Chapter 94: The Mercenary King and the Madwoman 1

In the course of war, the ones who needed to be eliminated were not just the enemies directly threatening us.

Allies we could neither trust nor control.

I knew all too well that they were perhaps the ones who needed to be eliminated first, even before the enemy.

Especially given my foreknowledge of their future misdeeds, this was an inevitability.

Yet I also recognized that we need not suffer losses to achieve this.

With my awareness of future developments…

Devising the easiest and most effective way to dispose of these troublesome allies was hardly a difficult task.

Finally free of the Palatinate region, Mansfelt and Christiane’s forces could at last take respite.

Having expended their full might rampaging across the Palatinate these past few weeks, they were basking in the victor’s jubilation after effectively winning this ‘war’.

Throughout the camp, lavish feasts prepared from plundered provisions and overflowing casks of liquor were laid out, the soldiers and their entourages indulging without restraint.

Yet at this very moment…

Separate from the revelry’s jubilant atmosphere stood this war’s true protagonists – Mansfelt and Christiane – confronted with an issue requiring resolution.

It concerned a certain individual the soldiers had captured during their assault on the enemy’s supplies.

“This one claims to be an archbishop?”

“Yes, sir. We apprehended her as ordered during our raid on their supply depot.”

“Likely she would prove useful, so we brought her along without issue.”

Of course, during the process, this woman had periodically resisted – necessitating a few kicks and punches to keep her compliant.

However, such mild(?) measures were perfectly ordinary when handling prisoners, hardly worth mentioning.

Had they dismembered or violated her, that would have been problematic. But a bit of roughing up was rarely an issue.

After receiving the situation report, Mansfelt slowly nodded before addressing his subordinates:

“Good work. An archbishop is practically a lord’s equal. A generous reward is in order.”

“Th-Thank you, Lord Mansfelt!”

Compared to the immense spoils from this war, any reward would be but a pittance. So Mansfelt decided to show rare generosity.

Once the rewarded soldiers had departed, Mansfelt and Christiane, standing beside him, began a simple interrogation of the captured archbishop.

“So, you are Maxim Capeor, the Archbishop of Milan? Quite a youthful woman compared to rumors.”

“Y…Yes, that is I, Maxim.”

At Mansfelt’s words, Maxim bowed her head, her trembling voice a marked contrast to her earlier brash demeanor toward the soldiers – the very portrait of deference.

Of course, this was simply Maxim’s base instinct to be meek before the strong yet haughty toward the weak, depending on her position.

Regardless of prisoner status, Mansfelt was the leader of this mercenary band – one who held her life in his hands, not some lowly soldier to be trifled with. Showing him due respect was only natural.

Observing Maxim’s obsequious head-bowing before him, Mansfelt asked in a slightly stern tone:

“So tell me, what brings the esteemed Archbishop of far-off Milan to these harsh battlefields? And with a Holy Knight Order in tow, no less.”

“Yes, it was due to the Emperor’s proclamation that I, as a cleric, was obliged to heed. In the prior battle, my assigned task was guarding the supplies, while normally I attended strategy meetings with General Tilly’s officers.”

“…Strategy meetings, you say? And what compels you to volunteer such unsolicited information now?”

Perplexed by Maxim’s overly forthcoming attitude in offering unasked details, Mansfelt began feeling a twinge of suspicion. Perceiving this, Maxim stated matter-of-factly:

“Is it not obvious? My life now rests solely in Lord Mansfelt’s hands. Any futile resistance here would only prolong needless suffering. Cooperating with you to preserve my life is simply pragmatic.”

“Hmm…”

While recognizing Maxim as utterly shameless regardless of her archiepiscopal office, Mansfelt also discerned a degree of cunning in her – a quintessential self-serving schemer, nothing more or less.

There were reasons this woman had attained such an esteemed position at a relatively young age.

“Very well, that implies you can answer any inquiries I might have – such as any intelligence you may have gleaned from your time alongside General Tilly regarding the Imperial forces.”

“Yes, of course. Ask anything you wish. I shall answer truthfully without the slightest deception. However…”

“However?”

Slightly dropping her previous deference, Maxim continued in a voice exuding firm resolve:

“In exchange for my cooperation, Lord Mansfelt, I ask that you guarantee my safety. Agree to that condition, and I shall divulge everything.”

“Well, that much is hardly an issue. Very well, I accept those terms.”

“Thank you. Then…”

With that basic condition accepted, Maxim proceeded to disclose all she knew in response to Mansfelt’s questioning, revealing the Imperial army’s internal affairs.

As Mansfelt grasped their current situation, a smile naturally formed – while inwardly scoffing at Maxim spilling such details to preserve her own life at the expense of her comrades and subordinates.

A quintessential piece of trash, forsaking the lives of her followers for her own selfish survival.

Unlike some mere employer, Mansfelt genuinely valued the lives of his men. Thus, in his eyes, this woman was even more worthless than the dirt beneath his feet.

‘No wonder such vermin thrive amidst the rotten Church… Though our heretical forces are hardly blameless either.’

From selling indulgences as standard practice, to embezzlement, bribery and all manner of corruption being daily routine within the Church – Mansfelt could hardly feign ignorance.

Though some within recognized the severity and called for reform, they remained an insignificant minority.

The mainstream led by the Pope and his inner circle remained mired in debauchery and excess, refusing to regain their senses.

Yet when posed whether the heretical religions fared any better, Mansfelt could only respond with a frank “more of the same.”

Still forced to refer to themselves as ‘heretics’ – deviants separate from the mainstream faith – their religions lacked true power.

Unlike the hopelessly corrupt yet centralized Church under the papacy, the heretical faiths remained splintered – their priests and leaders voicing disparate creeds, unable to easily unite.

Though ostensibly rallying under the banner of ‘religious freedom,’ their so-called ‘unity from orthodoxy’ paled before the Church’s might.

Aware of this atmosphere, the heretical leaders strove to foster strict dogma and austerity to strengthen unity – ironically perpetrating atrocities rivaling the Church’s, from execution to burning innocents as ‘demons.’

‘Regardless, it matters not to me. I simply earn coin wherever war takes me.’

With that thought, Mansfelt magnanimously ordered Maxim treated well for her cooperation.

After dismissing the archbishop, Christiane – who had silently observed the proceedings – slowly approached Mansfelt with her signature manic smile.