Lady Emmanuelle's questioning of Emperor Karl Franz was not without merit. As the Countess of Nuln, she had every right to raise her concerns. Many people were interested in what the Empire truly was.
Was it a unified feudal empire?
Was it a confederation of states that recognized the Emperor's authority?
In reality, it was neither. The Empire was, at its core, a large coalition of kingdoms. Though Ludwig the Savior had centralized power as Emperor in the not-too-distant past, Karl Franz did not hold the same influence.
Ludwig could issue a decree that would cause a noble to take his own life out of shame. Karl Franz's decrees, outside of Reikland, might well be torn up by the nobility in defiance.
After the Great War, the Electoral Council met in Wolfenburg, the capital of Ostland, and with a unanimous vote of fifteen electors, declared Ludwig the Savior as Emperor. He restructured the Empire into ten provinces, each governed by an Elector Count who held both military and political authority.
While each province was theoretically a part of the Empire, in practice, they functioned as independent states.
So, when Emmanuelle's spies in Altdorf heard that the Emperor had secretly sought a large war loan from the Dwarfen High King, she had every reason to be upset. Yes, as Emperor, Karl Franz had the right to seek a loan from the dwarves. He had the power to do so.
But the problem lay in the fact that Karl Franz had borrowed the money in the name of the Empire.
The Emperor took out this loan without publicizing it or sharing it, quietly using it for himself. If he could repay the loan, there would be no issue. But what if he couldn't?
When the dwarves came with a document bearing the Emperor's seal, they could demand repayment from any of the Elector Counts throughout the Empire.
In Emmanuelle's eyes, it wasn't that Karl Franz couldn't borrow the money—he could—but he should have done so in the name of the Franz family or as the ruler of Reikland.
Could he borrow money in the name of the Empire? Sure, but then the funds would need to be shared.
It wouldn't be fair for the Emperor to spend the money and leave the rest of the Empire to pay the debt.
And this wasn't without precedent—several Emperors throughout history had done this before. Emmanuelle was well aware of the Empire's current financial struggles, so seeing Karl Franz hesitate, she pressed him: "Karl! I'll tell you now, if you borrowed this money in the name of the Empire, don't expect me to take it lightly! We have no obligation to repay your debts. It was you who sent Gelt to rebuild Sölland, you who surrounded the White Wolf Church and confiscated their arms. We all know the connection between Volkmar and you, Karl. You need to own up to your decisions. Don't drag me and Nuln into this!"
The Emperor flushed red with embarrassment. He wanted to offer a rebuttal, opening his mouth to speak, but the words failed him.
Volkmar, the Grand Theogonist, was his staunchest supporter. The belief in Charlemagne as a god was deeply ingrained in Altdorf and Reikland. If Karl Franz dared to publicly oppose Volkmar or even imply that "Charlemagne isn't a god," he would lose his base of power. His reign would be short-lived.
Caught in a dilemma, the Emperor felt trapped, unsure whether to admit the truth or deny it.
But as a skilled politician, Karl Franz maintained a composed and measured expression, letting only a hint of reluctance show. "There's no truth to this, Emmanuelle. You must have misunderstood. I've never sought a loan from High King Thorgrim due to financial difficulties."
"Really?" Emmanuelle's sharp gaze bore into the Emperor. "Because I've heard that a shipment of goods from Karaz-a-Karak was recently delivered through Sea Gate and is currently sitting in the next room."
Her beautiful eyes radiated suspicion and a clear warning. Emmanuelle was no longer the soft, meek handmaiden she had once been. Years as Nuln's ruler had transformed her. The only person who might still see her softer side wasn't here. Karl Franz felt immense pressure—this was political blackmail, plain and simple. Emmanuelle was using her position as a mediator to force the truth out of him.
And frustratingly, the Emperor had no choice but to comply. "Alright, if you insist, let me show you."
"Valfin!" Karl Franz called out.
Count Valfin, the Chancellor of the Reikland Council and the Emperor's spymaster, entered the room. He was a man in his fifties, dressed in an elegant, carefully tailored coat. He was surprised that the Emperor had summoned him at this moment but quickly composed himself. "How may I assist you, Your Majesty? Lady Emmanuelle?"
"Our dear Lady Emmanuelle is quite interested in our dwarven allies' shipment," the Emperor said as he stood up from his desk. "Let's satisfy her curiosity, shall we?"
"Of course, Lady Emmanuelle, please follow me," Valfin nodded.
In the next room, a row of wooden crates was neatly stacked. The crates bore the seal of Karaz-a-Karak and were reinforced with Dwarfen runes. Emmanuelle, her long legs encased in deep red tights, approached the crates with some hesitation. "What's inside?"
"Weapons," Karl Franz admitted, reaching for a special tool made by the dwarves to open the crates. "Firearms. Dwarfen rune muskets. Top-quality goods. I placed an order with the High King. Unfortunately, payment is currently delayed, guaranteed by customs duties."
"Muskets?" Emmanuelle pulled out a beautifully engraved Dwarfen firearm from one of the crates, carefully inspecting it. "Indeed, these are muskets."
The craftsmanship was impeccable, the metal gleaming with intricate patterns. As the ruler of Nuln, Emmanuelle was no stranger to firearms and weaponry. After a quick examination, she returned the musket to the crate. "These are to be used against Boris, aren't they?"
"No, it's just a coincidence. The weapons are meant for use against the Empire's enemies, I assure you." The Emperor calmly closed the crate. "Now, do you believe me? It's just an arms order. I don't know who gave you this misinformation, Emmanuelle, but they clearly don't have good intentions."
"Perhaps I was misinformed," Emmanuelle conceded. "Very well, time is of the essence. Let me prepare to travel to Carroburg and meet with Boris. Karl, you owe me one."
The Emperor frowned slightly, then nodded. "Yes, I owe you. But what happens next?"
"What do you mean?" Emmanuelle looked puzzled.
"After Carroburg, will you head directly to Bretonnia?" Karl Franz smiled. "It's been a while since you've seen Ryan, hasn't it?"
"Uh… well, little Frederick has been asking to see his father." Emmanuelle blushed, her hands on her hips. "And I've missed Lady Sulia as well."
"Then I hope you enjoy your trip. Please send my regards to King Ryan and Queen Sulia," the Emperor said. Emmanuelle didn't linger on the conversation, leaving to prepare for her trip to Carroburg and her role as mediator between the Emperor and Elector Count Boris.
After Emmanuelle and the Nuln Ironclad army had departed, Karl Franz let out a long sigh of relief. He realized his back was drenched with sweat. "Valfin, get these items to Lady Hawksworth as soon as possible. And make sure Helborg knows about this."
"Understood, Your Majesty," the spymaster also exhaled quietly. "I'll see to it immediately. Today has been a great day, Your Majesty. Once again, you've used your wisdom to save the Empire from a crisis."
"I can solve these problems once, twice, or even three times, but I cannot continue using clever tricks to save and maintain the Empire forever," the Emperor sighed deeply. "Make sure Lady Hawksworth uses these funds wisely. If not, I won't be able to explain myself to our oldest allies or to the Elector Counts. There's no question—I've lied."
"All you've done is for the good of the Empire. I'm sure that, in the name of Charlemagne and Ludwig the Savior, you'll be forgiven," Valfin said reverently. "I'm almost certain of it."
The silver gleam of the Dwarfen muskets shimmered in the light.
In the end, Emmanuelle hadn't noticed that every musket in the crates was made entirely of pure silver.
This was Karl Franz's desperate effort to keep the Empire afloat. He had set aside his pride and personally written to High King Thorgrim, begging for the dwarves' help in the Empire's financial crisis.
Every musket in those crates was made of pure silver.
Yes, they were the first installment of the war loan. Without the High King's assistance, the Emperor's treasury would have already been empty.
Now, all Karl Franz could do was hope that Emmanuelle's mediation would be successful.
Otherwise, civil war would be inevitable.
Many times, the Emperor found himself wishing that all of this could be resolved on the battlefield. Compared to dealing with internal affairs, he had reduced his public appearances to a minimum, declaring that his primary focus was maintaining the Empire's stability and preparing for war. He refused all private meetings,
spending his days in endless sessions with his inner council, deciding the future of the Empire. Yet, despite this, nobles still swarmed him, seeking favors and pushing their own agendas. The endless internal politics and conflicts among the Elector Counts had left Karl Franz drained.
Wrinkles now lined the Emperor's once-handsome face. His forehead and eyes bore the marks of age, and though he was not yet fifty, his temples had already begun to turn gray.
Though he much preferred the company of his army, this was the duty of an Emperor. He could only hold the Empire together with his strength.
For the Empire, he would give everything.
—— I've Done My Best ——
Ryan often wished that everything could be solved on the battlefield as well.
Today, the chivalric expedition army had finally returned to Bordeleaux.
At the docks of Mannann's Drydocks, the people of Bretonnia were once again in a frenzy. Whether knight or peasant, they celebrated the victory of the expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain with jubilation. The streets and districts of Bordeleaux were packed with people singing, shouting, and drinking imported black beer from the Empire, all while chanting "Long live the Lady!" and "Long live the King!" It was like a festival.
To the people of Bretonnia, Ryan's name was synonymous with victory. As long as he was there, Bretonnia would always win.
With the reforms improving life across the kingdom, peasants eagerly seized upon such victories as opportunities to celebrate. Bordeleaux had even begun producing newspapers, and each issue was filled with stories of the glorious deeds from the Eight Peaks expedition. The peasants loved these stories, especially the tales of the Old Guard, who became the focus of much debate and admiration. With social mobility now possible, people speculated on which of the Old Guard might be elevated to knighthood.
As the people sang and danced, the nobles were also busy. Queen Sulia, along with her son, Devonshire, the Fay Enchantress Morgiana, and the Regent of the Kingdom, Duke Lawn Leoncoeur, had already arrived at the docks with a retinue of Grail Guardians, ready to welcome the King's victorious return. Every duke of the realm, save for the expedition participants François and Hubald, was present.
On the one hand, they praised the Lady and Ryan's great achievements in the campaign. On the other, they were eager to share in the spoils. Even with little information, the deep draft of the fleet's ships told them how rich the rewards of the expedition had been.
As the flagship L'Anduin docked, cheers erupted from one end of the port, echoing across the waves for kilometers. People crowded together, desperate to catch a glimpse of the expedition's triumphant return. Duke Boderic of Bordeleaux had to send out extra troops to patrol and maintain order.
And when King Ryan finally stepped onto the pier, the cheers reached their peak.
"Long live the King!"
"Praise the Lady! Thank the Lady for granting us such a great victory!"
"Long live the expedition!"
"Long live Bretonnia! Thank the Lady for sending us the great Ryan Macador!"
The voices of the citizens and nobles alike resounded, shaking the sea and even echoing into the warp.
But amid all the shouting, a young voice rang out clearly. A small figure, dressed in a silk robe and fur-lined coat, ran toward his father. "Papa! Papa!"
It was little Devonshire. After over a year apart, Ryan was overwhelmed with emotion as he saw his son. Tears welled up in his eyes as he scooped the boy into his arms, planting a kiss on his cold, flushed face. "Devonshire, were you a good boy while I was away?"
"I was! Devonshire was very good!" the boy cried, tears in his eyes. "Uncle Angron was good too!"
"Hahahahaha!" Ryan laughed heartily. In the distance, he could already see Angron, wearing a large straw hat, laughing just as loudly.
"You've returned, Ryan," Sulia, dressed in her full queenly regalia and wearing her crown, smiled as she approached.
"Yes, I'm home, my lady," Ryan and Sulia embraced. "This victory belongs to you as much as it does to me."
Overcome with emotion, Sulia fought back tears. She wanted to share a few personal words with her husband but knew this wasn't the time. After a brief embrace, she stepped back and turned to Veronica, teasing her, "This expedition must have been exhausting, Veronica."
Veronica's eyes sparkled with amusement as she curtsied deeply, almost to the point of groveling, before smiling playfully. "It's all thanks to you, Sister Sulia. We've brought back plenty of treasures this time. Once everything's settled, I'd love to take you to see them. Pick anything you like."
Sulia nodded slightly, impressed by Veronica's tact and sense of propriety. This was exactly how it should be.
Next in line was Morgiana, the Fay Enchantress. Dressed in full regalia, she stepped forward under the protection of the Grail Guardians. Her emerald eyes were filled with a mixture of joy and mild resentment. "The Lady has blessed you, our King. This victory belongs not only to the expedition but to all of Bretonnia and the faithful. For the Lady!"
"For the Lady!" The people roared with joy, celebrating what was the kingdom's greatest victory since the Great Crusade centuries ago. They had every reason to rejoice.
"I'm home, Morgiana," Ryan gently embraced the Fay Enchantress. Morgiana didn't resist, her knees weakening slightly as the familiar scent of Ryan washed over her. She almost lost her balance.
After the brief embrace, Morgiana discreetly traced a number on Ryan's palm with her finger.
"Sixty-three."
Ryan's expression shifted. He glanced at Morgiana, whose smile hinted at mischief, her eyes brimming with unspoken words.
For a moment, Ryan felt the urge to turn around and head back to fight the greenskins and Skaven again.
Morgiana's message was clear:
Tonight, we battle on the old battlefield.
Tonight, we settle the Abyss.
_________________________
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