Ch.239Conflict (6)

Honestly, I didn’t have high expectations for success. I was attempting a surprise landing on Albion with the mindset of “might as well try something before admitting defeat” rather than surrendering to the Albion Kingdom without putting up a fight.

But surprisingly, both the landing and the subsequent beheading operation succeeded far beyond expectations. It’s a strange feeling to succeed when you weren’t particularly hopeful, but one thing is certain—it’s definitely more satisfying than succeeding when you had high expectations.

It’s a bit of an odd conclusion, but perhaps I should avoid having expectations when undertaking future endeavors. If I fail, there won’t be much disappointment since I didn’t expect success, and if I succeed, the satisfaction will be even greater than if I had anticipated it.

Anyway, that’s not what’s important right now—

“This is the first time we’re meeting in person. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“…”

In the end, after the Holy Emperor and the Imperial Emperor, I’ve now dragged the King of Albion to Dijon as well.

Since this war was solely the Albion King’s affair and had nothing to do with the Albion nobles, the assault commander reported that all Albion forces immediately ceased combat as soon as we captured the king. Apparently, not a single noble or military unit attempted rescue or negotiation while we transported the bound king across the sea to Lotharing.

Wow… I’ve never felt this sorry for an enemy before.

Of course, given the nature of feudalism and absolute monarchy, where the monarch essentially is the state, it makes sense that all forces would cease fighting once their ruler is captured. But shouldn’t they have at least attempted to negotiate, perhaps asking us not to take their king away? How worthless must his subjects consider him… truly pathetic.

“However…”

And what’s wrong with this guy? He’s completely lost it.

Every expression and gesture clearly shows his fear of me. His pupils are trembling strangely, and his focus seems slightly unfocused.

This comparison is terribly rude, but… it’s like watching an abused puppy cowering at the hand of a stranger.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The commander—”

When I glanced at the assault commander for an explanation, the answer I received was quite something.

The protocol for capturing important figures dictates blindfolding them so they can’t see the direction of travel or escape routes, gagging them to prevent shouting, and binding their hands and feet to eliminate any possibility of escape. Without these measures, prisoners might shout to reveal important information or their location to allies, or they might successfully escape.

The problem is that these dutiful soldiers who followed protocol to the letter applied these standards to the King of Albion, who was not only an important figure but also of high status. They even did this while he was unconscious.

‘The assault team found the unconscious King of Albion in Londinium’s inner castle, and following protocol, blindfolded, gagged, and bound him before taking him away. The king regained consciousness when he was placed in the carriage leaving Londinium, but his restraints were never removed…’

Even after regaining consciousness, the king remained fully bound, and except during meals, he could make no sounds other than muffled groans or stifled screams, and could only writhe like a caterpillar.

When mealtime finally came and his gag was removed, the King of Albion frantically demanded explanations from the assault team, but none of them answered him—fearing accusations of improper fraternization with a high-ranking prisoner—and only repeated that he should eat his meal.

Moreover, they didn’t even bother removing his blindfold or leg restraints since his meal consisted only of bread and water, which he could manage to eat despite the bindings.

…Good grief.

“Well… shall we start with a proper meal—”

“Hii, hiik…”

“—…first? We can discuss business matters gradually later.”

You went too far, you idiots.

True, I did something similar when I abducted the Holy Emperor from the Holy See, but at least I only kept him bound until we left the Holy See. As soon as we successfully got him on the ship, I removed his blindfold, gag, and restraints, didn’t I?

But these guys kept the Albion King bound all the way from Londinium to Dijon here… sigh.

Of course someone would lose their mind after being terrorized for ten days, unable to see anything, say anything, or do anything.

I had been so disgusted by the Albion King’s shamelessness—claiming to want to restore peace while refusing to return any plunder or compensate for lives lost—that I was ready to give him a piece of my mind when we met face to face. But seeing him in this state, I can’t bring myself to say anything harsh. I just feel pity.

……….

“I truly regret that matters have come to this. The Prophet said, ‘Love thy neighbor,’ and as servants of God, we must stop this meaningless bloodshed.”

I know my words sound like empty, hypocritical platitudes.

But it’s not like I can speak bluntly, can I? Everyone will understand what I really mean.

“”…””

Both the Imperial Emperor, who had been confined in Dijon, and the newly added King of Albion remain silent, staring at me intently.

I can see both of them working their mouths and their Adam’s apples bobbing as they desperately try to hold back harsh words.

“Ahem, shouldn’t we all work quickly to rectify this unfortunate situation? Please lend your efforts so we may restore peace.”

“Why don’t you get straight to the point as usual?”

The Imperial Emperor’s hostility is particularly intense.

Understandable, given that he’s been confined in Dijon and has had to witness his father’s legacy, the Empire, being torn apart by my machinations.

“…Of course we should prevent further bloodshed, but as the victor, I cannot forgo receiving compensation for the blood already spilled. That would be betraying my loyal subjects and people. If I were to betray their loyalty, as their lord and sovereign, I would have no choice but to prevent such a terrible outcome by any means necessary.”

“…”

The Emperor, who had been openly expressing hostility, suddenly falls silent. My implied message—that the Empire’s current situation is his own fault for refusing to give Lotharing Kingdom its due—seems to have struck a nerve.

It’s the truth, isn’t it? If you’re going to be petty and withhold what you should rightfully give, then I have no reason to maintain courtesy either.

“Well… anyway, the Kingdom of Lotharing must now make several demands of the Holy Empire and the Kingdom of Albion. To repay the loyalty of my subjects and people, you understand. Here are documents outlining what we require from both nations. Please review them.”

For convenience, the documents are written in each monarch’s native language, making them easy to read. This also prevents any potential disputes arising from poor translations.

“…Look here.”

“No, this is…”

The reactions of the two monarchs were dramatic.

Their four eyes, which had been anxiously scanning the documents expecting outrageous demands, trembled more and more as they read downward, then suddenly widened and snapped up to look at me like stretched rubber bands.

“Are you in your right mind? What are you plotting now?”

“…That’s quite harsh language. Is there a problem?”

Despite having lived in this world for decades, there are still many things I don’t understand. But one thing I’ve clearly realized is that the most important things to feudal nobles are land and labor.

Land is the foundation of their status and a tool for generating wealth, while labor is the essential livestock that uses that tool to create money.

Most nobles believe that money and honor can eventually be recovered as long as they don’t lose their land, and these two monarchs likely think similarly.

So I decided to target that mindset.

“Problem? There are many. I have too much to say, but to summarize in one sentence… are you really satisfied with just this much territory?”

“Yes. It clearly defines our borders, strengthens our influence on the Kisalpina Peninsula, and secures advantageous trading posts. What more should I demand?”

In terms of territorial concessions, I had demanded from the Holy Empire some lands adjacent to the Lotharing-Carolingian Kingdom and several port cities in the north for trade purposes. From the Kingdom of Albion, I had requested coastal regions that could serve as both a bridgehead for expansion and trading hubs.

The true content of the treaty isn’t about territorial concessions but rather various clauses that constrain these nations and kick away their ladders to advancement. However, the seemingly merciful territorial demands seem to have completely captured the attention and minds of both monarchs.

“But with your achievements, you could devour far more extensive territories, and no one would dare object. Vassal nobles are quite accustomed to changes in their overlords.”

“I could take more, but maintaining it would be difficult. Albion’s territories across the sea would be hard to control and expensive to maintain. The Empire’s lands are full of people who believe the absurd rumor that I assassinated the Prince-Elector—how am I supposed to govern such places? A small amount of territory is manageable, but the thought of governing vast lands is terrifying.”

“…Isn’t Lotharing’s military might formidable?”

“The purpose of conquering territory is to utilize the land by employing the locals. If I did what Your Majesty suggests, there would be no point in conquering the territory in the first place, would there?”

Of course, the real reasons include the absorption of the Carolingian Kingdom, lack of administrative capacity, and various other factors, but I can’t say that outright. So I offered the excuse that killing locals would defeat the purpose of conquest—and the Emperor and King’s gazes twisted.

Their expressions were like watching a demon, who would surely enjoy meat and carnal pleasures, elegantly enjoying salad and living an ascetic life.

…Really now. I know I’m not one to talk, but they could at least manage their expressions better. It’s hurtful.