Chapter 43

Chapter 43
## Chapter 43

The morning following his psychological battle with the Marquis.

Lucian adjusted his mask before stepping out, a sharp click of his tongue echoing in the air.

The few aristocrats who had lingered through the night were now nearly all gone. Those few who remained scrambled to vacate the area the moment he came into view.

“Tsk. It appears the rumors traveled through the camp with incredible speed in just twenty-four hours.”

“Do you suspect that man Nigel, who walked with us yesterday, was the source?”

“Hard to say.”

While possible, Lucian found it improbable.

In his previous life, Nigel was renowned as a virtuoso of political maneuvering. Would a man like that calculate a move that would earn Lucian’s direct enmity? It seemed unlikely, especially considering how desperately Nigel had tried to maintain his own anonymity during their stroll.

“It is more likely the fault of the Marquis. He was so preoccupied with dropping hints about his status to ensure he received the proper deference. Anyone observing my dispute with him from the distance could have easily deduced my identity.”

“That makes sense. Regardless, it appears we won’t be catching any more candid thoughts from the local lords.”

“It’s an unavoidable loss. We secured a different advantage instead, so we should be content.”

“A different advantage?”

“The stage is empty of performers. Do you truly believe the First Prince will care to prolong this gala when there is no one left to watch?”

“Ah.”

Raymond nodded, the realization dawning on him.

This masquerade was a distraction orchestrated by the First Prince to observe the nobility in conflict. But even the best-laid stage is useless if the actors flee; the ‘entertainment’—if one could call it that—had reached an abrupt end.

The host would lose his drive, and the excuse for the charade would dissipate.

‘With the fun drained out of it, the First Prince should reveal himself soon. It’s a relief that I won’t have to endure his games any longer.’

Had this pathetic display persisted, the resentment among the other heads of families would have only festered. Putting aside Lucian’s individual motives, this transition was far better for the spirit of the Allied Forces.

As anticipated, the following day, a courier from the First Prince arrived at Lucian’s quarters.

“His Highness the First Prince, acting as Commander-in-Chief, has requested your presence.”

“I shall depart immediately.”

He couldn’t even manage to wait forty-eight hours, could he?

Lucian allowed himself a cynical smirk but swiftly finished his preparations and made his way toward the First Prince’s massive pavilion.

The structure, which dwarfed all other tents, was already packed with a significant gathering of lords and their representatives.

Scanning the assembly, Lucian’s gaze locked with the Marquis, who occupied the most prestigious seat in the room.

“….”

“….”

For a fleeting second, the two exchanged a look of razor-sharp hostility.

The surrounding nobles collectively held their breath, feeling the tension.

However, the moment was short-lived.

The Marquis was the one to shift his eyes first, and Lucian looked away simultaneously.

Moments later, as Lucian took his place to the right of the supreme commander’s chair, the chamber began to murmur.

“Is that youth truly representing the Grand Duke?”

“No, at that age, how is it even possible…?”

“Quiet. He’s within earshot.”

The low-level chatter died down quickly, though the heavy weight of a hundred staring eyes remained.

Marquis Bernhardt, in particular, looked as though he had swallowed something bitter. To a seasoned veteran and the leader of a Great Family, being treated as a peer to a sixteen-year-old Third Young Master—proxy or not—felt like a slap in the face.

Fortunately, the awkward stillness was interrupted.

“His Highness the First Prince, the Commander-in-Chief, approaches!”

At the herald’s announcement, the tent’s flap was thrown open, and a young noble with platinum-blonde hair and emerald eyes stepped inside.

His physical appearance alone was enough to suggest a protagonist from a grand epic. However, his petulant sneer and the flash of annoyance in his eyes dampened much of that legendary radiance.

‘The First Prince, Claude Fin Bay Astria.’

The firstborn son of the reigning Emperor and the man currently leading these Allied Forces.

However, Lucian’s attention drifted past Claude to the individual following him.

A man who stood taller than the First Prince but kept his shoulders slightly stooped, as if attempting to diminish his own presence.

He shared the same platinum-blonde hair, yet his freezing aura and sapphire eyes gave him a much more commanding, regal presence.

‘Cedric Fin Bay Astria.’

The Second Prince of the Empire, the man once hailed as the final hope of the Imperial Dynasty.

“We offer our greetings to His Highness the First Prince, Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Forces!”

“Mm.”

As the First Prince entered, the lords bowed low, their voices joining in a resonant salute.

Despite the grand greeting, the First Prince only offered a distracted nod, his expression one of pure boredom.

“Take your seats.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Once the First Prince settled into the head chair and gave the word, the nobles returned to their places.

Leaning back into the plush Commander-in-Chief’s seat with practiced ease, the First Prince surveyed the room.

“To begin, I appreciate you all convening here. The Empire shall remember your steadfast loyalty.”

“As subjects who have pledged our lives to the Empire, it is our duty.”

“Moving on, I had arranged a bit of amusement for the start of this campaign, but it seems my plans were frustrated. To think the crowd would scatter in less than two days. My apologies if my attempt at hospitality caused any distress.”

Even while uttering these words, the First Prince’s eyes narrowed as they darted between Marquis Bernhardt and Lucian.

He was wearing the mask of an apology while clearly signaling his irritation at the two individuals who had spoiled his fun.

Marquis Bernhardt was quick to bow his head toward the prince.

“I am profoundly sorry. I was negligent and allowed my identity to be discovered; the fault rests entirely with me.”

Negligent, indeed. You didn’t make the slightest effort to stay hidden from the start.

Lucian nearly snorted at the Marquis’s transparent political posturing, but he knew it would be a mistake to remain the only one silent.

“The blame cannot rest solely on the Marquis. I also bear responsibility for the disruption and ask for Your Highness’s indulgence.”

“Hoo-mmm, is that the case?”

The First Prince looked from the bowing Marquis to Lucian and back again before making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

His irritation hadn’t vanished, but his tone suggested he would provide a one-time reprieve.

“Well, all men are subject to errors. It was merely a light-hearted diversion, so we shall put it behind us.”

“We are grateful for Your Highness’s clemency.”

“That matter aside, I want your perspectives on this uprising. What is the proper course of action regarding Krepelt?”

Satisfied by the deference, the First Prince moved straight to the heart of the matter. It was an open-ended inquiry, touching on the strategy for the campaign and the subsequent fate of Krepelt.

Marquis Bernhardt was the first to speak.

“Conclude the matter as swiftly as possible with a decisive strike, and then show them the Empire’s mercy.”

“Show them mercy? You suggest we pardon those who have dared to lift a sword against the Empire?”

The First Prince scowled, clearly unhappy with the Marquis’s proposal.

However, the Marquis remained unshaken, nodding as he elaborated.

“Precisely. Once the revolt is crushed, Krepelt will undoubtedly claim they acted without true intent and offer up a sacrificial lamb for the crime of treason. We should conclude the affair by executing that individual and withdrawing our forces.”

“What is the logic in that? Why should we forgive these traitorous wretches!”

“Because the Empire’s very capacity for forgiveness is the ultimate proof of the power the Empire wields.”

At this paradoxical claim, the First Prince drummed his fingers on the table, demanding further explanation.

The Marquis delivered his reasoning smoothly, as if the words had been rehearsed.

“Lately, the Empire has been beset by external raids and domestic friction. However, we have not withered so much that a state like Krepelt could hope for a successful coup. They are surely aware of this fact as well.”

“But a rebellion did occur, did it not? Are you implying Krepelt revolted while knowing they would lose?”

“They likely viewed this uprising as a trial run. A rehearsal for the ‘genuine rebellion’ they hope to ignite in the future.”

They wanted to see if the Empire still possessed the teeth to bite back, how long the mobilization would take, and how much its shadow had shrunk since its golden age. Once they have taken our measure, a true target will be identified. That is Krepelt’s actual goal.

“Naturally, since an uprising isn’t something one can ignore, their justifications will be seamless. They will likely argue the King was a prisoner and that another member of the royalty seized total control, or something to that effect.”

“So you are telling me we should simply accept a blatant lie?”

“Even if the lie is as thin as glass, we must accept it. Doing so demonstrates the absolute certainty that we can crush them again the moment they step out of line.”

The Marquis calmly reiterated his point to the First Prince, who still seemed to be struggling with the concept.

If the revolt was put down fast, the Empire’s strength would be validated. However, if the punishment was too draconian, it might signal to others: ‘The Empire is terrified of another rebellion, so it is trying to burn the fields to the ground while it still has the strength.’

The very actions meant to deter future revolts could become proof of the Empire’s vulnerability.

“On the contrary, if we accept a transparent excuse, it signals that we have the supreme confidence to handle the likes of Krepelt at our leisure. Would any rebel dare to challenge us again after seeing such a display of Imperial grace?”

“Hmm, there is logic in that.”

Soon enough, the First Prince’s eyes began to glow with interest.

Projecting both the Empire’s might and its benevolence while treating the enemy like a minor nuisance—was this not a strategy perfectly tailored to his vanity?

Just as the First Prince, captivated by the Marquis’s rhetoric, was about to ratify the plan—

“That is a remarkably naive perspective. I fear the Marquis is looking at this conflict through a far too idealistic lens.”

Lucian’s frigid tone immediately killed the enthusiasm in the room.

The atmosphere within the pavilion turned to ice.

Regardless of Lucian’s role as the proxy for Grand Duke Sigmund, he was still just a son, and not even the primary heir. In the hierarchies of status and experience, he couldn’t be compared to Marquis Bernhardt.

And yet, he was blatantly challenging him? It was an overt snub, suggesting that the legendary Marquis possessed less insight than a teenager.

“A naive perspective, you say. It sounds as though you are accusing me of ignoring the truth in favor of pretty words.”

The Marquis spoke, his gaze turning glacial as he pinned Lucian with his stare.

Yesterday’s masks might have allowed for a certain ambiguity, but now that their faces were known, there was no reason to maintain a polite facade.

“I apologize if my words were offensive. However, I cannot ignore the possibility of the worst-case scenario.”

“The worst-case scenario?”

“Crush the foe in a single battle and show mercy to project strength and poise. It is a flawless plan if reality follows the script. But who can promise that such a script will be followed?”

“Are you casting doubt on the valor of everyone in this tent? Are you suggesting the Emperor’s chosen warriors will be bested by the levies of a small vassal state?”

“I am not questioning our courage or our heart. I am asking for tangible, realistic proof.”

At Lucian’s challenge, the Marquis’s expression twisted. The idea that a youth with no actual field experience dared to paint him as a deluded dreamer was infuriating.

“Very well! You seek realistic evidence? I shall give you more than enough!”

The Marquis raised three fingers, folding them down one by one as he argued his point.

“First, we hold a massive numerical superiority. Krepelt may be the largest state in the East, but they are a pittance compared to the combined might of the Empire gathered here. Second, we have the advantage of caliber. Every man here belongs to a professional army, supported by a vast number of knights. And third, the enemy lacks any terrain advantage. The Empire has mapped every road and hill in Krepelt years ago! Do you require further proof?”

The Marquis looked down at Lucian, his expression suggesting he could list a dozen more reasons.

But Lucian merely shook his head and addressed the Marquis directly.

“Every point you’ve made is factually sound. However, it seems the Marquis is projecting a victory in this conflict based on one fundamental premise.”

“And what would that be?”

“The Grand Accord.”

The ancient, unwritten code of warfare that had been followed for centuries—the final safeguard against total catastrophe.

“What is your plan if the enemy has no intention of honoring the Grand Accord?”