Chapter 24: The Lieutenant's First Scouting Mission (Undercover)
The transition from the Alpine pass to the Castello di San Vigilio was a display of Imperial efficiency. The fortress sat atop a strategic ridge overlooking the fertile Lombardy plains, its stone walls weathered but imposing.
As the vanguard settled in, Julian wasted no time. He stood in the central courtyard, barking orders to coordinate the integration of his 232-man force.
"Captain Valerius! Secure the eastern barracks for your Iron Century. I want a 24-hour watch on the mountain pass," Julian commanded, his eyes scanning the battlements. "Twelve Knights, you'll handle the internal security and act as the liaison for the Schwarzberg guards. We are in Italy now; the air smells like wine, but the shadows are full of daggers."
Valerius, a man with a rugged, blonde charm and a scarred grin, approached Julian once the men were dispersed. He had developed a quiet, unshakable loyalty to the "Philosophical Viscount." Julian didn't just pay well; he treated the mercenaries like a professional army, providing grain and shelter even when the Imperial bureaucracy lagged.
"A fine castle, My Lord," Valerius remarked, leaning against a stone pillar. "But you look like a man who hasn't slept since the Diet. You're wound tighter than a ballista string."
"I'm a Second-Rank Lieutenant in a contested territory, Valerius. Tension is my job description."
"Nonsense," Valerius grinned. "You need a 'scouting mission.' A deep-cover operation into the heart of Italian culture. There is a town nearby, a satellite of Milan. I hear the red-light district there is world-class. It's for your magic, My Lord! You haven't practiced your water magic in weeks. You need... inspiration."
Julian squinted at him. "Are you suggesting I visit a brothel for 'magical practice'?"
"I'm suggesting that a great commander needs to understand women to understand the world! Besides," Valerius whispered, "you're a handsome lad. Silver-blonde hair, the face of a saint, and a title. The ladies will cling to you like moss on a damp wall. It's a tragedy to waste such assets."
Julian sighed, looking back at the keep where he could hear the faint, distant sound of Mathilde and Emilia arguing over the proper arrangement of the ducal tapestries.
"Fine," Julian muttered. "But we call it 'Gathering Intelligence.' If anyone asks, we're assessing the local morale."
The Gilded Cage: A Study in "Intelligence"
The establishment in the nearby city was a palace of silk and soft lighting. Julian felt entirely out of place, yet the moment he stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted.
Unlike the rugged German taverns, the Italian Cortezan houses were centers of high culture. Within minutes, Julian was seated on a plush divan, flanked by two beautiful women who seemed fascinated by his "foreign" noble aura. One was feeding him peeled grapes, while another twirled a lock of his silver hair around her finger.
"Young Master," one whispered, her voice like velvet, "you have the eyes of a man who carries the weight of the Empire. Why so serious?"
Julian tried to maintain his "Philosophical" mask, but it was melting under the sheer pressure of physical attention. However, his eyes were drawn to a woman sitting across the room, observing him with cat-like intensity. She wasn't throwing herself at him; she was reading him.
Her name was Isabella, and she was known as a "Courtesan of the Mind"—selling information and conversation as much as her company. Julian found himself genuinely interested in her. In a room full of distractions, she looked like a lead.
Smack.
Before he could approach her, the two girls flanking him giggled and leaned in, planting simultaneous kisses on his cheeks. Julian jumped, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the drapes.
[System Notification: Moral Compass Spinning.]
[Current Status: Surrounded by high-tier 'Inspiration'.]
[Warning: Your Wife and Aunt have a combined 'Intuition' stat of 99. You are currently playing with fire while soaked in gasoline.]
"Captain!" Julian hissed at Valerius, who was currently being doted on by three women and laughing loudly. "We've seen enough 'morale'! We should go!"
"Just one more round, My Lord! For the Empire!"
The Imperial Crisis
While Julian was "scouting," the political world was burning. In a secure chamber in Frankfurt, the Emperor Frederick II, Duke Otto of Bavaria, and Duke Conrad of Hohenzollern sat in grim silence.
A messenger burst in, his boots stained with the red dust of the south. He knelt, presenting a scroll sealed with the golden sun of Spain.
"The Spanish crown officially disrecognizes the Imperial claim to Northern Italy," the messenger read, his voice trembling. "They claim the territory is independent and under the protection of the Holy Fire. Furthermore... Benevento has been sacked."
"Sacked?" the Emperor growled, his hand crushing his wine goblet. "By whom? Spain hasn't declared war!"
"They used local flags, Sire. A coalition of 'rebel lords.' But the force was 2,000 strong—professional heavy infantry. The city is in ruins, and the survivors are fleeing toward the Imperial border."
"They're testing us," Saxony spat. "They hit Benevento because it's a vacuum. They want to see if we'll march."
"We will do more than march," the Emperor said, his eyes flashing with a terrifying light. "Send word to the King of Bohemia. Tell Albrecht von Luxembourg to mobilize his 1,500 personal troops. If the Spanish want a shadow war, we will give them an Imperial eclipse."
The Wrath of the Household
Back at Castello di San Vigilio, the atmosphere was even more dangerous than the Spanish border.
Emilia and Mathilde had spent the afternoon in a quiet, escalating war of words. Emilia used her "Main Wife" status to dictate the household schedule, while Mathilde used her "Years of Knowledge" to counter every move. It was a stalemate until they realized the object of their contention was missing.
Emilia cornered a young guard near the stables. She didn't scream. She didn't threaten. She simply smiled—a sweet, terrifying expression that made the guard's knees turn to jelly.
"Tell me, brave soldier," Emilia purred, "where is the Lord Lieutenant? He isn't in the library. He isn't in the barracks. And his horse is gone."
"My Lady... he went... scouting," the guard stammered.
"Scouting?" Mathilde stepped out from the shadows, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. "With Captain Valerius? The man who knows every den of iniquity from here to the Rhine?"
"Speak clearly," Emilia said, leaning in until her face was inches from the guard's. "Or I might decide that our 'death wolves' in the lower cages need a change of diet. I hear guards who keep secrets are particularly... marbled."
The guard caved instantly. He fell to his knees. "The city! They went to the Cortezan district! The Captain said the Lord needed 'inspiration'!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Mathilde's hand went to her dagger, her face a mask of calm, cold fury. Emilia's eyes flashed a deep, blood-red.
"Inspiration," Emilia whispered. "He went to see Cortezans."
"It seems," Mathilde added, her voice trembling with suppressed possessiveness, "that Julian has forgotten who truly takes care of him. We shall have to remind him. Forcefully."
[System Notification: Survival Probability: 0.001%.]
[Advice: Run. Don't look back. Just run.]
The Return
Julian and a very drunk Valerius rode through the castle gates an hour later. Julian felt a lingering sense of guilt, but he had actually managed to secure a contact—Isabella had promised to feed him rumors about Spanish movements in Milan.
"See, My Lord?" Valerius chirped. "No harm done! A little wine, a little kiss, and—"
Valerius stopped. Julian stopped.
Standing in the center of the courtyard were Emilia and Mathilde. They were standing side-by-side, perfectly still. Emilia held a fan, snapping it shut with a sound like a pistol shot. Mathilde was slowly wrapping a leather strap around her palm.
"Welcome home, Julian," Emilia said, her voice dripping with sugar and venom.
"We were so worried," Mathilde added. "We thought you might have been... lost. Or perhaps, 'inspired' by someone else."
Julian looked at the guard, who was currently trying to hide behind a water barrel. He looked at the two women. Then he looked at the exit.
"Valerius," Julian whispered.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"If I die, tell my father I died for the Empire."
"You're on your own, My Lord!" Valerius turned his horse and bolted back toward the barracks at a full gallop.
Julian swallowed hard as the two women began to walk toward him.