Chapter 81: The Good, The Bad, and The Traitor 3

A towering mountain of grain sacks lay before him, and a broad smile graced his lips.

With tousled brown hair, a prominent nose, and a cunning countenance…

Yet simultaneously possessing the piercing gaze befitting a great mage, brimming with potent power.

Mansfelt Ernst slowly nodded, savoring his latest success.

The vast provisions purchased with the funds acquired through his deal with Spinola.

With these ample supplies, his mercenary band’s operations could continue unhindered for some time – a nagging concern alleviated, much to his sincere delight.

“Well done. Let the men eat their fill, and you take a rest too. This venture proved quite lucrative, so we can rest easy for a while.”

“Yes, sir.”

Having concluded this engagement, Mansfelt dismissed his subordinates to repose while retiring himself.

Visions of the world awaiting him began unfolding in his mind.

Bearing the moniker ‘Mercenary King’, Mansfelt commanded a staggering force of 15,000 mercenaries – the continent’s largest such band.

Those 15,000 consisted of 2,000 mages and 13,000 armed soldiers – pure, dedicated combat personnel.

In reality, this vast horde included the families and servants of the 15,000 mercenaries, along with merchants catering to their needs – totaling almost 40,000 to 50,000 individuals when accounting for non-combatants.

Essentially a mobile micro-nation under Mansfelt’s sovereign rule, he needed to determine their next moves.

Unlike settled cities sustained by local resources, Mansfelt’s mercenary band operated on funds obtained through employer contracts.

Earned money purchased provisions from nearby towns or, if unavailable, they were seized through combat.

A starving mercenary band invariably became a marauding bandit horde posing a locust-like scourge, devouring everything in their path.

Naturally, Mansfelt understood his men’s predilections well, carefully regulating their actions with calculated restraint.

Betrayal was routine, employing suitable negotiation, coercion, and if necessary, overt threats – always pursuing maximum benefit for himself and his subordinates.

This latest deal had yielded immense gains for Mansfelt, leaving him in high spirits as he entered his opulent command tent within the mercenary camp.

Pre-arranged by the most exquisite women awaited him in his lavish quarters, the largest and grandest in the entire camp.

“Welcome, Lord Mansfelt.”

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Greeted by the courtesan’s deferential bows, their voluptuous figures matching Mansfelt’s tastes, his lips curled into a lascivious smirk.

“Looking plump and delicious as ever. Come here, let your wanton bodies satisfy me.”

“Hohoho… As you command, Lord Mansfelt.”

“Please, indulge in our bodies to your heart’s content.”

At his prompting, the women began sensually disrobing.

Then, reclining amidst them, Mansfelt reveled in carnal delights akin to a gluttonous pig gorging itself, fully savoring the spoils of his ‘victory’.

His forces remained utterly unscathed, even netting far greater wealth than promised.

Meanwhile, Prince Friedrich, having departed Bohemia, lost his Palatinate stronghold, and the victorious Emperor suffered humiliation in Bohemia.

Thus, amid his two ‘clients’ licking their wounds, Mansfelt alone could revel in sheer, unbridled glee at this very moment.

Acutely aware of this reality, Mansfelt considered himself the true victor of this war.

Of course, even now others – particularly the Palatinate’s populace and nobles – likely condemned his brazen betrayal of his employer, asserting he would not last long.

Yet Mansfelt paid no heed to such denunciations, nor did he need to.

Not simply because he was indifferent to criticism, but because the cunning, selfish Mansfelt was no myopic fool.

One who could discern the tides of the era and think long-term.

For him, this betrayal was no mere impulsive act, but a carefully calculated move based on an accurate reading of future developments.

‘A prolonged war only benefits me. In turbulent times, military might equates to power. The longer this chaos endures, the more valuable I become.’

Though his betrayal had led to the Palatinate’s downfall, Mansfelt understood the war was merely beginning.

Immediately following the Palatinate’s fall, Duke Moritz of Lorraine had taken in Friedrich’s family, actively supporting their cause.

Moreover, as Friedrich’s wife was a British princess, her father King James I would likely soon involve himself as well.

The Palatinate’s loss would undoubtedly provoke the other lords within the Holy Empire’s vicinity too.

In this situation, whether they liked it or not, they would inevitably turn to the single most formidable heretical military force – Mansfelt’s own vast mercenary army.

People were surprisingly simplistic creatures – if immediate gain was visible, they would instinctively grasp for it.

Despite his damaged reputation, rather than investing immense time and funds to raise their own armies from civilian populations and territories, they would calculate it far more advantageous to employ Mansfelt and his ever-ready, elite mercenary horde of massive scale.

Even knowing it to be a poisoned apple, the starving would ultimately consume it rather than sit idle awaiting death.

For any action, no matter how desperate, offered better odds than sheer inaction.

Keenly aware of this, Mansfelt focused solely on exploiting the current turmoil to maximize his gains.

‘People prattle about duty, honor and the like, but ultimately move for the tiniest material gain. Just look at how the lords professing heretical principles stood idly by until the Palatinate fell completely. It’s impossible for them to spurn the benefits I can provide.’

Having reaffirmed through this incident that honor and reputation were mere facades, Mansfelt soon found another employer seeking his aid, as he had anticipated. Willingly heeding the summons alongside his army, he eagerly anticipated the profits this latest ‘transaction’ would yield for himself and his subordinates.