"I hear they suffered a defeat in the first battle."
"The Franks — I thought they might show at least a little backbone…"
The Brittany officers clicked their tongues upon receiving the messenger's report. It wasn't just any defeat — it was a crushing one.
The only solace was that they had managed to retreat in relatively orderly fashion. Nearly sixty percent of their forces survived. But Commander Marshal Gaspard de Tavannes had been killed in action. Complaints that "it doesn't make sense" erupted openly among the ranks.
"This is just going to tank the morale of the entire army."
"I had hoped Marshal de Tavannes would do better, but it seems he forgot his own age. Leading the cavalry in a charge at the vanguard? Unbelievable."
A Brittany general shook his head slowly.
"It's been over a decade since the marshal served in the Royal Knights. The Frankish tiger lost its fangs ages ago. And yet he forgot his age and recklessly threw the entire army into a charge…"
"Well, perhaps it was the fault of the Frankish knights for failing to back him up."
Another general sneered.
"Perhaps the marshal secretly believed the Frankish cavalry was on par with our Brittany forces. Not all cavalry are created equal. In short, he misunderstood the strength of our own army, and that simply isn't something one can afford to get wrong."
The generals gathered in the tent let out soft chuckles.
They hadn't expected much from the Franks to begin with. The Franks, especially their nobility, were bound by outdated notions of honor and custom. They were skilled at turning their noses up and looking dignified, but on the battlefield, they were utterly useless.
Noble charges, honor, loyalty. All fine and dandy. But what good were any of them without the strength to back it up?
"If I may speak personally, there is nothing more hypocritical than honor shouted by those who lack the ability to back it up. And the ones who pay the price for that hypocrisy aren't the nobles themselves — it's the common people."
"Well, the common folk are so lowly they don't even realize they're being sacrificed. They don't even know who they're rebelling for."
The generals chattered amongst themselves, half-mocking, half-melancholy. In the noble houses of Brittany, succession did not go to the firstborn. It was Brittany's tradition for sons and daughters to fight each other relentlessly for the right to inherit.
Every noble seated here had crushed their siblings in childhood to claim victory. Other nations looked upon this tradition and called it barbaric.
But that barbaric nation had conquered the refined Franks. Thanks to that, Frank had been engulfed in civil war, and the common people had borne the full brunt of it.
The nobles of Bretagne scoffed. Where was honor in this? Which side was more honorable? Honor was not some floating value suspended in the void. It was given only to those who proved their worth and prevailed…
"That's enough, all of you."
Queen Henrietta spoke quietly. The restless atmosphere subsided in an instant.
"Lord Gaspard de Tavannes was a true warrior. He grappled with the meaning of loyalty. Should he be loyal to the Emperor? To the nation? To the people?"
The queen gazed somewhere far off, muttering with eyes heavy-laced, as though drowsiness had overtaken her.
"What is a warrior? One who agonizes. We cannot know what answer he arrived at. But at the very least, we have no right to insult that agony. Everyone — pay your respects."
"……."
Henrietta closed her eyes and bowed her head. The nobles followed suit, bowing after their queen. The tent fell silent.
Then the priestess standing beside the queen parted her lips. She was the Saint of Rongwiss, with beautiful crimson short hair. The Saint of Rongwiss — priestess of the Goddess Athena — slowly sang a hymn of silent prayer.
"You killed much, you saved much, you regretted much, you accomplished much. Ahh — Gaspard de Tavannes. Now rest in that place."
"O Goddess Athena. Grant comfort to the warrior."
The nobles all called upon the Goddess Athena and offered their silent prayers.
Queen Henrietta opened her eyes. Her red irises stared straight ahead.
"This vanguard engagement was a procedure to test the loyalty of the Frankish nobles. If they had sought victory, they would have suffered heavy losses. Conversely, had they retreated without sustaining any damage, I had planned to purge them personally. Marshal de Tavannes must have realized this."
"…So it was a deliberate defeat."
"Yes. Defeat, yet without excuses. For that precise outcome, the marshal sacrificed himself."
A chill crept into Henrietta's voice.
"My dear generals! Bretagne has not yet bent its pride. They submitted to us, but they still preserve their own sense of honor in their own way. Complacency is absolutely out of the question."
The generals' expressions turned serious. They exchanged glances and nodded with careful deliberation.
"Your Majesty. Please give us your orders."
"We are prepared."
The nobles of Bretagne were not content with the hackneyed maxim that "complacency is fatal." They were born by nature to pursue practical ends.
Henrietta de Bretagne was no different. When the queen ordered them not to let their guard down — that was not merely a call to steel their resolve. They had to take action, and quickly.
"No human clings to hope when there is no prospect of fulfillment. The reason the Frankish nobles have not yet abandoned their pride is because somewhere, hope still remains. What could that hope be?"
"Hmm. It couldn't possibly be the emperor. Even the pigs know that fellow is an unprecedented fool."
The generals chuckled.
"I say, what kind of talk is that about His Imperial Majesty the Emperor? He is, after all, betrothed to our own queen."
"Oh my. My sincerest apologies — how could I fail to recognize Her Majesty's future consort?"
Henrietta smiled wryly at the generals' banter.
"There are more than one or two people here who ought to be purged. Of course, the emperor is far from being a source of hope for the Franks. But if the Frankish nobles still cling to hope, what could the reason be?"
"...You speak of a new emperor, Your Majesty."
The air in the tent went cold, as though martial law had been declared.
Bretagne had one secret policy to which it had devoted painstaking effort over the past four years. Dubbed "Lily Plucking," the policy was devoted to ripping out the bloodline of the Frankish imperial family from its very roots.
The empress dowager had borne four princes and three princesses. It was an era in which prolific childbirth was considered a virtue. As a woman who had once been the consort of an empire, Catherine had fulfilled her duty admirably.
However, the empress dowager was unhappy. Of the four princes, one died of illness in childhood. Three princes ascended the throne in succession, but two died prematurely, and only the remaining one survived as the current emperor. None of them had children.
The two daughters married the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Castile and the second prince of the Habsburgs, respectively. The second Habsburg prince was slaughtered by Consul Elisabeth. In other words, the only children who still carried the imperial bloodline were one son and one daughter — which meant there were no direct heirs whatsoever to succeed as the "next emperor."
"We have already executed five bastards. Are you saying there are still kin remaining?"
If both the direct and collateral bloodlines had been thoroughly eliminated, the only ones left were bastards.
Bretagne had killed five bastards by staging their deaths as accidents. There was a risk that the Frankish nobles might rally behind a bastard and crown him emperor.
"I never told you this, but there is still one bastard remaining. A spawn left behind by the previous emperor, Charles IX."
The generals were stunned.
"Well, well. Why have you kept them alive until now?"
"Could it be the Frankish nobles had them hidden away?"
When asked, Queen Henrietta flashed a grin.
"I kept them alive on purpose."
"Excuse me?"
"Think about it. If the Frankish nobles have been secretly nursing their will to resist, when would they spring it? Obviously, the moment Bretagne finds itself in 'a crisis of life and death.' They'd bide their time and wait for just such an opportunity to come along."
Henrietta spoke as cheerfully as if she were singing a song.
"Now, the Demon Lord's army, disguised as a human coalition, is invading at full tilt. I'd like to send reinforcements in every direction, but east of the Habsburgs is far and costly — might as well forget that entirely. So we'd need to borrow a hand from Venice across the sea, or Batavia up north, or Castile down south, or our distant neighbor Sardinia..."
Queen Henrietta raised four fingers.
"Batavia's no good — they're rotten republicans to the bone. Venice — those islanders don't want us growing too powerful, and they're not exactly opposed to republicanism either, so no go there. Sardinia — those rustic fools cut off all diplomacy the moment we locked up the Empress Dowager. What now?"
In an instant, the queen folded down three fingers.
"All that's left are those blockheads in Castile. But their queen is the Empress Dowager's second daughter, isn't she? If things go south, they'll start shouting that the Frankish throne is rightfully theirs. If we asked those people for reinforcements, they'd inevitably negotiate for us to hand over the throne... and then everything we bled for to conquer Frankia would have been for nothing? In the end."
The last index finger folded down.
"There's not a single nation willing to send us reinforcements. The Frankish nobles know this perfectly well. Will such an opportunity come again? Probably not. Such an opportunity will never repeat itself. Gentlemen, the Frankish nobles will absolutely attempt an uprising."
"..."
"Most likely, they'll seize the moment when our forces have marched out to start a rebellion."
That was precisely why Queen Henrietta had bundled the Frankish troops together and sent them out as the vanguard.
It served to preemptively drive out the potential rebels. She also didn't forget to lock the commanders' families away in the capital as insurance against any contingency.
"But look. Whether it's a coincidence or not, they haven't actually lost much fighting strength despite their marshal being killed in battle. Something smells off about that."
"......Your Majesty. Give the order, and we'll begin the suppression immediately."
Henrietta shook her head.
"There's no need to push it. Gentlemen, the Frankish nobles are currently split into royalists and republicans. Why are they able to compromise and yield to each other? It's because they have hope."
Rather than give up the monarchy, they put forward a king of illegitimate birth with a weak claim to legitimacy. The royalists preserve the institution, while the republicans secure real power. Queen Henrietta had seen right through the room for compromise this created.
The corners of Henrietta's lips curled upward.
"Just before we march out... say, a day before, what if the last remaining bastard suddenly drops dead? Would those fellows still be able to cooperate?"
"......!"
The generals raised their eyebrows as though a light had gone on.
"The Frankish nobles will be thrown into complete chaos, Your Majesty!"
"Yes. Defeating us is important, but what kind of government to build after the defeat is no less critical. With the heir to the throne gone, the existing compromise falls apart entirely."
The generals glanced at one another and nodded. They understood what the queen was getting at. They spoke up one after another, their voices brimming with excitement.
"The Frankish nobles will almost certainly convene an emergency council, Your Majesty!"
"The nobles who attend that council can be assumed to be forces that would oppose us in Bretagne."
"If we position our troops in ambush and launch a surprise attack during the council... we can wipe out the last remnants of Frankish resistance in a single blow!"
Queen Henrietta nodded.
"That's right. Gentlemen, the moment of greatest peril is the finest opportunity. The cowardly Franks don't know that. But we do. That's the difference between them and us."
Henrietta drew a dagger from inside her garment, twirled it deftly between her fingers, and plunged it straight down. With a thud, the blade sank halfway into the table.
"From this moment on, we shall eradicate Frankish pride."