped aside the golem's hand.

    "Order him to put that away, Napoleon. I am not interested in being manhandled by a statue."

    Napoleon bowed respectfully and glanced at Guiche. With a wave of the rose-wand, the golem sank through the floor as if it had never existed. Wale put one elbow on the throne's armrest and glared at Napoleon.

    "So, you finally arrive at the head of the Tristain Army. Do you have something to say?"

    "You know why I am here, Prince Wales." Napoleon responded. "I have marched to rescue you and place you on your rightful seat so that this war may be over."

    Wales raised his arms.

    "It's done. The same people who had imprisoned me for the last week now dress me up, prop me up on the throne, and call me their king. They're now currently hiding in some room in the castle, though I haven't decided what I should do with them. Perhaps I'll execute them or maybe I will just let them live their lives in exile. Maybe I won't punish them at all.

    But tell me, Napoleon. You and Tristain fought to place me on this throne. But what would you say if I stated that I don't want this throne anymore and that the Reconquista should have kept it?"

    "What?" Martin breathed. "We fought for you, Wales! We've died for you! Her Majesty died for you! And now you want to throw it all away just because Her Majesty, the one you loved, is dead?"

    Wales turned to stare at Martin.

    "Your captain asked me once why I wanted the throne. I didn't give an answer. I thought that since the crown belonged to me, I should just take it. That's what I said.

    But I now know I had a reason the whole time. It was to protect her, to keep the woman I loved safe from all dangers. We swore to marry each other after the war was over. Albion doesn't care for me. The people stood by and watched as the Reconquista defeated me. But she did. She cared for me and I cared for her. You soldiers may mourn her death, but I saw her die in front of my eyes. A mage even as powerful as she was can only cast spells so fast, and she was surrounded and killed by my own countrymen. I've wondered whether she even noticed the soldier who stood behind her with a sword as she fought.

    So why should I serve? The men who fought for me? They're dead. I sacrificed them to escape a long time ago. The men who fought against me and hate me? They killed Henrietta, yet they live. So why should I want to help them?"

    "Because it's what she would have done, Wales. And you know that."

    Napoleon crossed his arms in front of him as he said those words.

    "You can't expect to remain a king without sacrificing things, Wales. You are not the first monarch to sacrifice the one he loves. You won't be the last."

    His brain couldn't help it. For an instant, the image of a woman who had possessed grace and elegance without peer flashed through his mind. But he dismissed it. That was from another time, another world which no longer belonged to him.

    "But the Reconquista is gone. So is Albion. There is no one left who can rule your country. Remember the honor and duty which made her love you."

    Wales said nothing in response. He stared at Napoleon as the seconds ticked away. But then, his eyes began to water and for the first time since her death, he completely broke down.

    "Henrietta…Henrietta…"
    As he continued to cry, Napoleon left him alone. He turned to his guards and lowered his voice.

    "Get the rest of the guard," he muttered to them. "Bring them in the castle. They are to capture and imprison anyone they see, regardless of rank. If they resist, kill them."

    Guiche couldn't help but stiffen at those words.

    "Everyone?"

    "They were working for this castle while Cromwell was in charge," Napoleon stated. "They can't be trusted."

    Guiche's face showed his hesitation, but Martin and Foucard nodded and saluted. They were professional soldiers. They were used to obeying orders, even if they didn't necessarily make sense. And these did.

    "Come on, lad." Foucard stated to Guiche. "We've got one more battle to fight."

    The three of them began to walk out, leaving Napoleon alone with Wales. The Prince had continued to sob and had ignored Napoleon. But now the Emperor walked forward to within ten feet of him.

    "As much as you've suffered, Wales, Henrietta wasn't wrong. She was devoted to her people to the end and never considered abandoning them."

    Wales looked down at those words as Napoleon continued.

    "She never did. That is why a monarch should serve. That is why I served. And that is why you should serve. And if you can't trust your people, I can help you."

    The prince slumped back in his chair, defeated. The energy which he had used to mourn the loss of his beloved and curse his throne drained away from him.

    "Sure. I'll follow Henrietta's ideal." He stated in a flat voice. "What would you recommend then, Napoleon?"

    Where before Wales had initially glared at Napoleon, now he gazed vacantly out into the hall. So he did not see the small smile which appeared on his face.

    "Well, your people will suffer from the aftermath of this war. You could sell off of some of your fine jewels and equipment to show them that you will also suffer and to help pay off the debts. I can help you with that right now. In the meantime…"

    As Napoleon began to give recommendations, the ring on Wales's hand, the Water Ruby, gleamed a little brighter.

    …
    …

    Several hours later, Napoleon left the palace alone. He carried a small box under the crook of his left arm. He had ordered the Tristanian army to encamp just to the east of Londinium. However, he now headed west.

    He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. Napoleon wasn't an idiot. Touraine had told him that the Water Ruby and the Founder's Music Box were ancient relics of the Albion royal family, but he had not known anything else. Yet King Joseph's actions made no sense unless they were items of significant magical power. Even a simpleton could have realized that Gallia had been placed in a dominant position at the end of the war and would have tried to extract as many concessions as he could have. Instead, Joseph had made it clear that he wanted nothing more.

    There was something odd about that king, Napoleon thought. Wales and Henrietta were also monarchs, but they had been motivated by a sincere desire to protect their countries. Even the rulers back in his world possessed the same motivations. But Napoleon couldn't say that about Joseph. Even if these artifacts were truly more valuable than extracting territory and concessions from Albion, nothing stopped him from obtaining both. The King possessed a different motivation, a different goal, and Napoleon couldn't figure it out. Those differences made Napoleon understand that Joseph was likely one of the most difficult and enigmatic enemies he could ever encounter, whether in this world or his old world.

    Nevertheless, Joseph offered Napoleon something he desperately needed. The King had stolen Napoleon's hopes of a grand victory which could make him a hero to the Tristanian people in front of his eyes. Now, he offered to give it back to him in exchange for those artifacts. And since Napoleon had gambled Henrietta's protection in order to obtain that victory, he had no choice but to make the deal for now.

    He stopped in front of an inn. The outside was clean and polished, but a sign at the door stated that it was closed for renovations. Nevertheless, Napoleon walked up to the door and knocked on it exactly six times.

    After a moment, a small chute at the bottom opened up. It was large enough for Napoleon to slide the box through. He did so, and then a bit later, the same box returned. Napoleon picked it up and opened it. A sheaf of papers had been placed inside instead of the jewel and the music box, and Napoleon opened the first paper up.

    Captain Bonaparte. If you are reading this, then you have chosen to agree to our deal. I, King Joseph Gaul, would like to offer my sincerest thanks.

    I have given you a bunch of official documents which have indicated that I was persuaded by you to fight for your cause. You will find these useful when you return to Tristain. May you have luck in your future endeavors, whatever they may be.

    Napoleon closed the letter and shifted the box back under his arm. Then he began to walk all the way back to the camp. It took him a long time, but he finally reached the camp. A small wooden palisade had been erected to prevent any saboteurs or infiltrators. A few sentries patrolled around the wall and they saluted him as he reached the gate. One of them cleared his throat.

    "Captain Napoleon, there's a visitor who wishes to speak with you immediately. She is waiting for you in your tent."

    Another one, Napoleon thought. As the head of the conquering army, he had spent far too much time being visited by some Albion dignitary after another. They generally groveled before him like the dogs that they were as they all tried to curry his favor. But this sort of thing was nothing new to Napoleon, as much as he disliked it. So he had listened to all of them politely and sought ways to make sure that they would do something for him or at minimum just respect him. Those sorts of feelings could pay off in the long run.

    He still grumbled about the idea of meeting another one at this point, but he had little choice. He thanked the messenger and headed to his tent. He opened the flap and then looked at the person who sat there, and then widened his eyes in surprise.

    "Louise! You've returned!"

    He breathed out those words in delight as he finally met his partner for the first time in weeks. But as she sat on a chair in the tent, Louise said nothing. She still wore the fur coat and pants which Napoleon had prescribed for her. The Emperor closed the tent flap and walked directly in front of her.

    "How is Cattleya? I've been worried about you this entire time. Did Karin give you any trouble while you were there?"

    SMACK

    She moved fast. Far faster than Napoleon had ever seen her move. In a blur, she slapped Napoleon across the cheek. And even he could say that that had legitimately hurt. Yet while his mind dazedly noted his pain and shock, he watched her face. Louise was clearly furious in a way that he had never seen her before.

    SMACK

    And then she did it again, only on the opposite cheek.

    "Why…"

    Napoleon shook his head in surprise and looked down on his partner. But he let Louise finish as he waited for the explosion which he knew would come.

    "Why didn't you protect her, Napoleon? Why?"

    There was none. Louise's expression and voice softened as she trembled. But Napoleon inwardly cursed himself. How could he have not seen this coming?

    "It is a long story of misfortune, Louise. I am sorry."

    "Sorry? You're sorry?" Louise whispered. "She's dead. The Queen is dead. My friend is dead. You should have protected her. You could have protected her. Why? What happened, Napoleon?"

    Napoleon said nothing as he bowed his head a little.

    "You told me she would be safe without me. You told me that. And now she's gone. How did she die, Napoleon? Please say it was without pain at least, will you?"

    He just needed to let her vent. He knew that. But then he jolted a little. Louise had left the chair and had wrapped her arms around him. And then the tears started to flow.

    "And do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? Y-you're my partner, Napoleon! What am I going to do if you die? You're going to p-pay for making a young maiden worry, you know?"

    She began to cry just like Wales had. As she did so, Napoleon put a hand on her head, though he continued to say nothing. He just stood there and let her curse him out and cry for his safety. But Napoleon could tell. This was the first time since Henrietta's death that his partner had actually cried in front of anyone else.

    "Tell me, Napoleon. Just… tell me what happened. Please."

    "I understand."

    He gently moved her arms and disengaged himself from Louise who once again sat down on the chair. And with a soft, sad expression on his face, Napoleon began to tell a story.

    "She went to a church in Saxe-Gotha to pray to Brimir on the eight night of the Silver Pentecostal. I chose to stay behind and work as we prepared to fight at the end of the Silver Pentecostal. But I had forgotten to set up sentries around the city and they launched a surprise attack against us that night.

    She sacrificed herself, you know? She sacrificed herself to get De Poitiers out of the city. The two of us worked together, tried to devise a way to save her. But it was impossible. Too many of our men were taken over by the spell and the situation was too chaotic. We couldn't organize the men willing to launch an offensive as they panicked.

    We had to retreat. We had to abandon her and hope to rescue her later. De Poitiers committed suicide when he realized that, out of his shame at failing Her Majesty. So I had to fight to save her and save the army. And I managed to succeed and get Gallia's help to obtain victory."

    He moved forward, and this time he was the one who hugged her.

    "I'm sorry, Louise. I really am. But please, know that she's up there, looking down on us. And I'm sure that she's happy."

    Louise continued to sob as the two stayed like that for some time without saying a word. Slowly, she disengaged herself from him. But Napoleon looked down on her.

    "But actually, I'm glad that you're here now, Louise. It's good to have you back. And there's something I want to show you. Could you come with me?"

    Louise nodded. The two left the tent and began to walk across the camp. They stopped in front of another tent. Six guards, fully armed with swords, stood at attention as they surrounded the tent.'

    "The prisoner is secure?"

    "Yes, sir. We have patrolled the tent constantly and check on her every seven minutes to make sure she is there."

    "Her?" Louise noted. "Napoleon, who is it?"

    The Emperor said nothing in response. He simply ducked in the flap as Louise followed her. A single person sat inside. Her hands were tied behind her to a post and she looked up and smiled as Napoleon entered.

    "You couldn't bother to free my hands now, would you?"

    "No." Napoleon stated. "You're a thief, Fouquet. I have no way of knowing whether you have a wand concealed with you. The alternative would have been to strip you and search your clothes, and I would rather not do that."

    "Well, hello little Louise." Fouquet interjected. "I'd guess your familiar's a bit of a prude, isn't he?"

    Louise blushed as red as a tomato.

    "W-what are you talking about? A-anyways, Miss Longueville, what are you doing here?"

    "You still call me that?" Fouquet observed. "How cute. But I think I forfeited that title the minute I stole the Staff of Destruction anyways. I'm sure you remember that night?"

    Louise reddened even more, though now in anger.

    "No. I wasn't there. But I won't forget what you did when I returned. Montmorency had completely lost it when I saw her, out of concern for Guiche. You're a monster for doing what you did!"

    "Is that so? And what about you, Napoleon? You've imprisoned me under heavy guard this entire time. What do you intend to do with me in the end?"

    "That is up to her."

    Napoleon looked away from Fouquet and towards his partner.

    "You have your wand, do you not?"

    Louise nodded and pulled it out. Napoleon's eyes shifted to Fouquet in response.

    "Louise, I will let you decide what to do with Fouquet. You can execute her yourself if you wish. You can ask me to do it, or order my soldiers to do it. You can imprison her or even let her go free. Anything you want."

    "What? You're letting me decide?"

    "She attacked your friends and your school." Napoleon responded. "Thus, I am letting you decide what to do with her first."

    Louise stammered at that response, but then Fouquet cackled.

    "Hahahahaha! Yes, that is an interesting response. So what will you do, Louise? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I remember reading that somewhere. And I know I killed at least one person, possibly more on that night."

    "D-do you want me to kill you?"

    Fouquet shrugged her shoulder as well as she could.

    "Perhaps. I don't have much of a future to look forward to if you let me go anyways."

    "What do you mean by that?" Louise asked.

    "I don't know." Fouquet teased. "And perhaps I'm just lying to gain your pity. So? What do you intend to do, Louise?"

    She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed for a moment, and so Louise glanced at Napoleon. But this time, he didn't turn his eyes to her. He stared directly in front of him and ignored both Fouquet and Louise with an impassive expression which betrayed no emotion. But Louise could tell. She didn't know how, especially since she hadn't seen Napoleon in quite some time, but she knew. This was a test. Louise had to do something in order to gain his approval, but she couldn't tell what.

    She pointed her wand at Fouquet. It would be so easy. She had killed so many people already in Tarbes and at La Rochelle. What was one more person? But this was different. Killing someone face to face was far, far different than before.

    This was just too difficult. Maybe she should just ask Napoleon?

    But Napoleon did nothing. He watched Louise out of the corner of his eye. She raised her wand at Fouquet, and then lowered it. She did this several more times. Then she glanced at Napoleon for a moment, and then back at Fouquet. She stared at the master thief for a few moments. With a leer of her own, Fouquet stared back.

    Then finally, Louise dropped her wand. Without a word, she walked up to Fouquet, who abruptly began to laugh.

    "What's this?" She laughed. "Are you actually going to let me go? After all I did?"

    "Not exactly."

    Louise knelt down to Fouquet's height.

    "I will let you go, Fouquet. But only on one condition."

    Fouquet cackled again.

    "Oh really? What is it? Do you want me to swear on Brimir never to steal again?"

    "No." Louise said. "You will be my servant."

    For the first time, Fouquet stopped laughing in response. Her mouth dropped slightly, as she looked at Louise, then back to Napoleon, and then once more to Louise. She could tell that the pink-haired girl was not joking.

    "You already have a familiar. What need do you have for a servant?"

    Louise shook her head.

    "He's not my servant. He's my partner. But Napoleon doesn't always listen to me. You, on the other hand, will. If I ask you to do something, you will do it. No matter what it is."

    "That's quite a tall order." Fouquet said. "And just in return for my life? I don't think that's a fair deal."

    "What about someone else's life? Like the elven girl whose home you had slept in when my men captured you?"

    Napoleon had interjected those words. Fouquet blanched. And then her face darkened as her voice turned into a growl against Napoleon.

    "Are you threatening their lives, you bastard?"

    Napoleon shook his head.

    "Far from it. But I know two things. First, that there's some bond between you and that orphanage. Most likely, it's some bond between you and the elven girl. Otherwise, you would have put up a fight when my men accosted you there. Secondly, I can also guarantee that that orphanage would have been in grave danger after the war ended."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "The Albion army is a wreck. It is disorganized and scattered. And an orphanage, separate from the nearby
    village and guarded by a pretty elven girl, would have been a fat juicy target.

    So I'm offering their protection as well as your own life."

    "B-but what can you do?" cried Fouquet. They live in a village by Saxe-Gotha, a three day's march from there. You can't order your men to protect her in time again."

    "I already did."

    "Huh?"

    Both Louise and Fouquet blinked in confusion.

    "I foresaw the danger the minute I learned about the orphanage, so I already made my move. The elf Tiffania and the orphans under her custody are in this camp as we speak. I'll escort her to Tristain and ensure that the children can join another Tristanian orphanage. In exchange, you'll become Louise's servant until she declares otherwise."

    He finished his statement, but Louise couldn't help but smile at those words. If Napoleon had made all of those preparations, then it was obvious that this was the choice that he would have hoped she'd make. She had passed, and so with a grin she looked again at Fouquet.

    "So, do you accept, Fouquet?"

    The thief looked at them both and then bowed her head.

    "I accept. But I want to see them first and make sure they're safe. Then I'll swear under your service, Louise."
    Napoleon nodded. He pulled out a knife, strode to Fouquet, and cut the ropes. The thief rubbed her wrists for a moment. She then solemnly bowed before Louise and left the tent. After Louise watched her leave, she looked at Napoleon.

    "I can tell that I did what you wanted me to do. But what would have been the worst choice?"

    "You couldn't figure that out?" Napoleon responded. "If you had let her go, imprisoned her, or killed her yourself, I would have been disappointed, but I would have said nothing. But if you had ordered me to kill her, I probably would have killed you instead."

    "What?" Louise gasped. But she could tell by his tone. He was telling the truth.

    "Ordering me to kill her would have indicated that you had learned nothing after I chose to accept the contract back at the Academy so long ago." Napoleon responded. "It would have shown that you still believed that you could boss me around, and it also would have meant that you weren't capable of accepting the fact that your hands could spill blood even after this war. To delegate such responsibilities would have made me decide that you weren't worthy of being my partner.

    But you made the right choice, Louise. And I'm genuinely proud of you. Now, let's get ready to head home."

    He pattered her on the head and then left the tent. Louise watched him go. Really, she thought, she didn't know
    what she was supposed to say.

    …
    …

    Cardinal Mazarin groaned as he made his way through the Tristanian palace.

    He didn't want to do this. He really didn't. But there was no choice. The Queen of Tristain, Henrietta's mother, would know sooner or later. And she had to know that with the death of her daughter, she would now be the one on the throne.

    All the same, Mazarin prayed to Brimir for forgiveness. It wasn't fair towards the Queen. She had never been fit to play the part of a ruler. Even when she was healthy, she lacked the fortitude and vigor which both Henrietta and her husband had shown. She had been content to play the role of a mother to her only child. Through her devotion to the ideal of the perfect wife, Henrietta's mother had been an example to mothers throughout Tristania. She truly was very different from her daughter, and was in a sense the polar opposite of the Valliere Duchess.

    But that devotion towards being an ideal wife and mother had meant that she had completely collapsed out of grief upon her husband's death. The Queen should have been placed in charge of the country at that moment, but her grief caused her to become gravely ill and unable to run Tristain. Consequently, Henrietta had been placed upon the throne. But now with her death, the Queen had no choice but to become the next ruler of Tristain.

    But what would happen when the Queen died? Mazarin honestly didn't know. The House of Tristain could trace its lineage back thousands upon thousands of years, to the age of Brimir. It had survived both the most stupendous and the stupidest monarchs. But now here it was, in grave danger of extinction. When that happened, Mazarin knew, it would be up to him to make sure that the transition went smoothly.

    Mazarin finally arrived at the Queen's bedchamber. He tried to open the door, but even though the knob turned, the door did not open. That was strange. He almost never visited Her Majesty's private quarters out of respect to her privacy. But he thought he had ordered that her room should not have a lock. If her illness became suddenly worse, than the courtiers needed to be able to dash into her room to help her in case of an emergency.

    "Who is it?"

    It was difficult for Mazarin to hear the warm, melodious voice which came through the door. She must be in her bed, he thought. It was located in the far side of the room.

    "Your Majesty. May I please enter your room? I have sad news to deliver."

    "It's about my daughter, isn't it?"

    Mazarin paused at those words. He knew what he should say, but it remained difficult. So he followed up with his own question.

    "How did you know?"

    "I can hear the cries of grief coming from the people." The Queen stated. "Our army must be defeated and my daughter is dead. Am I right?"

    "Only partially. Albion is defeated, and our country is safe. But Princess Henrietta…"

    He didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. But he knew he had to continue.

    "Our army will return from Albion soon. But our country still needs a ruler."

    "And so you came here to tell me that I must once again take up the throne."

    "Yes."

    "Even though I fell ill out of grief for my husband and proved unable to do it?"

    Mazarin hesitated.

    "And even though I shall now have to mourn my own daughter's death?"

    The Queen abruptly began to cough as she finished her statement. It was a rough, hacking cough, and Mazarin couldn't help but worry about everything she said.

    "Your Majesty. Will you please unlock this door? We must discuss what to do with the monarchy. I promise on my honor as a Cardinal that I will not do or think anything untoward about you."

    "I am tired, Mazarin."

    "I see." The Cardinal said. "I can come back later. When do you think you will feel better?"

    "You misunderstand. I am not physically tired. I am tired of politics and playing for a throne I've never wanted. Someone else can run this country, Mazarin. Perhaps the Vallieres can."

    Mazarin shook his head.

    "Your lineage runs back thousands of years to the days of Brimir, Your Highness. The Vallieres are powerful, but there are many families who are suspicious of them precisely because of their power. You are the only one who can lead this country."

    "I couldn't lead this country last time. What makes you think I can do it this time?"

    "Because of your lineage and what you represent. Please, Your Majesty. At least let me talk to you without this door barring the way."

    Mazarin said nothing more, and the pair once again lapsed into silence. But just when he began to worry, the
    Queen spoke up.

    "I will come down."

    "Thank you." Mazarin stated. "But Your Highness, would you please unlock this door?"

    "What lock?"

    "Huh?"

    Mazarin blinked at her question. But there was something in the Queen's voice when she had said those words. Something odd, a tone which he had never heard her use before in so many years of service.

    "You ordered that my room should not have a lock out of concern for my health. That is the sick person you want running this country, Mazarin."

    She was smiling, Mazarin realized. He could tell that from her voice. But he still didn't know what Her Highness was referring to. He tried to open the door once again and-

    "What?"

    The door pushed open a little more and Mazarin could see what was wrong. There was no lock. Instead, a dresser had been shoved in front of the door, preventing Mazarin from pushing it in.

    "What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?"

    "I felt like having my own privacy."

    "But," said Mazarin. "This is quite heavy. Please, Your Majesty, I wish to talk to you. Could you please move this back?"

    "There is no need. I told you, Mazarin. I will come down."

    Mazarin at this point struggled to keep his emotions in check.

    "What are you talking about, Your Majesty? You will need to move this dresser. It is the only way to…come…down…"

    His voice trailed as the realization hit him like a sack of bricks. That door wasn't the only way down. When he had renovated Her Majesty's room, he had decided to give her a balcony so she would able to go outside and get some fresh air. If by go down she meant…

    "YOUR MAJESTY! NO!!! DON'T DO IT!!!"

    Mazarin completely lost all restraint. He pulled the door back and then slammed it back into the dresser. There was no hesitation. The power of desperation coursed through his veins as he repeatedly moved the door back and forth between its resting place and the object blocking its path. He could hear nothing on the other side, but now he could do nothing but pray to Brimir. Perhaps Her Majesty had changed her mind and understood her importance. Perhaps she was just waiting for him, and this was just a giant trick. The fact that there was no sound meant that she hadn't done… that yet. And he couldn't spell it out aloud. If he thought about it, the bigger chance she would do it!

    At last, after repeated clashes with the door, the dresser leaned back and toppled with a crash. Mazarin pulled the door back and then slammed the door open with all of his might. But as he charged in, he tripped over the legs of the dresser and fell on his knees. And then he looked up.

    The Queen of Tristain gazed upon Mazarin with a beautiful face that would fit on an angel. When Mazarin had seen her in the past, she had been sickly and with a lack of vigor. Even just now, she had entered a terrible hacking cough. As she leaned her back against the balcony, she appeared twenty years younger. But rather than awe or respect, horror remained the only emotion which made its way on Mazarin's face. It did not change as the Queen gave Mazarin a dazzling smile, leaned backwards a little bit more…

    and

    finally

    came

    down.

    …
    …

    It had been three days since the parade in Londinium. The soldiers had camped outside the city and had relaxed at long last. Merchants and various individuals came out, visited with the victorious army, and plied their wares. Many continued to mourn the loss of their beloved princess and prayed incessantly, but many also just ate, slept, bought stuff, and gambled.

    And around a huge tree stump, Guiche grumbled as Owen Foucard raked in a large number of gold coins.

    "Gya hahaha, boy! That was pretty bold! Trying to gamble with an eight and a six!"

    The mercenary slapped his knee in delight. Across the stump, Cartier Martin grumbled as he watched them play. But unlike Guiche, Foucard, or the last person who also sat by the stump, the wind mage wasn't wearing his shirt. It lay next to Foucard, who watched as Martin dealt the next hand.

    "Man, Williams, this is a great game. Where did you learn it from?"

    The other man nodded in thanks.

    "My father was a merchant. This is a game that is very popular in Germania. They call it Hold Them, though I have no idea why."

    The four players each received two cards. They glanced at it as they made bets out of the wages they had earned over the war.

    "So what, you were a merchant? Why'd you come and fight here then?"

    Williams shrugged as he folded.

    "I'm not as clever as my father. I do my job well enough, but I wanted a chance to fight for Tristain and get some glory. I guess that's not happening now that the war's over."

    "What are you talking about?" said Martin as he pushed forward a single coin. "The war isn't over."

    "Huh?"
    Guiche and Williams said the same thing out of confusion. Only Foucard appeared unsurprised.

    "What are you talking about?" cried Guiche. "The war is over. We've taken Londinium."

    "You sure you're a noble?" Martin responded. "You have a lot to understand about war then if you're going to be one."

    Guiche glowered back at Martin. The latter responded by lifting a single finger.

    "The battles are over, Guiche. But the war isn't. Now Albion and Tristain have to negotiate over Albion's fate and the monarchy and all that stuff."

    "But that's not a big deal," Guiche responded. "That's what we're waiting on, right? Captain Napoleon's talking with the Prince of Wales about ending the war. That's what we've been waiting for, right?"

    "Raise."

    Foucard interjected those words as he poured some more coins on the table. Martin looked back at his hand and then nodded, before he turned back to Guiche.

    "That's the problem. Prince Wales is the leader of Albion. Captain Napoleon's not the leader of Tristain. He can negotiate with Wales all he likes, but he has to go back to Tristan before a formal peace treaty with Albion can be arranged. We can't arrange peace with Albion until we know who's running the country."

    "So who is running the country?" Guiche asked.

    Martin shrugged.

    "I dunno. We'll know when we get back. You going to fold or not, Guiche?"

    Guiche thought about it some more, and then discarded his cards. Only Foucard and Martin were left, and the latter only had one coin and was missing his shirt.

    "You know, Martin," Foucard cackled. "You're not handsome enough to impress the ladies if you walk around the camp wearing absolutely nothing."

    "You're one to talk. Besides, I've saved up a few silver coins and I'm not betting those. I intend to get some high-class wine tonight after this game."

    "Do you intend to march while drunk?"

    It was another voice which spoke from behind Foucard. The four of them turned to see Robert de Gramont standing there, his hands behind his back. Upon seeing his brother, Guiche turned pale and determinedly stared at his cards.

    "You know that gambling is against the rules, correct?"

    "Aw, sir." Said Martin. "The war's over. Can't we just have a little fun?"

    "I heard your entire speech about how the war isn't over."

    Martin gaped, and then rubbed his head. Foucard clamped his lips in a transparent attempt to not laugh. But Robert's expression remained stern as he looked at the group.

    "I'll let you off with a warning, because in three hours we'll begin marching back to the port of Rosais. We are going to head home to Tristain. However, I must insist that you gentlemen put the game away and form up in your ranks."

    The four of them nodded as they began to put up the cards. Then Robert pointed at Martin.

    "And get your shirt back on."

    Those simple lines caused Foucard to lose control. He burst into a small fit of laughter though he quickly stifled it. Still, the four of them cleaned up after themselves and began to head back to the camp.

    "Guiche, I'd like to speak with you."

    The boy stopped abruptly and then like a robot wheeled to face his brother. But the deep glare by Robert made it clear that there was no room for compromise. Without even seeing goodbye, the other soldiers tramped back to camp, leaving him alone with Robert de Gramont.

    Guiche swallowed as he looked up at Robert. Robert was the one he had always envied. Of course, Julian, the second brother was special and talented and so was Antoine, the third brother. But Robert had always been viewed as the proper heir, the perfect one. He never made a mistake whether it was in tactics or combat or magic. So Guiche listened to whatever his eldest brother would say.

    "I don't understand how it happened, Guiche? How did you end up in the Guards?"

    "What?"

    Guiche furrowed his brows in response to that odd question.

    "I had heard from father before you joined, and I confirmed it with him afterwards. You had been assigned as an officer to the De Vineuil Independent Battalion. It was an ordinary battalion, but you would have been an officer. But now you're just a grunt in some strange irregular unit. So what happened?"

    "Is there something wrong with Captain Napoleon, brother?"

    Robert hesitated, and then shook his head.

    "He's brilliant. He talked with me regularly before that night at Saxe-Gotha. His index finger knows more about war than I do. And he knows Tristain's military history like the back of his hand. I wouldn't have consented to work directly under him if it hadn't been for that.

    But this isn't about me, Guiche. It's about you. You could be in a much better place as an officer in some regular division."

    It's not like Guiche hadn't asked himself that question, he thought to himself. He remembered that night before he had left the Academy. Montmorency had been so concerned for his safety like she had always been after what Fouquet had done. And he wouldn't deny that he still had nightmares about being trapped and suffocating. If she hadn't been so concerned and if he hadn't been late, who knows what would have happened?

    But…

    "You know, brother, Captain Napoleon told me about the De Vineuil Independent Battalion."

    "And?"

    "He said that it was just a small grouping of old men who were doing nothing more than repair efforts. Is he wrong?"

    "No" Robert responded. "The De Vineuil Independent Battalion is an old yet proud battalion with great history. And even if it was, you would have had the chance of a higher rank."

    "I wouldn't have earned it. Brother, I like the Guard. I like my comrades there. And I respect the man I work under enough to be reassigned where he wants me to be."

    "But what would father say when he hears about this?"
    Guiche shrugged.

    "I hope he can understand. But I'm not interested in leaving, and I think Captain Napoleon wants me around.
    That's good enough for me."
    Robert didn't say anything for a few moments. But then he gave a small smile and took a few steps forward.


    "You're standing up to me, Guiche. I guess you have grown up some during this war."

    He stopped in front of the younger brother and then flicked him on the forehead.

    "Forgive me, Guiche. I'll accept your decision. Just make sure you can live up to it."

    Robert then walked off. But before he truly left, he turned back towards Guiche and saluted. The younger brother's eyes shone at the gesture, then stood at a ramrod position and returned it as tears filled his eyes.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • I heard Duke Valliere is Henrietta's Half Uncle. And if there Willing to let the Cat out of the Bag Louise can be named a christ figure. Which can backfire horribly in the wake of Henrietta's death.

    Also Napoleon I'm grinding my axe, for the day of your execution you rotten bastard.

    Henrietta's Mom I am Dissapoint.
     
    KaPe said:
    What, because Princess Eyecandy is dead? Aren't you few chapters late? :) 'Sides, it's not like it's a big loss if we think about something other than her harem potential. As an actual ruler, she was... lacking. It's definately worth seeing what an actually competent person can achieve. It's not like Bonaparte ever owed her anything.

    Plus, Wales is still alive. Just wait for Zombie!Henrietta.
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    You cast aspirations on my reasoning you baiter of flames. You speak to ignorance as the Ring was burned in the mind control spell. Henreitta loved her people. She fought for her people and sought a future for them at cost of herself. She was in turn loved by her people. She did her best to lead her people both well and with moral excellence. She advocated for the lowest among her people. She trusted Napoleon and gave him power and protected him against the ones who would have seen him laid low and what did she earn? Betrayal. He owed her his command in the first place. He owed her his troops.

    Napoleon has proven himself a lying and disloyal and amoral bastard concerned only for his own ambition and the all but assured provoker of a civil war. He is a traitor and gloryhound and basely twofaced. How anyone could like someone who puts a dagger in a woman's back with one arm and console her lover with the other as anything more than a villian disgusts me..
     
    I remember reading somewhere that Cardinal Mazarin actually refused the position of Pope so that he could continue his work in Tristain. If this actually true, wouldn't the people want a holy man that dedicated to them to be their leader?
     
    NMS said:
    I remember reading somewhere that Cardinal Mazarin actually refused the position of Pope so that he could continue his work in Tristain. If this actually true, wouldn't the people want a holy man that dedicated to them to be their leader?
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    Yeah, that's true. That was a throwaway comment in the LNs though (like so many other interesting ones, eg how many days are in the Helkeginian year), I'm not sure I can find it again...

    Judging from where this story is going, I've went and got some more Tristainian names from the LNs. The following people are considered suitable partners for Henrietta to marry to (albeit mostly on the conservative side to appease the factions not already aligned with Henrietta by Vol16 Ch3, and Henrietta mentioned they're all useless in that they don't care about the nation as a whole): 艾基夭伯爵, 拉•托雷缪阁下, 夏雷伯爵 (there's a few more on the list, but not mentioned in the dislogue or narrative). (all names will have to be translated by someone else, I'm not good with names >.[)
    Also, 昆德拉卿 is a old noble who is arguably the unofficial leader of the conservative faction, in that he managed to convince the other conservative nobles to help hire the Elemental Siblings, Gallia's top assassins that left the Northern Parterre Knights after Joseph's death(two of them broke Derf when they fought Saito). With the Vallieres noted as 'officially' in the #3 spot in Tristain that later probably rose to #2 after Louise was appointed the next Heir to the Tristainian Throne, there's a few more notable families in Tristain that could give the Vallieres some trouble.
    </blockquote]
     
    Flere821 said:
    Judging from where this story is going, I've went and got some more Tristainian names from the LNs. The following people are considered suitable partners for Henrietta to marry to (albeit mostly on the conservative side to appease the factions not already aligned with Henrietta by Vol16 Ch3, and Henrietta mentioned they're all useless in that they don't care about the nation as a whole): 艾基夭伯爵, 拉•托雷缪阁下, 夏雷伯爵 (there's a few more on the list, but not mentioned in the dislogue or narrative). (all names will have to be translated by someone else, I'm not good with names >.[)
    Also, 昆德拉卿 is a old noble who is arguably the unofficial leader of the conservative faction, in that he managed to convince the other conservative nobles to help hire the Elemental Siblings, Gallia's top assassins that left the Northern Parterre Knights after Joseph's death(two of them broke Derf when they fought Saito). With the Vallieres noted as 'officially' in the #3 spot in Tristain that later probably rose to #2 after Louise was appointed the next Heir to the Tristainian Throne, there's a few more notable families in Tristain that could give the Vallieres some trouble.</quote]Google translate renders "昆德拉" as "Kundera" [a Czech name according to Wikipedia] and "拉•托雷" as "La Torre". "阁下" is translated as "Excellency", "伯爵" as "Count" or "Earl", and "卿" as "Of State".
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    LtFrankie said:
    That book being published could screw with families trying to claim on being the legitimate successors.

    I really, really don't get how Bad Person = not an enjoyable character and someone you want to watch fail.

    I love Napoleon for being such a magnificent bastard.

    I think the fact he can now pretend to be a hero means he"ll no longer be an 'unknown'.
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    It's Bad person= Person whose Guts you hate altogether and want to see roasted on a spit with the corollary that they are now a Good(in the qualitative sense and not moral) Character because you are now so emotionally involved in them even if that involvement is wanting to preside over their execution.
     
    4
  • Threadmarks
    • "You want to know how I got these scars?"
    …
    …
    The Valliere family served as one of the most powerful families in Tristania. They were merely a hair removed from royalty themselves, and possessed major blood ties with the former Tristanian Royal family. But such power meant that the irritating effects of pomp and ceremony also appeared.

    Consequently, the family had established a rigid protocol during mealtimes. Everyone ate at once. The Duke of Valliere ate at the front of the table. His wife Karin sat on the right side of the table close to her husband. The daughters sat further down at the same side, and Eleanor and Cattleya currently had their eyes closed as the prayers to Brimir were conducted. Dinner consisted of several courses, one after the other, and could last for over an hour on particularly extravagant days. And as the Duke and Duchess of Valliere had made preparations to leave for Tristania the next morning, tonight's meal would likely last for at least two hours.

    Yet while the members of the Valliere family sat at their assigned positions, another person was with them. At the other end of the table from Karin and the Duke, Siesta sat as she watched everyone else begin the evening mealtime prayers. While she did not sit at the Valliere table on a consistent or regular basis, the Duke of Valliere frequently invited her to dine. Since he had taken the time to care for both Siesta and her brothers and sisters, she had no reason to refuse.

    Yet while the rest of the Valliere family and the nearby servants continued to chant the prayer with their eyes closed, Siesta watched them without the slightest pretension of raising her hands together in respect for Brimir. Her cold black eyes moved around as she looked at every portion of the hall or its inhabitants.

    "Amen."

    The Valliere duke finished the prayer and opened his eyes. With those words, the servants whom had surrounded the table began to serve the first course. It was just the beginning of a luxurious meal. Quail eggs, fresh vegetables, pies and wonderful pastries were all laid out, and even Karin's eyes widened slightly at the feast which was spread out before them.

    "My dear Jerome." The Duke of Valliere exclaimed. "Tonight's meal appears to be absolutely exquisite. Give my absolute compliments to the Chef!"

    The ever-present butler, standing next to the Duke and Duchess, bowed in response.

    "I shall be sure to inform him."

    The Duke nodded. The family began to heap the food onto their plates and eat. For some time, nothing could be heard but the sound of crunching and slurping. Cattleya gave a satisfied sigh as she ate.

    "This has so far been absolutely wonderful. But Father, Mother, I know you intend to leave tomorrow, but what is the occasion?"

    "Well," her father responded. "Our victorious Tristanian army-"

    "His army. And he didn't win anything."

    The Duke looked over at his wife. Karin had been particularly tense from the start of this dinner, but he had believed that the initial pleasure of good food might have calmed her down. It appeared that it had failed.

    "Very well, his army has returned from Albion a few days ago. They are currently marching to the capital along with the recovered body of Her Majesty. There will be a parade to commemorate our soldiers' safe return and then a funeral."

    "So," asked Cattleya. "You will only be staying long enough for those affairs?"

    Karin shook her head.

    "Eugene will return after the funeral to manage the estate. But I will remain in Tristania. We will need to discuss and secure the succession to the throne."

    Cattleya sighed and lowered her head.

    "I wish I could go see Her Majesty one last time. But who is the next heir? Who will run the country with her death?"

    "What?" asked Eleanor. "Don't you know that, Cattleya? It's perfectly obvious that the throne would pass to Father and Mother."

    "Really?"

    The Duke slowly nodded his head.

    "The former King of Tristania, Henrietta's father, was my brother. It's a shame he died as young as he did. But it means that our family must be the one to rule Tristania. Karin will make sure that we take it."

    Cattleya slowly paused as she pondered the enormity of that statement.

    "And then we would be the heirs, right? Eleanor, and myself, and –"

    Cattleya abruptly stopped. The word she wanted to say wouldn't come out of her throat. Instead, she redirected the question.

    "Has there been any news about…her?"

    The Duke of Valliere said nothing. But Karin fingered a wine goblet as she gazed into it.

    "There has been no news. If Brimir is merciful, than Louise died an honorable death protecting Her Majesty."

    She drained the goblet. Cattleya opened her mouth to say something, but then she jumped a little.

    "Ow! Eleanor, why'd you kic-"

    She stopped instantly as the elder sister gave Cattleya a death glare. Cattleya understood the message, and without a further word, returned to her meal. The first course was completed in silence. As the servants got to work removing the dirty dishes and replacing them with new dishes and other foods, the Duke looked down at the table towards Siesta.

    "I know this isn't the first time you've eaten at our table, Siesta. There is no need to worry. Won't you please eat with us this time at least? Tonight's meal is particularly excellent."

    A full glass of wine rested next to the former maid. But the servants made no effort to clear Siesta's plate. There was no reason to. So far, Siesta had eaten nothing.

    "No thank you, Duke Valliere." She responded with a shake of her head. "I'm used to not eating much, after all."

    The Duke blanched slightly at those words. His eyes lingered for a moment on the scar which ran down the left side of her face. But then with a shake of his head, he carved out a piece of roast chicken as he continued to talk.

    "I-I see. I understand, of course. But how is your work coming along, Siesta? My wife here has said that you've been working quite a lot these days."

    "Yes." Siesta responded. "I've been quite busy."

    Her explanation of her duties stopped there. Siesta continued to gaze at the other Vallieres. And the family couldn't help but find it peculiar. The Vallieres were no strangers to being watched as they ate. Even now, Jerome and some of the servants stood at attention, waiting in case they were needed. But this girl, one whom they had decreed a guest, was doing the same thing, but it only served to create a strange sense of discomfort in the dining hall.

    "Ahh, enough!"

    It was Eleanor who broke the uncomfortable silence. She set her food down with a loud crash before she stared at Siesta.

    "You're working to translate some archives, right? I teach at the Oriz Magical Academy. I've dealt with all sorts of ancient artifacts. So why don't I help you with your translation work? I've heard that it's quite a lot of work."

    There, Eleanor thought to herself. That would work. This girl would doubtlessly be overjoyed to work with an academic researcher and a noble at that. Hopefully that can improve her mood.

    "Hihihi…"

    Siesta gave an odd giggle at those words. It was small and insipid. One might have thought that the sound was only a light gust of wind. But the tone of it made it clear to Eleanor and all the Vallieres. Siesta might as well have been laughing like a madwoman and rolling on the floor.

    Eleanor's eyes glared in anger at the maid.

    "What are you laughing about, maid? I'm offering to work with you! Me, a magical researcher!"

    "Very well."

    Out of nowhere, Siesta pulled out a thick book. From Eleanor's perspective, there wasn't anything unusual about it. She could have found a similar book just by going to the Tristanian Library. But Siesta set the book down on the table.

    "If you're so confident in your ability, Eleanor Valliere, then you should be able to tell me what the title is."

    With a push, the book slid over across the table to Eleanor's seat. She caught it and picked it up. Once again, it didn't look that different from the textbooks she used at her teaching position. But then she flipped it over to where the title should have been.

    "What is this?"

    Two large lines of what appeared to be letters and a third smaller line underneath were inscribed on the book. And try as she might, Eleanor couldn't understand it. They were letters, but it was in a language she had never seen before.

    "Well?" asked Siesta. "What is the title?"

    "W-well, you can't expect me to figure it out instantly, Siesta. R-research takes time and skill and much work, after all."

    "I don't." Siesta responded. "I can translate these works instantly. The title is Elements of the Philosophy of Right. The author's name is Georg Friedrich Hegel."

    "W-well, how did you do that?" Eleanor snapped. "You've been working on this book for a while. That's why you can read it. But I am fully capable of working on these books as well, given enough time."

    Siesta gave a small smile as she directly gazed at Eleanor's flustered face.

    "I frankly don't know how I do it. But it's really not that important. I've established that you will slow me down, and I don't want or need your help."

    "Are you actually refusing my help?!"

    "Eleanor, please."

    Eleanor had stood up from the table, but then she saw Cattleya hold her arm.

    "Please, Eleanor. Our friend Siesta wants to do this important job by herself. Let her do what she likes."

    Eleanor stopped and looked at her sister for a bit. Then she sighed and sat down. Siesta imperceptibly smiled, and then looked at Karin.

    "Your daughters aside, I have a humble request for the Duke and Duchess of Valliere."

    "Ho?" The Duke responded. "What is it?"

    "It's about my brothers and sisters. I would like to request that they be allowed to move out of this castle live in the nearest village."

    Cattleya's eyes widened in shock, and Eleanor dropped her jaw. Even Jerome opened one of his eyes. But after the stunned silence, the Duke raised a glass.

    "Siesta, I understand that you worry about them constantly." He said. "But when I met you, I swore to keep your siblings under my protection. They've lived at this castle ever since, and Jerome has told me that they are energetic, lively children whom the servants like very much."

    "I am grateful for that, Duke Valliere." Siesta said. "But I must worry about their long-term prospects. Even if they are under your protection, Duke Valliere, they are still commoners. They cannot enter the noble world especially since they do not possess magic. It would be best for them to grow up in the village with their peers."

    The Duke furrowed his brows as he thought about what Siesta had said.

    "What you have said is very wise. I understand your concerns, Siesta. But even your oldest brother, Pierre, is only 10 years old. How would you care for them?"

    "That is the other part of my request." Siesta responded. "I must ask that I also be permitted to leave the castle and work in the nearby village."

    "That is unacceptable."

    Duchess Karin broke in. She raised her goblet and drained it before she glared at Siesta.

    "I will not accept those conditions, Siesta. You have been tasked with maintaining and translating those strange books. How do you expect to do that if you do not live in this estate?"

    "I had hoped that I would be able to take some out and work on them in my new home."

    "What?" scoffed Karin. "Take the books out of the estate? Ridiculous! I may not be able to read most of them, Siesta, but I have looked at the ones you've translated, Siesta. That book on diseases, which explain how most of them are caused by bad air! The first one on agricultural techniques! These are stupendous volumes! I will not permit anyone to remove them from this estate for any reason."

    "But…"

    "There will be no buts!" Karin shouted. "And on top of that, how do you intend to work on your translations at a good pace while caring for your siblings? I've hired some extra maids in the castle expressly to help you care for them while you're here. But I won't permit them to work in the village."

    "And-"

    "No. That's all there is to it. Your request is denied, Siesta."

    Defeated, Siesta looked down at the table, her eyes covered. But then the Duke cleared his throat.

    "Perhaps I could suggest a compromise. Siesta, I will permit your siblings to live in the village."

    "What?"

    Two voices spoke those words in two different tones. Siesta looked back up at the Duke, while Karin whirled around at her husband with blazing eyes. Nevertheless, he continued.

    "However, I cannot permit the books to leave the castle. This also means that I cannot permit you to live in the village. It will be up to you to find a way in which they can be cared for if they live there. But if you can accomplish such a task, then I will accept. Of course, since you regularly visit the village, I'm sure you would be able to see them frequently. What do you say?"

    Her wife stared daggers at him, but the Duke doggedly gazed in Siesta's direction. The maid stared blankly back at him, with her dark eyes concealing any calculations which she made. But she finally nodded.

    "I will accept those terms, Duke Valliere. Thank you very much. If you may permit it, I should like to be excused."

    "What?" The Duke exclaimed. "But Siesta, it's only the second course! Please, stay and have some food!"

    "I must once again thank you, Duke Valliere." Siesta responded. "But I have much to do. I request permission to depart and continue my duties."

    The Duke hesitated for a moment as he looked at her, but he finally nodded. Siesta stood up from her chair and took a drink of wine, but the plate remained untouched. After a deep, elegant curtsy suitable for a proper maid, she left the room. As the door closed, Karin whirled on her husband with fury.

    "What do you think you are doing, dear?"

    "Whatever do you mean?" The Duke asked. "She had a request. A reasonable one, at that. So I granted it to her, with provisions."

    "You negotiated with her." Karin spat. "The Rule of Steels means obedience to authority. Whatever Henrietta would have dictated, I would have done. And whatever the Vallieres dictate, she does. That is its nature."

    "Well, I think it's a good request. The alternative would be to make Siesta's siblings servants. We may as well as give them the chance to decide their own fate."

    Karin grumbled and leaned back in her chair.

    "That's the other problem." She said. "I want those children within the castle. No matter what."

    "Why does it matter?"

    "Because I don't trust Siesta."

    The Duke chewed over those words as recognition slowly hit him. But as he opened his mouth, Cattleya stood up from her table.

    "Mother, are you proposing that you would turn Siesta's brothers and sisters into hostages? That's terrible!"

    "I'm seeking to protect my family!" Karin cried. "I'm letting her have the books because for now she's indispensable and no one else can do what she can. The Earl of Tardieu had already looked at those books and couldn't figure them out. "

    "Tardieu?" Eleanor interrupted. "That fool? Mother, I know he's a friend of yours and loves his research, but he's not actually good with it. If you could only permit Siesta to let me-"

    "My decision is final." Karin flatly stated. "There is to be no more discussion."

    Eleanor opened her mouth, but this Cattleya silently kicked her under the table. The elder sister looked at Cattleya, and then with a sigh looked back towards her meal. The Duke however looked at his wife.

    "So, what do you intend to do now with her?"

    "I can't call her back and tell her that we've changed our minds." Karin observed. "You already promised her that, and the Vallieres keep our commitments, no matter how onerous they are. If Siesta can find someone in the village that can take care of her siblings, then they'll leave the castle.

    But all that means is that we have to simply get to the nearest village first, and persuade them not to accept the children. Jerome?"

    The butler stepped forward, awaiting his master's command.

    "I expect you to be in my chambers tonight. I have a series of important letters that I need to dictate before my husband and I depart tomorrow. Make sure that all the writing materials are ready."

    Jerome bowed in acknowledgment, and then left the room. Without another word, Karin leaned forward and cut out a piece of pie. The dinner continued in total and abject silence.

    …
    …

    Napoleon paused to dip his pen once more in the inkwell. The conflict with Albion was over, but from his perspective, the real problems had just begun.

    He was popular and well-respected by his men and many commoners. He knew that. In fact, he was not sleeping in his tent tonight. Marching at a leisurely pace, his army would arrive at the capital in two days. They had stopped by a small village last night, and the mayor had invited Napoleon to supper and stay the night at his home. He had even acquiesced when Napoleon had insisted that his lieutenants and Louise be invited as well. The mayor apparently received Giono's pamphlets on a regular basis and thus was aware of Napoleon. As a commoner himself, he had rather liked the idea that another commoner could become the commander of a whole army and negotiate with a king to save the country.

    But the reality was that the influence of the nobles remained important. The negotiations with Joseph had served as a reminder. Magic was powerful. It was far more powerful than Napoleon had grasped when he had been first summoned. That alone was enough to ensure the power of the nobles. Without noble support, any attempt at power would fail regardless of the level of commoner support. And while he was liked and respected, he wasn't adored.

    But there was a way. Henrietta's death, he knew, would open up opportunities. But it would also depend on some of his rivals making key mistakes. He knew it would happen. Destiny had decreed it so. He would succeed at his goals and obtain the power he deserved. It was an absolute certainty.

    He finished writing a report of the day's events and leaned back in his chair. Then someone knocked on the door. That was odd, he thought. It was still dark outside. Who else would be up at this hour?

    "Come in."

    The door softly opened and Napoleon saw that it was Louise. Even at this early hour, she was fully dressed. She rubbed her eyes which had turned red from a lack of sleep.

    "You've been having that nightmare again?"

    Louise nodded, but she said nothing.

    "I would say that it is becoming a problem. I remember hearing stories of some of my soldiers who had similar incidents, but I don't know what to do. You should probably see some healer when we reach the capital."

    "It's just some nightmares, Napoleon." Louise said. "It's not that bad. Really."

    "It's affecting your sleep. And getting enough rest is particularly important in a war."

    He pointed at his own bed.

    "Sit down over there, Louise. I'd like to talk with you anyways. We really haven't had a moment after all."

    Louise yawned a bit, but she did what Napoleon asked. She leaned her back against the wall next to the bed, and Napoleon swung his chair towards her.

    "I haven't asked anyways. How is Cattleya? Has she gotten better?"

    That wasn't the real question, he inwardly thought. After all, he knew that the letter was a fake. But it was a better and more coaxing question compared to "Where have you been this entire time?"

    Louise had yawned during the question, but she suddenly snapped to attention. Napoleon noted the focus that came onto her face.

    "I didn't go see her."

    "Huh?"

    "Right before I reached the castle, I met a villager who had seen Cattleya and said she was fine. So I assume she's fine."

    "Assume?" Napoleon asked. "But that's well, an assumption. If you were only a short distance away from the castle, you could have checked on her."

    "That's the other thing." Louise said. "I don't think Jerome wrote that letter."

    Napoleon gave a small shudder.

    "Then who did?"

    She held up three fingers.

    "I know the following things. The person who sent this letter knew who Jerome was and that he is the Valliere butler. He knew that Cattleya suffered from an illness. And he had reason to keep me off the battlefield. Given those factors, I think it's fairly obvious who wrote that letter."

    Even as he inwardly panicked, Napoleon maintained his composure.

    "Then who was it?"

    Louise looked at Napoleon with a surprised expression. Then her mouth slowly twitched upwards with a coy grin.

    "Do you mean that I've figured something out before you, Napoleon? I'll have to commemorate this moment!"

    "Oh, shut up." He huffed. "Just tell me already."

    "It has to be one of my parents. Probably mother. But it doesn't matter which one. After all, we both know that she tried to imprison me and keep me out of the war. This was probably another attempt."

    Napoleon leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.

    "But then why didn't Karin just send the letter herself?"

    "Because Mother would know that you would likely read the letter as well." Louise instantly responded. "If Karin had sent the letter, you would have warned me about the risk of her trapping me and I would have thought about it too. But as it is, I just panicked about Cattleya and took off without a second thought. Fortunately, I managed to escape through Brimir's grace."

    Napoleon sat back and thought a bit more. Then with a laugh, he reached forward and grabbed Louise's hair before she could react.

    "I'm truly impressed, Louise. You've grown far more than I've expected you to."

    He gave it a rough tousle and then sat back. Louise grumbled in the aftermath. As she fiddled with her shoulder-length hair, Napoleon looked at her.

    "But if you weren't at the estate, then where have you been?"

    "I headed to the Academy afterwards." Louise said. "I decided to stop back and talk to some friends."

    "You stayed there for quite a while. Especially since to be frank, Louise, you didn't seem to have a huge amount of friends while you were there."

    Louise slowly grinned at those words.

    "That wasn't all I did."

    She took out her wand and raised it aloft. Then she said a single word.

    "Teleport."

    And with that, she vanished from the bed. No, Napoleon realized. She hadn't vanished. She had instantly moved from the bed to the door without getting up, and by only using a spell, a short one at that. Nothing more.

    "Was…that…Void magic?"

    Louise laughed.

    "You've been busy, Napoleon. You haven't had the time to train and teach me like before. So I decided after being tricked like I had been by my mother that I should try to make myself stronger. I went to Colbert with the Founder's Prayer Book. He had plenty of time since there are no classes these days because of the war, and he was able to help with my magic. Consequently, I learned this spell as well as another, and I can cast them without any problems. He even taught me to fight without a wand as well."

    She held herself up with pride, and Napoleon smiled.

    "So, Louise. I believe that you think you're pretty good, right?"

    "I've gone a long way." Louise responded. "I know I need to improve. But I know now that I'm one of the best mages in Tristain. No, in Helgekinia. So I'm actually proud of myself."

    "Well," said Napoleon. "I'm interested in seeing your combat ability. So how about a duel?"

    "Against you?" Louise gasped.

    "No. A magic duel. I think the best battle would be against the Marquis of Touraine. He is one of my lieutenants and a square-class Water mage. I'll go get him."

    …
    …

    The sun was beginning to rise with its colors of pink and gold an hour later. Most of the soldiers still slept and would probably remain like that for another hour.

    Yet in an open field near the camp, a few figures stood. Louise stood on one end of the field. And on the other side sat the Marquis of Touraine. He sleepily yawned as he gazed at Napoleon who stood at the center of the field. Robert de Gramont and Stewart also stood there.

    "I know you asked me to duel her." Touraine moaned. "But all the same, this is far too early in the morning to fight another person."

    "You can't duel and march at the same time." Napoleon responded. "And after a talk with Louise, I was interested in the two of you holding a magic duel."

    "Louise Valliere?" Touraine stated as he looked at the girl. "Karin's youngest daughter? Be serious, Napoleon. I was friends with General De Poitiers, Brimir rest his soul. I know what that girl's capable of. I'm not fighting with a Void Mage."

    Louise marched forward.

    "I know that. So I'll play with a handicap. My signature spell is Explosion. I won't be allowed to use it in our duel."

    An odd silence followed those words. Touraine subtly shifted his position. His back grew a little straighter and his fingers tightened.

    " 'Play with a handicap?' Is that what you just offered me, Louise?"

    Louise nodded.

    "Yes. After all, you don't want to face a Void Mage, right? So I want to make it fair."

    "Forget it."

    "Huh?"

    Napoleon and Louise uttered the same word. But Touraine slowly stood up and brushed his gray hair back. He was no longer yawning.

    "I may be older than you, Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere and you may be a Void mage. But if I'm going to duel, I want a fair duel. Forget the handicap. I'll duel you straight on."

    Louise stared in disbelief at those words. Napoleon did so for a second, but then he looked back at Gramont. The lieutenant solemnly stared out at the field. But somehow Napoleon could tell what Gramont wanted to say.

    Even with Explosion, Louise would struggle to defeat Touraine in a duel.

    "Very well." Napoleon said. "Louise can fight with Explosion. Louise, Touraine, please take your places."

    The two advanced. They stood about two hundred feet apart from one another. Napoleon moved from both of them and raised one hand.

    "I would like to remind both of you that this duel is not to be lethal. Subdue and incapacitate the other, but do not kill.

    Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere.

    The Marquis of Touraine.

    Let the duel begin!"

    As Napoleon lowered his hand, Louise immediately raised her wand. But then she lowered it as she looked at the Marquis.

    "Marquis of Touraine. I will use Explosion on you, but I would still prefer to have a handicap. Consequently, I shall give you one. I will let you cast the first spell."

    The Marquis blinked for a moment. But as Napoleon walked over towards his other lieutenants, he heard Gramont groan in response.

    "Are you sure about that?" The Marquis asked.

    "Yes." Louise said. "I can give you that much. I swear by the honor of the Vallieres that I will uphold it."

    It's not like it would matter, she thought. She had learned Teleport from Colbert, but she had also learned another spell called Dispel. It would cancel out any magic directed at her. It didn't matter whether Touraine cast the first spell or not. She would dispel it, and then that would give her an opening.

    But behind Napoleon, Gramont openly groaned. Napoleon turned to him.

    "What is it?"

    "It's over." Gramont stated. "Against Touraine? That is a far, far worse handicap than simply refusing to use Explosion. I'm not sure even the legendary Heavy Wind could defeat Touraine with that handicap."

    Utterly confused by that statement, Napoleon looked back at the dueling field. Touraine had his wand out but had made no effort to use it. Instead, before Louise's eyes, he knelt down on the ground.

    And then he pulled out a knife on his leg and charged Louise. In less than two seconds, he had closed half of the distance between them.

    "What?" Louise gasped. Was he insane? All she had to do was point his wand, use Explosion on him, and it would be over-

    Oh. She realized. She now realized the dangers of the handicap she had promised. If Touraine refused to use magic and turned it into a flat melee, then she couldn't use magic either.

    But all the same, he was running far too fast for a human. Therefore…

    It must be magic, Louise thought. He must be using magic to run that fast. So now I can use it.

    She pointed her wand at Touraine.

    "Dispel!"

    Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all. Louise felt the spell hit him, but then she saw that he was still charging at the same pace.

    What the-

    Touraine closed the remaining distance with the same agility that he had used for the first hundred feet. He stopped and swung the flat of his knife at her face, but Louise's instincts, honed by Colbert's and Napoleon's training, took over. She ducked the swing and rolled to her left. Once again, she pointed her wand.

    The spell must have failed. So I'll try again.

    "Dispel!"

    Again, nothing happened. Faster than she could react, Touraine leapt on top of her as she tried to crawl away and held her down. His expression had become dead serious as he lowered the knife on Louise. As she tried to keep a hold on her wand with her right hand, Louise's left arm struggled with Touraine's arm which held the knife.

    "That... is…enough!"

    With an outburst of energy, she managed to kick Touraine between his legs. He staggered back slightly at the blow, and Louise finally managed to point the wand directly at him. He was in front of her. There was no way she could miss if she used Explosion now!

    "Explos-"

    SHINK

    Louise's spell stopped mid-incantation. It wasn't because she had been killed mid-sentence. She hadn't even been harmed. But when she saw what Touraine had done, she no longer could say anything in her shock. For out of Touraine's right arm, four metal spikes had shot out. They slammed into the grass as they all just barely missed Louise's neck. But that wasn't the horrifying thing. As Louise looked at the spikes, she saw that there was a metal string attached to the back of each one of the spikes. The strings went back to four holes in Touraine's arm from where the spikes erupted, and the strings remained attached to… something in his body. Something which Louise didn't want to know. And even now out of those holes, blood came drenching out.

    "Do you yield?" Touraine asked.

    Louise gulped. She couldn't believe this. She knew Touraine was a square mage. Square mages were the most powerful in the land and exceedingly rare. But for someone to do this… to himself!

    "I ask again. Do you yield?"

    Slowly, Louise nodded. Touraine adjusted his position slightly, though he didn't get off of Louise. He picked up all the metal spikes with his left hand and then gave a tug. With a sickening pop, the strings came out of his arm. Everyone could see that a series of small hooks were attached at the other end of the string. Without any further words, he finally clambered off of Louise, and then pointed his wand at the gaping wounds on his right arm.

    "Refero."

    With only a single word, the wounds quickly closed themselves up and healed.

    Napoleon watched the whole scene with horror and not a small amount of fascination. But he couldn't keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

    "Gramont, what in God's name was that?"

    Gramont rubbed his head.

    "I guess you only knew that he was a square-class Water mage, didn't you? Not that I can blame you. Touraine's… unusual."

    "What do you mean?" Napoleon asked.

    "Water magic in general isn't particularly skilled offensively." Gramont explained. "Its specialty is in healing. Touraine's an incredible healer, one of the best there's ever been in Tristanian history.

    He took advantage of that specialty. He's not particularly skilled at offensive Water magic, and in fact he's never seriously tried to learn it. Instead, he modified his own body through experiments. He can perform feats of strength and speed which no human could ever equal, and that's not counting those contraptions like those spikes. He's got other things like that in his body.

    Normally, that sort of body comes with a price. Touraine's body breaks down very quickly if he runs at such high speeds or tries anything superhuman. But because he's such a good healer, he can survive such a style of fighting while other mages would have died from the stress after one battle like that.

    But it's not without its huge weaknesses. Touraine doesn't use any willpower at first, but the longer the he fights, he has to use increasingly more and more willpower to keep his body running at its peak. And to make thing worse, he's incredibly limited with ranged attacks. He's pretty much forced to close in on his opponents in close combat to win."

    Napoleon nodded and understood. If Louise had fought Touraine without arrogance and handicaps, it was possible that Touraine could have been overwhelmed with explosions and lost without ever reaching Louise. But with her decision to not cast the first spell, she had sealed her defeat.

    Still, he had to worry about Louise. He left Gramont and walked over to Louise. How would she react to being defeated in such a manner?

    Touraine had gotten off of Louise and had walked away from his former opponent without a word. She had continued to sit there after her defeat, ruefully scratching her head as Napoleon walked up to her.

    "I really screwed up, didn't I?" She observed. There was no tone of self-blame, no tears. For all one might have known, she might have tripped over a rock.

    Napoleon nodded.

    "You're really an idiot, you know that?"

    "Says the guy who couldn't figure out where my mother's letter came from." Louise responded. "Anyways, could you please help me up? My legs seem to have stopped working from the shock."

    "They better get working fast. We'll begin marching within an hour."

    With a small laugh, Louise held out her hand. Napoleon took it and hoisted her up as the two walked back to the Tristanian encampment.

    …
    …

    Colbert looked out of the window of the Tristanian Academy. He had been appointed headmaster because he was the only suitable successor after Osmond had been relieved from his post, but he didn't enjoy the job in the slightest. Teachers at this academy had a lot of free time outside of the classes that they taught, which meant that he had plenty of time to conduct his experiments. But now he was forced to deal with the politics and the bureaucracy that lay within this school, especially since classes were to resume with the Albion war drawing to a close.

    He gazed wistfully at the device he had invented recently. Using a combination of fire magic and oil, he had managed to create a contraption which would be capable of letting objects move by themselves. But there were still so many little things to work out before it would properly work, and he had so little time these days.

    Like this problem, he thought as he looked across his desk. In front of him stood a blue-haired girl with glasses, the best student in the Academy. She had walked in Colbert's office not five minutes ago and had handed him a sheet of paper. And if Colbert hadn't known Tabitha's personality, he would have believed that this was part of an elaborate prank.

    "You're stating your intention to withdraw from the Tristain Academy of Magic?"

    She nodded. Colbert took a long look at her, to make sure that her intentions were certain.

    "You're one of the best students in this Academy, Tabitha. I'm perfectly capable of granting you a leave of absence until you return."

    "I don't think I'll return."

    "Huh?"

    It wasn't just the meaning in those words. Tabitha had been at the academy for two years. And Colbert had never heard her say a sentence that long. The fact that she had spoken like that meant…

    "So this is highly important to you? Enough to risk your life for?'

    She nodded. That was closer to how Tabitha normally communicated, Colbert thought. But given her apparent determination, there was nothing he could do.

    "Very well, Tabitha. You're dismissed from this Academy. But I will let you know. As long as I remain the headmaster of this Academy, you will be more than welcome to return at any time. And good luck with whatever it is you're doing."

    Tabitha nodded and then left the office. As Colbert watched her leave, he muttered a few words that he knew she couldn't hear.

    "And don't try to get yourself killed, okay?"

    After Tabitha left Colbert's office, she made her way back to her dormitory. She opened the door and then stopped.

    "And here's to a long and happy friendship!"

    "And to Germania!"

    "And to fine wine!"

    Kirche sat on a chair, holding a cup filled with wine and the sword Derflinger had been propped up on another chair. A small table had been placed between the two, and another full wine glass rested in front of the sword as the two toasted each other even as the latter couldn't actually pick up the glass.

    "Ah, Tabitha!" Kirche cried. "It's good to see you back! I guess you've finished the arrangements with Colbert then?"

    The girl nodded once more and Kirche gave a coo of delight.

    "Well, that's good. Come, sit down! I'll pour you a drink as well!"

    Another empty chair sat by the table, and Kirche got up and forced Tabitha down upon it. She picked up another empty glass and poured Tabitha some wine. However, the redhair's arm slipped, and the wine quickly overfilled the glass and splashed on the table.

    "Oh, I'm sorry, Tabitha! I can clean that up."

    She pulled out another rag and vigorously wiped the spilled wine up.

    "So, you'll be leaving the Academy? For good?"

    "Yes."

    "And you still won't tell me where you're going to go." Kirche huffed. "How mean, Tabitha! I thought we were friends! Friends don't keep secrets from one another, you know!"

    She finished wiping the table up and idly tossed the rag before she also sat down.

    "It must be a boy." Kirche mused. "Tabitha must have found a wonderful, wonderful boy! One who will protect her and look after her and make her happy! When you two marry, you must invite me to the ceremony! How about it, Derflinger? Am I right?"

    "Well," the sword said. "It is about a man."

    Kirche gave a girlish squeal of delight.

    "Ooh, oooh! I was right! Tabitha dearest has found a man! Con-gra-tu-la-tions!"

    The fiery Germanian leaped out of her chair and dashed to Tabitha with a warm embrace. She half-dragged Tabitha out of her seat while she jumped about.

    "He must be a great man! With so many castles and servants and gardens! And he'll do all sorts of wonderful things and they'll have fun and Tabitha will be happy and everyone will as well and…and…"

    Kirche slowly stopped leaping about with Tabitha in her arms, but she still continued to hold her friend. But she shifted her arms so that the hug became a little closer.

    "And you'll be safe, right? Right, Tabitha?"

    Tabitha said nothing to those words. Neither did Derflinger. But Kirche still didn't let her go.

    "Hey, Tabitha. You'll be safe, right? Promise me that, or I'll hug you forever~"

    She grasped Tabitha a little tighter. And Tabitha gave a small thought about the one friend she had. Oh, she was crazy, and flirtatious, and irresponsible. But she was still her friend. When that mysterious Gallian had arrived at the Academy, Kirche had been the only one who had walked up to her without reservations. The Germanian had stayed that year for the past year as she chatted and flirted to everyone she knew and left the job of listening to Tabitha.

    So she gave a small nod. Kirche felt it rather than saw it, and so she let her go. The blue haired girl without a word walked over to the table and picked up Derflinger, and then a small satchel which held all of her belongings. She then made to the door.

    "Wait!"

    Tabitha stopped upon hearing Kirche's shout and turned to her. The redhead's eyes were watering.

    "You're…going after him, aren't you?"

    She didn't say the name. She didn't need to. Both Kirche and Tabitha knew who the former was referring to.
    But Tabitha shook her head.

    "Not exactly."

    And with that, Tabitha walked out of the door and left the castle.

    …
    …

    Tristania certainly looked different now that he was at the head of a victorious army, Napoleon thought.

    Two days had passed since Louise's defeat. She had patched herself up in no time as well as Touraine, and the march had continued without much incident. The army had now encamped themselves outside of the city walls. They would remain there for the next three days, while preparations for the parade and the funeral would continue.

    But now he had a delivery to make. He sat in a small covered wagon which rode towards the palace. Louise accompanied him and she had in turn brought along Fouquet. The master thief had sworn her utter loyalty to Louise to protect her no matter what, but Louise still had to worry about the fact that Fouquet remained a wanted fugitive. She had helped the thief undergo a slight makeover by cutting her hair, removing her glasses, and giving her a hood, but Napoleon knew that it wouldn't last if Fouquet came under extremely close scrutiny. After he headed to the palace and paid his respects, this carriage would drive straight to Giono's shop. Even though the sun was beginning to set, there wouldn't be a problem. The printer's connections with the art world meant that he could easily find some excellent tailors for Napoleon at a moment's notice.

    But even including the driver, they weren't alone, as Napoleon's eyes shifted away from Fouquet and towards the object that they delivered.

    Well, he thought as he looked upon the rosewood casket, perhaps delivery is the wrong word.

    No one spoke throughout the entire bumpy ride. The whole process, even for Napoleon, was fairly macabre. Escorting the body of a dead sovereign was something even he had never done in so many years of war and battle. He still had plenty he wanted to talk about with the master thief. But for now, he said nothing.

    Fortunately at around this time of the day, there were few people out on the street. The ride thus wasn't as long as he had expected it to be. They finally arrived at the palace and the guards let them through without incident. All of them recognized the man with the strange hat who rode inside the wagon. Some of them gave their polite thanks and congratulations to him.

    The wagon stopped in front of the palace doors and Napoleon instructed the driver, a soldier from his army, to wait for some servants. He, Louise, and Fouquet all clambered out of the carriage and made their way inside, with the latter covering her face with the hood.

    A group of men stood in the hall, but one could instantly tell that an elderly man at the center of the crowd was the leader. He paid no attention to Napoleon's entrance. Dressed in fine clothes which still gave off an air of religiosity, he jabbed a finger at one of the men.

    "I want you to go over the route which the parade will take threefold! We do not need an incident like the earlier assassination attempt on Henrietta. Not now! Now, more than ever, this country must stand united. Get going!"

    The men nodded and without a word took off and rushed past Napoleon to the entrance. One or two of them turned their heads upon seeing him, but Napoleon paid them no heed. It was the man standing in the center of the hall whom interested him.

    "Cardinal Mazarin, I presume?"

    The Cardinal gave a polite sign and walked towards Napoleon.

    "Indeed. You must be Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I received your letter, and I've heard plenty about you already. I am pleased to meet you."

    Mazarin stopped before Napoleon and extended one of his hands with his fingers at the forefront to him. Napoleon blankly stared at Mazarin for a moment. Then without a word, he extended his own arm and shook Mazarin's hand.

    "I am pleased to meet you as well."

    Louise silently kicked his heel. Mazarin meanwhile looked at Napoleon with no small amount of surprise. Then his gaze shifted over to Napoleon's partner.

    "Ah, you must be Louise of the Valliere family! It's been a pleasure to meet you. I see you have been quite busy these days. You were still just a young girl the last time I saw you!"

    Louise said nothing in response. Instead, she promptly dropped to one knee before Mazarin. And as the Cardinal extended his fingers, she promptly took them into her hands and kissed them.

    "I am sorry for my partner's mistake, Cardinal. Unfortunately, he does not believe in Brimir's creed, and so…"

    "My, my." The Cardinal softly laughed. "There is no problem! It's nice to see a change in custom every now and then."

    Louise sputtered at those words, but the Cardinal gave her a small pat on the head. He now turned towards Fouquet.

    "It's a pleasure to meet you…"

    "Duvall." Fouquet quietly said. "Miss Duvall. I serve as Miss Valliere's bodyguard and servant."

    "A personal servant?" Mazarin asked. "But I must admit that you seem quite mysterious for a servant."

    "She is from Albion." Napoleon smoothly cut in. "We found her and she decided to pledge her loyalty to Louise."

    "I see." Mazarin said. He didn't ask for Fouquet to lower her hood, but he stared at her for several long, uncomfortable moments. But with a shrug of his shoulders, he looked back towards Napoleon.

    "Anyways, like I said, Captain Bonaparte, I have already received your letter. I understand you have brought Her Majesty's body back to its native land?"

    "I ordered the guards to fetch some servants to bring the casket in." Napoleon responded. "They should be coming-"

    The doors opened as six servants walked in, carrying the coffin.

    "-right about now."

    Mazarin said nothing. He watched as the servants carried the casket and set it down in the center of the Main Hall. While all of their eyes lingered on it, with a wave of the Cardinal's hand, they quickly departed. He then slowly strode up to the casket and let his right hand rest upon the wood.

    "Poor girl." He murmured. "She really was the best hope for this country."

    No one else said anything, though Louise stared down at the ground. Mazarin continued to walk around it as his hand traced the lovely wood.

    "We'll hold the parade in three days from now. And then we'll mourn. I can assume that all of you have heard about the news regarding Henrietta's mother by now?"

    "Yes." Napoleon responded. "I have the impression that you've been running the country in the aftermath of their deaths."

    "For now." Mazarin said. "It's hardly anything permanent. The nobles will convene shortly after the funeral in Tristania to figure things out. Many of them are on their way right now and will be here for the funeral.
    I'll be attending the conference.

    But if you don't mind, Captain Bonaparte, I'd like to invite you as well."

    Louise gasped at those words, and looked at Napoleon. He gaze a long, slow, stare at Mazarin before he opened his mouth.

    "You're looking for allies, aren't you?"

    "Not exactly." Mazarin shrugged. "I don't want to rule. I want to go back to my church and worry about the next world, not this one. But I think it would be a good idea to let the common people have a small voice on the issue. I'll be there, and I'll take into account what I think would be the best course of all of the people of Tristain and not just the nobility. But you would help, and I think the nobles would permit you to sit and not talk too much. Heaven knows if I tried to suggest someone like Barbaras, the nobles would be infuriated."

    "Barbaras?" Louise asked.

    "A banker. One of the wealthiest men in the town, though he's just a commoner. He hates the nobles and the nobles hate him because of money issues. Ah, it really is the root of all evil, isn't it?"

    He sighed and then looked at Napoleon.

    "So, Captain. Would you mind accepting my invitation?"

    Napoleon shrugged.

    "I won't mind. Don't count on me doing too much while I'm there, though."

    "Of course not, of course not!" Mazarin laughed. "All the same, I'm sure you could play a vital role."

    A bell began to ring from a nearby clock tower. It banged six times as Mazarin scratched his head.

    "Goodness, is it that time already? I have plenty to do, and I'm sure that you're quite busy with that army, Napoleon. I will bid you good night."

    This time around, Mazarin extended his palm and not his fingers toward Napoleon. But at that moment, the door to the palace opened. Louise looked over and gasped.

    "Mother! Father!"

    The Duke and Duchess of Valliere walked into the main hall. And despite everything that had occurred, Louise felt overjoyed to see them. Surely, they would be proud of everything she had accomplished!

    "Mother! Father! It's good to see you! How are you-"

    And then Louise drowned.
    …

    Napoleon looked over at his partner. She had stopped dead still. It's not like he could blame her. Even he was stunned by this killing aura which Karin had unleashed.

    But as Louise collapsed on the ground and Karin lowered her hand to her wand, he knew he had to protect her, even as a bead of sweat dropped down his forehead. He knew that he couldn't defeat Karin in a fight. He didn't think that he could defeat Louise in a fight, and one only had to look at the hall to see the difference between the strengths of the mother and daughter.

    It didn't matter. Louise was his partner, the one who had brought him to this world and had rescued him from the old world. She was loyal to him. This meant that he would be loyal to her.

    So he drew his sword with his left hand and let the Gandalfr runes activate. At the same time, Fouquet moved forward and grabbed her own wand.

    …

    It hurt.

    She thought she understood her mother. Louise honestly thought she did. She could be stern, or angry, but her mother cared. She always did. She just chose to do it in a strict way that honored the pride of Vallieres.

    But how could Louise understand her without knowing of this pain, this rage?

    She knew now. This was pain. This was her mother's true rage and fury. When she met someone who she hated. Hated with all of her blood and soul and want to rip and tear and shred and burn them to the ground and destroy their innards and pulverize their remains and-

    It hurts it hurts it hurts.

    But she was her daughter. She was Karin's daughter. Sure, she may have been a failure and a disappointment in the past, but that was before! Even her mother knew the power which her daughter possessed. Void, the legendary power. And she should also knew her familiar, no her partner, and his incredible power and skill.

    So why was she mad? Why this hatred? A mother shouldn't do this to her daughter.

    No. She couldn't think. Thinking just invited more pain. More pain and knowledge.

    And that was the true pain. It wasn't this tidal wave of anger and bloodlust which washed over Louise that created despair. It was the reason that this wave existed in the first place.

    She's trying to kill me. My own mother is trying to kill me with her hatred.

    And as she continued to agonize on the ground, she felt a boot step over her, and saw a familiar figure, wearing a strange hat and wielding a sword, bar the way.

    Then her world turned black.

    …

    "Get out of the way, Bonaparte."

    Her voice was as thick and cold as a glacier as she stood about two long strides in front of him. But Napoleon did nothing. He stared back at Karin with his sword outstretched, while Fouquet also pointed her wand at Louise's mother. The Duke, in the meantime, frantically gazed from his wife to Napoleon and then back again.

    "I will not."

    He had made his decision. His voice, as resolute as Karin's, signified it.

    "I will not repeat myself. Get out of my way and let me deal with my daughter, Captain Bonaparte."

    "Make me."

    Karin flicked her wand. Napoleon felt a small blast of wind fly past his head. It stopped just as it reached the wall, but he still felt its power. It was potentially enough to grievously wound him, maybe decapitate him. In response, Fouquet opened her mouth.

    "Arise-"

    "THAT IS ENOUGH!"

    Mazarin and the Duke shouted those words as they rushed between Karin and Napoleon. They both raised their
    hands up to block any attacks or spells.

    "This is a difficult time." Mazarin stated. "We must have unity. Please. You cannot fight in here. Not while Her Majesty rests in this very hall."

    Behind him, Napoleon could feel Louise begin to stir. But for now, he ignored her and completely focused on Karin and any potential move she might make. At last, Karin put away her wand, though the aura of hatred remained palpable.

    Napoleon turned around and checked on his partner. She seemed fine for now. She was breathing, though her eyes were closed. Fouquet also went up to her and checked her pulse.

    "Bonaparte."

    He heard Karin speak behind him. Nevertheless, he made no effort to speak or look at her.

    "I challenge you to a duel. Tomorrow, by the river."

    He did not hesitate to give a response.

    "I refuse."

    Karin stopped in amazement.

    "Are you telling me that you will not fight to defend your honor?"

    "Karin," Napoleon said. "The day I ever consider what you think about my honor is the day that you actually…"

    He finished his sentence. But as everyone realized what he had meant by those last words, Fouquet reddened, Mazarin gave a polite cough, and Karin's rage spiked again.

    "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME, YOU-"

    "Dear! Please!" The Duke shouted. "Not here. Cardinal Mazarin, I had business I had hoped to discuss with you when I arrived. But, another time."

    Karin glared back at her husband. Then with a huff, she walked towards the entrance and slammed the massive doors open as she left. As Mazarin watched them leave, he gave a long, slow whistle.

    "I offer you a place at the table to decide Tristain's future and you promptly make yourself a powerful enemy."

    "She made me an enemy, not the opposite." Napoleon responded. "I cannot let her kill Louise. And I've dealt with Karin before. She doesn't like me anyways."

    "Very well then." Mazarin observed with a sigh. "So how is their daughter?"

    Napoleon lightly slapped Louise's face a few times. She mumbled and made some noises, but still didn't open her eyes.

    "She's likely just collapsed from the shock. She'll be fine, though it's going to be a problem when she wakes up and comes to realize the implication of that rage. There's nothing I can do for now, so I'll just take her."

    Napoleon lifted Louise and draped her over her shoulders. Without a word, Fouquet followed him.

    "And I forgot to thank you, Cardinal." He called out. "You helped to defuse a dangerous situation. If you like, I'll kiss your fingers whenever you like."

    "There's no need to worry." Mazarin laughed. "Have a good night, Bonaparte. May Brimir's protection watch over all of you."

    Napoleon gave a nod in acknowledgment as he walked out with Louise. They walked down to the cart and dropped Louise in, then clambered in afterwards.

    The driver had fallen asleep while he waited. Napoleon reached his arm forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

    "To the print shop of Andre Giono."
    ...
    ...

    "You know, Napoleon, this wasn't exactly how I envisioned the conquering hero visiting my shop."

    Giono quipped those words, but he took Louise from Napoleon's arms and laid her on the small bed in his room. Napoleon had urged the driver to get there as fast as he could. He asked Fouquet to stay inside the wagon until he called her in order to make sure as few people saw her as possible, and had then rushed in the shop with Louise.

    "So what happened to her? Did she pass out from exhaustion?"

    "Her mother, the Valliere Duchess, is infuriated with her." Napoleon said. "Mad enough that she tried to kill Louise."

    "What?"

    Giono looked up in shock as he continued.

    "What reason would she have to do that? There may be a reason for a parent to be ashamed of their offspring, or even disown them. But to kill them? There's no reason good enough to commit such a sin."

    Napoleon shrugged.

    "Tell her that. I'm not sure why she's outraged with Louise."

    "Ah well." Giono said. "To tell the truth, I think you came at a pretty good time. There's someone who I would like you to meet, and you've always had plenty of good ideas to improve my shop."

    He finished tucking Louise in his bed. Then he made to stood up, but not before he looked at Louise again. He sat back in his nearby chair and rested an old hand on her cheek.

    "It is interesting." Giono mused. "In the past, I lost my shop thanks to some corrupt nobles. After that had happened, I began to waste my time at the saloons as a drunken idiot, with no sense of purpose or will. But it worked out. You helped me out, Napoleon. And now with some help from me, you're one of the most important commoners in all of Tristain.

    But even though we're both commoners, I don't hate nobles like I did back in the saloon. I ranted about destroying all of them in revenge for my shop, but now I know. I doubt I have more than two decades left, and I hope to see a world where the nobles can't just tramp over us anymore before I go. But they aren't all bad people. Your partner's a good example. She's the daughter of one of the oldest and most important nobles. But I can tell that she's a good person at heart. You should be happy to work with her."

    "Yeah," Napoleon absently responded. "Louise is valuable."

    "So you'll have to make sure to protect her, all right? If her mother's really determined to kill her, then she's going to have a hard time of it in the future. There's a good chance she'll be disowned. So Napoleon, you better make sure she remains in good shape, or this old man will be angry with you!"

    Giono mockingly wagged a finger into Napoleon's face, and the latter gave a sharp chuckle.

    "Well," Napoleon said. "Why don't you actually show me the person you wanted me to meet?"

    The late hour meant that the workshop was deserted. Only a single individual, dressed almost completely in black, sat by the chair near the entrance. He looked up as Giono and Napoleon entered and gave a smile of delight.

    "Ah! Giono! I believe that is the friend you have been talking about?"

    "Of course." Giono said. "Barbaras, let me introduce you to Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. Bonaparte, this is John Barbaras. This blood-sucking leech is one of the wealthiest commoners in Tristain. In other words, he's a banker."

    "I'm one of the wealthiest men in Tristain, Giono, and don't you forget it." Barbaras laughed. "I'm greatly honored to meet you, Captain Bonaparte. You've become quite the famous figure these days."

    "Thank you, Barbaras." Napoleon said as he shook hands with the moneylender. "I'm glad to see another commoner who's risen up in this world."

    Barbaras laughed again and clapped Bonaparte on the shoulders.

    "Gyahaha! I like this guy already! Hey, Giono! Why don't you show him what I picked up?"

    "I was already going to do that." Giono called out as he walked to a nearby printer. "I'm sure Napoleon will be pleased to see this book."

    "New book?" Napoleon asked.

    "Oh, I should explain it." Barbaras said. "You see, I had recently been travelling across Tristain…"

    As Barbaras told Napoleon the same story he had told Giono about how he had received the book, Giono rushed back carrying a stack of papers.

    "Here you go, Captain Bonaparte! I hope you will like it!"

    With a slightly confused expression, Bonaparte took the papers and began to read it. Giono in the meantime turned towards Barbaras.

    "You know, I've been making copies, but I haven't actually thought about giving it a title. Did the boy give you a title for this book?"

    "No." Barbaras said. "We should probably come up with a title for it on our own. I think the word "king" or "noble" should be in it somewhere as it talks about their corruption quite a bit."

    "That's too obvious." Giono grumbled. "We should give this book a plain title, an ordinary title. Something which the nobles wouldn't be immediately outraged about if they glanced at it."

    "I guess that's right. If the Vallieres got power or the Walloons, they would freak out if they saw this book. So yeah, a title that makes sense from the beginning. Something like…"

    "Common Sense."

    Giono and Barbaras stopped and then looked at Napoleon. His arms visibly trembled as he continued to read.

    "The name of this book is Common Sense."

    He lowered the pages, and Giono saw the horrified expression on Napoleon' face. Napoleon walked over to the table and set the pages down. Then he rushed up to Barbaras and grabbed his shoulders, staring directly into his eyes.

    "Where did you get this?"

    Barbaras tried to take a step back, but Napoleon's tight grip prevented him.

    "W-what's going on, Captain? It's just a book."

    "Where. Did. You. Get. This?"

    "I told you, Captain." Barbaras sputtered. "A boy gave it to me. And does it really matter? It's just a book some kid gave to me, what's the matter?"

    Napoleon then let go of Barbaras's shoulders. While Barbaras gingerly rubbed them, Napoleon walked over to the papers.

    "Where did that boy give it to you?"

    "About two weeks ago. It was at the border between the Valliere and the Walloon estates."

    Napoleon stared at Barbaras in response, and the banker hastily averted his eyes. After a few further seconds, Napoleon raised his fist and slammed it with all of his strength on top of the papers.

    "I'm telling the truth, Captain Bonaparte! A boy gave it to me!"

    "I know you are." Napoleon quietly said.

    Almost as if the strength had been drained out of him, he turned around and slumped into a nearby chair, one hand over his face. But Giono, with a look of realization, broached the question.

    "Captain. Does that mean that you recognize that book? And it's from…"

    "Yes. Some of the books managed to escape from that plane." Napoleon said. "This means that someone has them, and I currently have no idea who it is."

    Giono clapped his hands together.

    "Well. I'm glad someone managed to save them after all. But it wasn't you?"

    "No." Napoleon said. "Someone must have gotten the books out of the plane during the fighting at Tarbes. But that was months ago. They could be anywhere now."

    But if Barbaras received the book from the border between those two estates, then wouldn't it mean that one of those families recovered them?"

    "Not necessarily." Napoleon said. "There's some things that don't make sense with that theory."

    "What are you talking about?" Giono asked.

    "Walloon's a conservative family. One of my soldiers used to be part of that family and can attest to that. Same with the Vallieres. If either family possessed the books, they would not give them away to a commoner printer like you. Much less a book which talks about how kings are a bad thing."

    "What about the family that the books belonged to? They weren't nobles."

    Napoleon looked up at Giono's suggestion. A finger tapped the table as he pondered the possibility.

    "It's not impossible." He finally said. "There are quite a few problems with that. But we're missing a lot of important information. All we know is that at least one book from that plane survived, and there are probably more. We need to find them as soon as possible.

    But we can start with your suggestion by looking for Siesta's family. I'm going to stay here overnight, Giono. When Louise wakes up, that's the first thing I'm talking about with her."

    Giono nodded in assent. At that moment, Barbaras spoke up.

    "So would one of you mind telling me what's the giant secret about that book?"

    Giono and Napoleon looked at one another and then simutaneously back at Barbaras. And as Giono began to explain, Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Felius said:
    Karin seems to be extra unreasonable in this fic doesn't she? :p
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    My beta told me that it works, but it has been something I've worried about. She's not unreasonable - she's just very, very self-righteous and honor-bound with all the good and bad that comes with it.
     
    Karin trying to kill Louise is understandable to me. Kairn being emotional in front of Siesta? Less so. But overall it's still good :)
     
    Domow2210 said:
    I am very pleased that most people seem to hate this version of Karin. Here's to seeing her self-righteous honor betray her and lead to her destruction and the obliteration of all that she holds dear!

    That said, wonderful chapter as always Largo. Btw Largo are you consciously trying to emulate the events of the French Revolution? Cause the convocation of the nobles+Cardinal Marzain+Boney seems very similar to the Estates-General.



    The thing is, I don't think Boney is likely to be slugging it out with mages in the same way that Saito did. Boney is a different breed of person entirely, he fights with armies not with personal arms. His forgetting Derflinger as he built up his Guard and went to war, seem so encapsulate this idea. As such, I don't forsee him getting a new weapon anytime soon.
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    I'll simply state no, I'm not. As much as Hill of Swords and Be Careful What you wish for served as inspirations for this story, I don't like how they stay pretty close to the plot. I'm interested in telling a story. My story. Recapping something which anyone could look up in a history book is from my perspective a giant waste of time and insults the intelligence of the reader.
     
    Yeah, what did Napoleon say to Karin?

    In any case, Karin is looking to be the largest stumbling block for Napoleon's plans. Though Louise is bound to discover Napoleon's deed once she clears up some misunderstandings with Karin... if that ever happens, though that's likely going to take a while.
     
    I actually don't know what exactly Napoleon said, but I have a rough idea. And let's just say it would have been clearly NSFW.
     
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