Chapter 205: Towards the Finale 7

The courtiers knelt reverently before their sovereign, pleading with heartfelt urgency:

“Your Majesty…we stake our very lives upon this entreaty! We beseech you – repeal those decrees discriminating against the heretical faiths you have promulgated!”

“…What?”

Stunned by this wholly unanticipated petition, Emperor Sigismund’s expression hardened inscrutably as displeasure radiated from his imperious glare.

Yet the courtiers persisted undaunted despite his palpable ire – prostrating themselves further as their impassioned pleas continued unabated:

“The incessant warfare has already devastated our realm beyond reckoning, Your Grace. Should this internal strife and depletion of our national vigor persist unchecked, we fear deeply for the Empire’s very survival!”

“Indeed, sire – none could impugn your pious intentions to uphold the one true faith’s sanctity. But there must come a juncture where such forcible conversions cease! We implore you – extend mercy and clemency unto those deluded heretics while you still can!”

Tears streamed freely down the courtiers’ faces as they made this desperate final appeal fully cognizant of its catastrophic ramifications should their sovereign’s wrath be provoked.

Challenging the Emperor’s defining doctrine amounted to outright blasphemy – an unforgivable affront potentially punishable by summary execution.

Yet they persisted regardless out of overriding conviction – for their intimate familiarity with the Empire’s unraveling plight had rendered inaction utterly unconscionable.

Ceaseless warfare and famine conspired to immiserate the populace into unprecedented destitution.

The Emperor’s own religious persecutions systematically alienated and fragmented his subjects – perpetuating unrestrained internecine brutalities even at this very moment.

Should such ruinous conditions endure, only an empty, depleted husk would inevitably remain of their once-proud Imperial glory.

Witnessing the encroaching disaster with their own eyes compelled these courtiers to stake their lives upon this solemn admonition:

That this juncture represented the final opportunity to salvage their disintegrating nation before all hope became forfeit.

Unfortunately, their ruler’s sole response reflected a mindset hopelessly ill-prepared to receive such counsel:

“…I now recognize the grave error I have committed until this very hour…”

Those laden words carried undercurrents of perplexed dismay – prompting the courtiers to optimistically anticipate their sovereign’s expansive magnanimity overriding his baser instincts.

Though formidable, the heretical league primarily espoused religious self-determination – their rebellion fundamentally ideological rather than overtly seditious.

Having subdued their principal military assets, the granting of religious tolerance might yet induce their realignment under Sigismund’s sovereign primacy.

At the very least, such overtures could catalyze schisms between pragmatists yearning for conflict’s end versus inflexible hardliners – eroding the opposition’s cohesion regardless.

Regrettably however, they had woefully miscalculated their emperor’s receptiveness to such pragmatic recourse:

“To think I remained oblivious to the treachery festering before my very eyes until this late juncture. Truly, my shame eclipses all others…”

“Y…Your Majesty…?”

Alas, the courtiers’ worst fears soon materialized as Sigismund’s tone congealed into bitter, irrevocable accusation:

“So brazenly advocating for those repugnant heretical curs directly to my countenance! You insidious traitorous wretches – now I comprehend the source emboldening those infernal cultists all along!”

“Sire, you utterly mistake our intentions! We speak solely in hopes of preserving this realm’s…”

“Silence! Did you deluded fools truly believe your transparent machinations could elude me so readily? Because my corporeal vessel remains infirm, you presume my faculties have grown equally addled? How dare you mock me – and by extension, the Almighty’s divine edicts themselves!”

“Your Majesty!!”

“Guards – seize these vile traitors at once! I shall demonstrate the grisly fates awaiting any who would abet heresy under my very nose during these tumultuous hours!”

“As you command, Your Sublime Majesty!”

Obeying their sovereign’s dictates, the palace guards instantly apprehended and restrained the prostrate supplicants amid desperate final appeals:

“Sire, we beseech you to reconsider this rash course!”

“Heed our pleas, Your Grace – this may constitute our final chance!”

“Your Majesty…! Your Majesty…!!”

But their anguished cries fell upon utterly deaf ears – none could penetrate the obdurate reality unfolding before their disbelieving eyes:

Though victorious upon the battlefield, the Empire now crumbled from within – its very foundations sapped by internal fragmentation and resource depletion.

Yet one man alone – the Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund himself – remained tragically blind to the existential perils rapidly engulfing his realm.

Dazzled by superficial military triumphs while entranced by religious fervor’s alluring siren song, Sigismund’s sight had grown cruelly obstructed – clinging to tantalizing mirages while sleepwalking towards the precipice of utter ruination awaiting his once-peerless Imperial dominion.

Thus the Holy Roman Empire irretrievably squandered its final opportunity to avert total dissolution when prudent pragmatism could have yet preserved everything – relinquishing its sole lingering lifeline through one man’s blinkered recalcitrance.

Though the afterglow of victory faded, the Holy Roman Emperor’s armies diligently prepared for renewed hostilities against the heretical opposition.

Among their eminent commanders, Wallenstein conferred with his lieutenants Otto and Hestia – the gathered trio’s grave expressions betraying their profound disquiet:

“Disturbing indeed – despite our triumphs, our straits only deteriorate further by the day.”

“Haaah…you speak truly. Experience has illustrated time and again – though His Majesty possesses the wherewithal to attain martial supremacy, he remains utterly bereft of any inclination towards pragmatism.”

Otto’s brooding observation elicited Wallenstein’s resigned concurrence through a weary sigh.

Perceiving their despondent demeanors, Hestia interjected guardedly:

“So…what path remains available to us? Do we march against the heretical league regardless? In our present diminished circumstances, supporting Tilly’s battered contingents seems…unfeasible, to say the least.”

Indeed, Tilly’s auxiliaries had sustained crippling attrition during the previous engagement – avoiding outright decimation only through Wallenstein’s opportune intervention.

Yet their depletion remained severe nevertheless, exacerbated by the utter cessation of Imperial provisions from the rapidly deteriorating domestic situation.

Endemic famine plagued even these immediate environs – the surrounding populace’s visible deprivations starkly illustrated how starved the Imperial coffers had become through plummeting revenues.

So dire were the circumstances that Sigismund had been forced to incur exorbitant personal debts from Wallenstein himself merely to fund rudimentary expenditures.

Yet despite this grim reality, the Emperor persisted in his delusional conviction that the heretical menace could yet be extirpated once and for all through sustained military suppression.

Consequently, Wallenstein’s cadre – the last remaining bastion preserving any Imperial authority whatsoever – understandably harbored grave trepidations about their impending prospects.

“Reports indicate the heretical league has forged an alliance with Bohemia and the Northern ‘Lion of the North’ King Gustavus – potentially reinforcing their positions for a southward offensive.”

“Moreover, the Dragonians reportedly maintain their policy of underwriting these heretical elements as well. Under such conditions, even our prowess could scarcely guarantee victory, could it?”

Otto and Hestia’s palpable apprehensions prompted Wallenstein’s morose interjection as he shook his head in resigned dismay:

“Victory constitutes the lesser dilemma, I fear. The true horror awaits even if we somehow prove triumphant – for the Empire’s future appears hopelessly obscured either way. Dispassionately assessing the strategic outlook, I currently deem immediate termination of hostilities our sole tenable option. But…”

The quandary, of course, stemmed from their sovereign’s outright refusal to even contemplate such pragmatic recourse under any circumstances.

Facing dwindling prospects for success while courting annihilation even through victory, Wallenstein’s tactical acumen recognized only futility from prolonging this profitless conflict further.

Yet as his vexation mounted, Hestia cautiously reopened that fraught proposal lying perpetually within her grasp:

“Lord Wallenstein…under such regrettable straits, perhaps the time has come to simply…”

“…Mmm…”

Discerning her unvoiced implication regardless, Wallenstein tensed visibly – understanding the pivotal juncture Hestia had sagaciously maneuvered them towards at long last.