It was no exaggeration to say that every eye in Thilles was fixed on the Bernina Mountains at that moment. The royal family, the House of Nobles, even the three counts.
Whenever a high noble commanding formidable military power marched to war, it had always been natural for all eyes to turn toward him. Whether it was a military provocation against a foreign nation or a campaign to overthrow the throne, a “hunt” was the easiest excuse for mobilizing a large army.
Thus, even foreign spies had been watching Gilles Vert de Etakrich's deployment. Which meant that every kind of intelligence organization had detected the inferno now engulfing the Bernina Mountains.
At that moment, everyone who held power in Thilles felt the tremors of a tectonic shift. A tremendous earthquake was shaking the balance of power that had stood firm since the last war.
From its epicenter in the Bernina Mountains, a tidal wave would soon engulf the entire country. For true power was born in times of turmoil.
Amid the earthquake shaking the nation, three men burst into laughter.
* * *
“Ha, haha, hahahaha!!”
Jean Beltois of the comital House of Vermontfort, ruler of Pervogne, the great domain nearest the Bernina Mountains, laughed as he listened to the messenger's urgent report.
“So even those imbeciles can get something right!”
“What shall we do?”
“We need only sit back and enjoy the rewards. Wait for Guillaume and Etouan to raise their armies. If they mean to march on Saint Matilene, they'll have to pass nearby.”
A wise man never bloodied his own hands. Leave the rough work to the lowborn; a noble need only receive the grain they offered in tribute. Why strike at the royal family himself when so many were willing to do it for him?
Jean Beltois sipped his wine and reclined on the sofa.
* * *
Etouan de Grandmartel, great count of Narbonne, surveyed the military camp from a snow-white horse. Countless soldiers looked up at him, torches held high.
It was a sight to thrill any man. The banner of House Grandmartel, a griffin entwined with roses, looked down on him above the red torchlight.
The three greatest houses among all the landed powers of Thilles had come together. Three great counts had joined hands for this moment alone.
The last man's house standing would no longer be called a comital house. It would be a royal house. Thilles's royal family would fall, and the age of the royal House of Grandmartel would dawn.
He was confident he could make it happen. He commanded the largest army, controlled the most secure supply routes, and held the most seats in the House of Nobles in Saint Matilene.
“Your Highness. The beacon has been lit in the Bernina Mountains.”
“And Autléans and Vermontfort?”
“Even if Autléans marches with all his might, he will arrive three days later than we will. Vermontfort lacks the nerve to deploy before Saint Matilene is besieged.”
“Fools.”
Etouan smiled coldly and turned his horse.
“Have they forgotten that Saint Matilene cannot possibly attempt to hold out? Its defense force numbers barely three thousand, and the House of Nobles will gladly open the gates for us.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Tell the soldiers: hunting season is over. Harvest season has come.”
The stag hunt was over. The stag that had defied the dragons had burned to death in a blaze of glory. All that remained now would be easier than gleaning fallen ears of grain.
“The reactions of Krasilof and Kallion remain uncertain.”
“Surely Kallion is of no concern? They'll readily switch sides to suit their interests.”
“And Krasilof has no corps to send here.”
Krasilof had two corps tied down merely maintaining its northern front, while the Royal Guard had its hands full suppressing the aftermath of the large-scale rebellion just months earlier.
Even if Krasilof did send troops, Thilles's fate was already sealed. With the Lord Protector's death, it was over. Who would take up arms for a country that had lost the knight who protected it?
Under Grandmartel: seven thousand five hundred infantry and eight hundred fifty cavalry, including three hundred knights.
Under Baron Blanmont: three thousand seven hundred infantry and three hundred cavalry, including fifty-two knights.
Under Baron Lamonne: three thousand infantry and two hundred cavalry, including forty knights.
Under Viscount Conterre: seven hundred fifty infantry and thirty cavalry, including five knights.
Fleurville, Monne, Fourignon, Bru... Adding together all the corps of the comital House of Grandmartel's vassals brought the total to nineteen thousand infantry, two thousand seven hundred cavalry, and some five hundred knights alone.
The Eastern Corps numbered roughly thirty thousand in all. Discount its conscripts and tenant farmers, and an entire corps had effectively assembled under Grandmartel's name alone.
Considering how sharply mobilization capacity had plummeted since the last war, roughly half of Thilles's potential wartime manpower now lay in this man's grasp.
He could not lose. Against enemies within or without. Under any circumstances.
Within five days, the country would bear a new name.
* * *
“Your Excellency, an urgent report: Count Grandmartel has begun his march.”
“Good. That boar will charge straight for Saint Matilene, won't he?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Then let's get on with our own work.”
Guillaume grinned and jabbed at the map.
“The fool. Of course he can proclaim his house royal once the capital falls. But what matters in the end is how many domains he can get to swear allegiance.”
“Indeed, Your Highness.”
“We'll secure oaths of fealty from every domain west of the Bernina Mountains, then settle matters on the day Etouan holds his coronation, or some such occasion.”
Divide Thilles along the Bernina Mountains. Abandon all the rugged country to the east.
Once the dragons of the Bernina Mountains killed Gilles Vert, everything beyond them would become a land of death. The Eastern Front would be unable to hold back the demons.
Even if the demons trampled through Thilles's territory and came pouring in, the Bernina Mountains would still stand. Dragons were arrogant, greedy creatures by nature. Not even demons could control them.
And so.
“Feed the dragons and make them our new Eastern Front corps, and won't we have a perfect natural barrier?”
“Truly wise, Your Excellency!”
Thilles would lose roughly thirty percent of its territory, but the eastern lands beyond the mountains were barren country that produced little anyway. The heart of Thilles lay in its western grain belt, and its wealth came from trade.
In other words, whoever controlled the trading ports and the grain belt would become this land's next royal house.
“I thought him pathetic, wandering about after his own little sister drove him out like a dog. But he does have a remarkable mind.”
“Heh heh, indeed, Your Excellency. Yet how can it compare with your generosity in welcoming even a prince driven from his own country with such open arms?”
“Yes, exactly! Hahahaha!!”
Guillaume II let his laughter subside. His expression darkened as he fixed his gaze on one corner of the map.
“And that demon, Vargadal?”
“He is proceeding as planned, Your Excellency.”
“Good. Let's make our preparations as well.”
“Yes, Your Excellency!”
When a demon warlord's force that had “happened” to break through the Eastern Front began trampling Thilles's domains, Count Autléans's corps would arrive “just in time” to save the imperiled territories.
While Count Autléans devoted himself to his country, Etouan, who had dared burn Saint Matilene for his own ambitions, would go down in history as a traitor.
Jean Beltois, that timid imbecile, would submit to the prevailing power.
Then this country would become the Thilles of the grand ducal House of Autléans. He would not even need to usurp royal status. All the country's power would bow to him if he merely placed a collateral relative of the king on the throne and ruled as regent.
This was how politics was done. Could one swallow a country merely by raising an army? He was different from foolish Etouan and petty Jean Beltois.
These were the qualities of a sovereign. Guillaume rose with a smile.
The rebellion of the three counts had begun.
* * *
“Urgent dispatch!! Count Etouan of Grandmartel has begun his march from Narbonne!”
“Urgent dispatch! Count Jean Beltois of Vermontfort has blockaded every trade route out of Saint Matilene!”
“Urgent dispatch!! A taurus warlord's force confirmed in the eastern Rocher region! Approximately seven hundred fifty strong!”
“Urgent dispatch!! The Bernina Mountains are engulfed in flames! Gilles Vert de Etakrich's survival is unconfirmed!”
Pavel sat in silence as he received the urgent reports arriving one on the heels of another.
TAP, TAP, TAP.
His hand had been tapping the table where the operational map lay spread. At the last dispatch, it stopped.
Beneath the dim white mana lamps, Pavel went rigid.
“And the commander?”
“All intelligence from that sector has been cut off. According to visual observations, the entire mountain range is in flames... Dragons... They report seeing at least forty in the sky alone.”
“Dragons. Dragons, you say.”
Pavel rubbed at his waist and muttered bitterly.
“Didn't I tell you I'd go, you stupid junior?”
Shouldn't the old die first? Wasn't that the proper order of things? Pavel clenched his teeth. Now he truly was the last of His late Majesty's Royal Guard.
The mana lamps swayed feebly. Mana spilled from Pavel's body, no longer under his control, stirring a breeze around him.
Amid killing intent thick with the metallic reek of blood, Pavel ground out the words.
“We're going home.”
“What? B-but, Deputy Commander...”
“Counterintelligence Command's foreign intelligence service will withdraw from Thilles as of today. Treat this as a royal command. From this day forward, Thilles is no longer an ally.”
Pavel pulled on his coat and spat the words at the agents watching him.
“Thilles will fall. There is only one thing left for us to do.”
Punish the traitors who had dishonored the banner of the United Kingdoms.
Avenge their commander, driven into a death trap and thrown to the dragons.
For these two crimes committed by this country's nobles, Krasilof had only one answer.
“When we return to Saint Matilene, we shall be called invaders.”
Pavel turned. Every agent of Counterintelligence Command walked out behind him.
Soon, mana crackled into flame, setting the safe house in Saint Matilene ablaze.
Feeling the flames spread behind him, Pavel smiled bitterly. They seemed like a beacon heralding the country's doom.
“How am I to report this to Her Highness...?”
