"Using hatred as a tool. Explain it more precisely."
Marbas asked in his usual calm manner.
If I had to pick the Demon Lord with the most strategic vision among them, it would undoubtedly be the former fifth-ranked Marbas. He would probably understand my explanation well. With that expectation, I spoke.
"Lord Marbas. To put it simply, Franque has two governments."
First, there were the Royalists and the Republicans. But that wasn't all. The Royalists were themselves split into two major factions—those hostile to Bretagne and those favorable to it. Generally, the former were considered patriots. The latter would be called traitors.
The Republicans had countless sub-factions as well, but for simplicity's sake, let's just say there were two governments. If the story got complicated from the start, the Demon Lords wouldn't be able to keep up.
"In Franque, a considerable portion of the people support the Royalists. Perhaps around half the total population. The Republicans, on the other hand, barely account for about thirty percent. In terms of supporter ratios, the Royalists win by a landslide… but when you factor in their patron powers, the picture changes entirely."
"Patron powers?"
"First, the Republicans. As I mentioned earlier, republicans within Franque were massacred. The handful who survived gathered in the north. They lack the resources to field an army on their own."
Free cities had sprung up across the north. Calling them "free cities" made them sound impressive, but in reality they were mid-to-small factions that couldn't hope to rival a massive nation.
"But they are flush with money. Northern Franque sits at a crossroads of trade and is a breadbasket region. With that overflowing wealth, the northern nobles devised a means of defense."
"Mercenaries," Marbas said.
I nodded.
"Yes. Mercenaries—and the majority of them belong to the army of the Batavia Republic. In other words, it's fair to say that the power shielding the Republicans is the Batavia Republic."
This was the reason I mocked the so-called Patriotic Front. The Emperor had been wrong to bring in an outside power like Bretagne. That was certainly worthy of criticism. But what were they trying to prove by countering that with the Batavia Republic? Were they planning to shout tit-for-tat?
Without warning, Franque had become a battlefield for a proxy war. Describing it as a fight between the Emperor's faction and the Empress Dowager's faction sounded simple, but in truth it was Bretagne—devotee of the Royalists—clashing with the Batavia Republic—leader of the Republicans. They were merely being tormented by outside forces.
"Now it's the Royalists' turn, but they're in just as dire a situation. The Emperor who was supposed to protect them was utterly incompetent. The great nobles, led by Duke de Guise, were wiped out as well. In the end, the Royalists split into two camps…"
My throat felt coarse.
Behind me, Daisy—who served as both attendant and bodyguard—politely offered a glass of water. I took it and drained it in one gulp.
Marbas stroked his goatee.
"Dantalion. When you say two factions, are you referring to the forces that would rely on the Queen of Bretagne, and those that would not?"
"Exactly."
Marbas, as expected. He hadn't disappointed me in the best possible sense. He'd already caught the nuance in my words.
"Among the Royalists, there are many who wouldn't mind accepting the Queen of Bretagne as their monarch. They don't care who rules, so long as the terrible civil war ends... That's how they think. The force sheltering these Royalists is the Kingdom of Bretagne itself."
They wanted the Emperor and the Queen to marry and govern the country together. A dual monarchy.
"Finally, there are the Royalists who defy the Queen of Bretagne. Their spirit is admirable, but they lack a certain sense of reality. No faction supports them whatsoever."
"Whether Republican or Royalist, every side has a foreign power at its back. That's what you're pointing out, Dantalion."
"Yes."
It was impossible to look at this and call it a functioning nation.
The ones who had driven things to this point were the nobles of Francia.
The Emperor was incompetent? Simple problem. Abandon the Emperor and choose the Empress instead. Turn him into a puppet Emperor, and you'd cut off even the channel for requesting foreign reinforcements. Henrietta would lose her pretext to run amok.
But the nobles, with the Emperor and Empress both before their eyes, took their time testing the waters. They steered things so that neither side could achieve a decisive victory. What for?
It was obvious. The stronger the imperial household's power became, the weaker the nobles' influence. Conversely, the weaker the imperial household grew, the stronger the nobles became...
Whether the Empress or the Emperor, both reached out to the nobles, asking for their support. The nobles must have swelled with pride. They played hard to get, driving up their own price.
While the mother and son turned the court into chaos, most of the nobles simply watched from the sidelines. They probably sat in their lavish mansions, sipping wine. Putting on airs, prattling on prettily: "What is His Majesty the Emperor even doing?" and "Her Majesty the Empress would do well to exercise a bit more restraint."
To put it bluntly: they had no patriotism. And if they did, the "nation" they referred to was nothing more than a state that suited their own tastes.
While the nobles furrowed their brows with grave seriousness, discussing their nation-for-themselves in dignified tones and lofty vocabulary, it was the common people who suffered the consequences of the civil war. The Massacre of the Sage Bartholomew was a prime example. Up to a hundred thousand had perished.
Among the dead, naturally, were ten-year-old children. Could the nobles really stand before children who had died without ever knowing why and keep talking? That they had lived for their nation? It wasn't even a laughing matter.
In the end, they had only ever lived for themselves and their own ideals. It wasn't just the nobles. Queen Henrietta was the same. She was the Queen of Bretagne, and therefore she lived solely for the glory of Bretagne. From our perspective, the patriotic front and the Queen were two of a kind.
However, they always lie. They lie to themselves, and in doing so, deceive everyone else around them. They call it patriotism, a righteous act…
The Frankish Emperor Henri III must have felt it too. The man is the biggest fool under heaven, but he was plenty unhinged enough to see through it. Think about it. From every direction, his ministers chirp, "For the people," "For the Emperor's glory." When in reality, they're only looking out for themselves.
It must have been soul-crushing. This is my own take, but I believe the Emperor dragged Henrietta in partly just to tell the nobles to go to hell.
Every faction thinks only of itself… yet they all lie and claim to be fighting for everyone. They don't even realize they're lying. And the price of their hypocrisy is borne not by themselves but by the common folk—the very people who had nothing to do with any of it. In the worst possible form: massacre. What a mess.
Well, saying the world is a rotten hellscape is tired talk. Not even worth raising a glass over. Here's the real question:
Where does the grudge of the slaughtered go?
Someone was definitely lying. The nobles, Henrietta, the Emperor—even the common people themselves were caught up in the lies. It wasn't only nobles who participated in the massacres. Obviously, the commoners killed their own fellow citizens, their own villagers.
They're deceiving themselves. Because they are, they don't even have the awareness that they caused the massacre. They just point fingers: "It happened because of the Royalists," "It happened because of the Republicans," and keep on fighting. They have absolutely no intention of taking responsibility.
As everyone looks away, the grudge of those who were sacrificed will slowly fade from memory. After a couple of generations turn over, people will reminisce—"There was a tragedy like that back then"—and talk about it like it was someone else's story. No one will ever deliver justice for them…
In that case, I suppose there's nothing wrong with me claiming that grudge on their behalf.
It's a grudge destined to be forgotten by history anyway. One that no one will ever take responsibility for anyway. If it's something that's going to be thrown away and forgotten, it shouldn't matter if someone who simply happened to walk by and find it picks it up.
I smiled.
"The Bretagne army is currently in an extremely precarious situation. Having lost their grain supplies, they have no choice but to either fortify their position or retreat. Our objective is to restrict the range of the Bretagne army's movements."
"Restrict their range of movement."
Marbas continued stroking his beard, his gaze fixed on me. His cool, penetrating eyes slowly sank as though weighing my intentions.
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's simple, Lord Marbas. We slaughter every last Royalist civilian."
The Demon Lords murmured among themselves. Beleth, who had been yawning with boredom, and the other Demon Lords like Sitri whipped their heads around to look this way.
In particular, Brother Beleth let his eyes dart back and forth, signaling with his gaze: What? What are you talking about? He'd been half-dozing through the political talk, but the moment the word "massacre" came up, his interest must have spiked. It was so utterly consistent with my character that I couldn't help but laugh.
"Massacre? Dantalion, I fail to understand the intent."
Had he taken my laughter as an ill omen? Paimon spoke in an anxious tone.
"A massacre is exactly what it sounds like. We begin with the surrounding villages and towns, leaving nothing behind. We'll simply recreate the massacre from four years ago—but in reverse."
"So you're saying the reason for the massacre needs to be explained…."
"This is black-and-white logic, Lord Paimon."
Paimon. I'm well aware that you're relatively friendly toward the human race. But this isn't a bad story for you either.
"Our forces massacre the Royalists. How will the nobles and commoners belonging to the Royalists react? They'll resist violently, of course. But in reality, they have no military force capable of opposing us."
"…."
"They have only one card left to play. They have no choice but to scream for the Queen of Bretagne's help. Bretagne has declared itself the protector of the Royalists. Like it or not, the Queen must seriously consider the Royalists' plea."
To Henrietta, they were the foundation of her support base. A political faction that turns its back on its support base has no future.
"As a matter of fact, Parisiorum is a holy site for the Royalists. It's where the massacre was carried out most thoroughly. Now, here's the real question… would the Queen of Bretagne simply abandon Parisiorum and walk away?"
"…!"
Marbas clenched his fist.
"So you're saying they won't be able to escape the city easily—that's what you mean!"
The other Demon Lords' gazes turned serious as well. I found myself growing amused for reasons I couldn't quite place.
"Exactly. If the Queen abandons Parisiorum and flees, she'll have betrayed her own support base. Even if she succeeds in escaping, she'll be condemned for forsaking her duty."
It's not just the Franks who will condemn her. This time, the Bretagnans will condemn their Queen too.
To put it in an analogy—it would be as if an Islamic army's command fled to save themselves, even though it was obvious the Christian army was going to massacre the city. What was that army for, if not to protect the Royalists…? The voices condemning the Queen would grow louder.
"And if the enemy doesn't retreat—that works for us too. They'll be forced into an endless siege. They've lost every last grain of military provisions, after all. It becomes a war that favors us."
"I see…."
Marbas let out an admiring breath. He nodded slowly, as if savoring my strategy, tapping his chin with his fingertip.
"Either way you choose, their future is extremely bleak."
This is a checkmate, Henrietta.
If you want to save your army, abandon your supporters. If you want to gain supporters, abandon your army. Both the royalists and the Bretagne forces seem precious to you, but the truth of the world is that you can never have it all.
You cannot survive without sacrificing one. It's a simple truth. But you're greedy, aren't you? You want to have everything. This time, I'll teach you firsthand what it means to choose between two paths. What, don't be shy. I won't even charge you extra for the private lesson. After all, I am quite kind, you know…