Chapter 199: Towards the Finale 1

Jubilant cheers erupted from the Imperial troops celebrating their hard-won victory.

Though harrowing tribulations had exacted a grievous toll upon Tilly’s forces, the war ultimately culminated in Imperial triumph.

A resounding success effortlessly eclipsing their earlier Lorraine setback – particularly the utter neutralization of Mansfeld’s mercenary scourge, their longstanding bane and priority for elimination.

“Well fought, Wallenstein. Without your aid, this campaign would have proven far more arduous.”

“I merely fulfilled my obligatory duty. If anything, I regret my delayed arrival prevented swifter assistance.”

“Truth be told, I had scant expectations of you initially. But this day has undoubtedly disabused me of that misconception. Assuredly, I shall repay this immense debt owed in time.”

“You honor me greatly with those words. I shall endeavor to continue supporting you steadfastly for the Empire’s cause, General.”

As the two men sealed their newfound camaraderie over shared triumph, they exemplified humanity’s intrinsic simplicity.

United by achieved aims and shared elation, even fractured collectives could reforge into formidable unities rallying around that fulcrum of communal joy.

Whatever lingering frictions or resentments might persist paled before that primal, binding emotion’s immense power.

Conversely, even the deepest bonds risked shattering under failure’s crucible – as illustrated by another confrontation unfolding:

“You should have left me for dead back then! Why did you persist with such futile efforts?!”

“How could I, my lord? Have you forgotten our pact? We vowed to forge our future path together once this war concluded! Regardless of our defeat, do you now renounce that solemn vow?”

“It ends here! All is lost! With our paltry surviving numbers scarcely exceeding a few thousand, what future remains for us to pursue?”

“You must persevere! Have we not rebounded from worse predicaments before? If not for my own sake, then for one who staked everything upon you…who clung to your promises as the sole remaining hope…”

“Enough of this rubbish about ‘promises’! What use are such meaningless vows once rendered unattainable? It serves us better to abandon any further false expectations.”

“…Do you truly mean those words…?”

“Does this situation appear conducive to jesting? Leave me if you insist upon pursuing this farcical line of conversation!”

“…”

Ensnared by anguished despair, frustration and resignation, Mansfeld’s bitter outburst prompted Christian to regard him with icy disappointment.

She who had surrendered her heart, enthralled by his former boldness, cunning and ruthless charisma…

Now confronted a defeated husk devoid of ambition or conviction beyond abject surrender.

Worse, his callous repudiation of their shared pledges severed her lingering attachments as irreparably as his scornful dismissal.

“…Very well. I shall depart, my lord.”

“Gughh…gughh…”

With a curt nod, Christian uttered those frosty words as Mansfeld simply guzzled his spirits with mocking indifference – lacking even the will to halt her departure.

For this eternal failure personified had irrevocably relinquished any grasp upon the future – even upon the woman once destined to share his endeavors.

“Farewell then…Mansfeld.”

Thus Christian departed with her dwindling remnants, seeking a foothold that continually eluded the ‘Mad Baroness’ and her ill-reputed dregs – eventually succumbing to plague while wandering aimlessly.

Rumors persisted that an outraged deity had dispatched a venomous serpent to slay the notorious savage, though such accounts remained unverified speculation.

As for Mansfeld, his shattered survivors straggled southward some time after Christian’s exodus – seeking new employers in Venice according to some, or intending to join the Hungarian front against the Turks per others.

Whatever their intent, Mansfeld’s mercenary band thereafter vanished into obscurity’s void.

Their disgraced leader – broken in body and spirit from combat wounds – perished en route, unable to overcome his infirmities during that ill-fated march southward.

According to surviving veterans’ testimonies, Mansfeld stubbornly refused to die abed – insisting upon marching until collapsing mid-stride, as befitted a former nobleman who once dared dream of commanding dominions.

An ultimately meaningless gesture from a failed man…but one epitomizing his prideful defiance until the bitter end.

“Raaarrrghhh!”

“Peace, my lord…restrain yourself…”

Returning to his domain amidst impotent fury, Chris IV could scarcely process the magnitude of his crushing defeat despite staking everything upon this doomed endeavor.

“Mansfeld! That wretched cur…he single-handedly ruined everything! Had he only fought competently, victory would have been ours! The miserable dog – where does he skulk while we suffer this disgrace?!”

“We…have people searching, my lord. But as yet, no firm leads have emerged…”

“Then redouble your efforts – bring me his head forthwith! I invested such faith in that reprobate…only for him to betray my trust so treacherously?! I shall never forgive this transgression!”

Had their failure resulted from his own shortcomings, Chris IV might have exhibited less indignant resentment.

Yet he had exerted his utmost in this campaign – pushing the Imperial forces to the very precipice of catastrophic rout at one pivotal juncture.

Though Tilly enjoyed provisional advantages, the arrival of Carlon’s 11th-rank battle-mages could have instantaneously reversed that momentum.

Until Wallenstein’s reinforcements intervened precisely before delivering that devastating coup de grace, snatching certain victory from Chris IV’s grasp and consigning his forces to humiliating defeat.

‘Not only failing to vanquish our foes, but unable to hinder them whatsoever…was the ‘Mercenary King’s’ reputed prowess merely an empty boast? What blunders did that wretch commit to suffer such an ignoble rout against a rookie like Wallenstein?!’

Admittedly, Chris IV himself had approved Mansfeld’s recruitment – but felt justified in shirking any culpability for exercising due diligence.

The human instinct inevitably deflects blame for failures onto scapegoats.

For Chris IV, Mansfeld represented a convenient psychological dumping ground to vent his frustrations upon.

As he continued maligning the absent mercenary captain, a harried servant burst into the chamber:

“M…My lord! We face a dire urgency!”

“What is the meaning of this?”

For an instant, Chris IV feared Imperial invaders before an entirely unanticipated figure materialized – immediately prompting his humblest obeisance.

“Y…Your Majesty, King Gustavus…!”

“It has been overlong, Chris IV. I trust you have fared well in my absence?”