"Why on earth aren't you mobilizing the army, Duke!"
The young man slammed his palm on the table and shouted.
"The enemy is plundering Pavia! For half a month now, without facing a single obstacle! They're trampling over Sardinia as though strolling through their own living room! This is absolutely absurd…!"
The young man's black curly hair was neatly trimmed short. His white forehead was beautiful.
But the young man's beauty did not lie in his refined forehead. On his forehead, between his brows, even at the tips of his eyebrows, vitality writhed violently. Yet his eyes—those deep eyes—barely suppressed all that ferocity.
That was where this young man's beauty truly lay. He was brimming with a vitality that could erupt at any moment, yet he held it in check with extraordinary self-restraint.
The young man was like a rider taming a wild horse. Just as the more savage and unruly the horse, the more remarkable the rider who controls it, so too did the young man prove his will by suppressing his innate ferocity.
"Do not worry, Grand Duke. The Imperial forces are short on supplies."
"Citizens are dying, citizens! The Duke is currently shirking his duty as a noble!"
The young man had just turned twenty-six this year.
His name was Cosimo de Medici—head of the House of Medici, second only to the king in status within the Kingdom of Sardinia, and Grand Duke of the great city of Florence.
"The Imperial army is powerful, and our garrison forces here are feeble. What can this old man possibly do?"
"Finding a way to resolve that is precisely the mission His Majesty the King has given you, Duke!"
"His Majesty ordered me to defend Milano."
The Duke of Milano shook his head.
He appeared as a hazy projection within the Magic Crystal Orb. The Duke of Milano, over sixty years of age, and the twenty-six-year-old Grand Duke of Florence—the two great nobles were currently holding a war council.
"The tragedy at Pavia is regrettable, but we cannot be penny-wise and pound-foolish."
"Penny-wise? Did you just say penny-wise?"
The Grand Duke of Florence's lips twitched.
"Allow me to tell you what being penny-wise truly means."
"This old man shall listen intently."
"When a sister city is being destroyed, yet you hoard your troops and refuse to send reinforcements."
The Grand Duke's dark eyes burned with intensity.
"When you could release prisoners but refuse to part with mere money, when military positions have been seized yet you fear disrupting existing plans so much that you take no action at all. That, Your Grace, is being penny-wise!"
The Grand Duke of Florence struck the table with a resounding bang.
"Remember your shame, Duke! Do you have any idea what they're saying about you in the royal capital right now? They're mocking you, saying that the Duke of Milan would make a better mistress of the house than Farnese's harlot!"
"……."
The Duke of Milan let out a sigh.
"Do listen carefully to this old man's words. The Imperial army is running short on supplies. They can barely afford to pay their mercenaries as it is."
"……Please, go on."
The young man held back his anger and listened for the time being.
He outranked the old man before him in noble precedence. Yet when it came to sheer influence, the master of Milan and the master of Florence were evenly matched. Nominally superior, but equals in practice. The young man was not foolish enough to act high and mighty toward such an opponent.
The Kingdom of Sardinia had only a few years ago endured a civil war. Roughly half the noble houses had fallen during that conflict. The aristocrats who survived that hell were uniformly formidable.
Though the Duke of Milan and the Grand Duke of Florence were separated by a wide gap in age—one old, one young—both had rendered extraordinary military service in annihilating House Farnese during the civil war. Both were exceptional.
—And precisely because they were exceptional, they recognized each other while remaining wary.
"If we hold fast and fortify our defenses, the Imperial army will exhaust itself and collapse. There are no easier enemies to deal with than mercenaries who haven't been paid."
"……."
"They will soon either mutiny or desert. Just as filthy fertilizer is needed for wheat to grow, glory always requires a measure of humiliation. We must endure!"
The Grand Duke of Florence tapped the edge of the table with his finger.
"What makes you so certain the enemy is short on supplies?"
"The Imperial army is rushing negotiations."
The Duke of Milan spoke with conviction.
"They're scrambling to hand over Pavia's citizens for even a pittance. That tells us they need money right away."
"...That's insufficient evidence, Your Grace."
The Grand Duke of Florence furrowed his brow slightly.
"They may simply be trying to pass the burden onto you because they grudge the food the prisoners consume. If Milan takes in ten thousand prisoners, it will inevitably face a food shortage."
"My city's granaries can sustain us for three more years."
"...How would the enemy know that? We cannot rashly conclude what they're after."
The Grand Duke of Florence calmly rebutted, though he clicked his tongue inwardly.
Three years' worth of rations to feed and shelter the entire citizenry. The Duke of Milan had clearly been preparing for war since long ago. The city walls must have been thoroughly reinforced as well.
*Tch, so there was a reason he was playing it safe.*
No matter how powerful the enemy was, he was confident he could defend his own city. But he had no confidence in winning a field battle. So whether a sister city was plundered or destroyed, he simply didn't care — he would hole himself up indefinitely...
*Despicable.*
The young Grand Duke's heart flooded with indignation.
*How can someone who fails to protect his citizens call himself a noble? More repugnant than incompetent evil is competent evil. If you have ambition, achieve the protection of your people and the fulfillment of your ambitions simultaneously! Isn't that the fundamental stance of a great noble?!*
The Grand Duke of Florence's resolve hardened with each passing moment.
He understood the Duke's strategy. But the evidence was far too thin. He could not command an army on the back of flimsy conjecture. That harlot's army, which had invaded the Kingdom of Sardinia, had to be driven out as soon as possible.
The Grand Duke spoke firmly.
"I find it difficult to agree with your strategy, Duke."
"Grand Duke de' Medici!"
"This is Sardinia, we are Sardinians, and they are invaders. Our duty is not to stand by meekly while our citizens' properties are plundered. Duke — coordinate with me and intercept the enemy forces."
The Duke of Milan's face twisted into a deep grimace.
"Clashing with the Imperial Army in open battle is the worst possible move! Have you already forgotten what fate befell Bretagne's knights?"
"It was the Demon Lord's army that defeated the knights, not a harlot."
"That is exactly what the Imperial Army wants — for us to look down on them and engage in open battle!"
The Grand Duke stared directly into the old Duke's eyes.
"Then let me propose this: whether the enemy surrounds and attacks Milan or not, my forces will not move an inch. Why don't you face the Imperial Army alone, Duke!"
"What are you…"
The old noble's face flushed crimson. Seeing this, the Grand Duke of Florence grew even angrier and roared.
"You cry foul when it's done to you, yet you would force the same injustice upon others!"
"……"
"Count Pavia was a man who sacrificed himself for us. Who was it that proposed we needed to make an example of the Farnese family by reducing the second princess to slavery? It was us. We all agreed to it. And Count Pavia carried it out on our behalf!"
The Grand Duke backhanded the glass sitting on the table. It struck the floor and shattered with a loud crash.
"To drive a man who once showed you mercy into the jaws of death…! His people are being slaughtered, and yet you cower in your manor like a coward!"
"Grand Duke! You go too far!"
"Have you no honor!"
Both nobles rose from their seats almost simultaneously.
"As acting general of His Majesty the King, I order you — join my forces!"
"You have no right to command my militia at will, Grand Duke! The supreme commander of the Northern Sardinian Army is none other than I, Ludovico Sforza!"
The two stared each other down, neither giving an inch.
"Not even you, Grand Duke — even if His Majesty the King himself came, he would have no right to command my citizens!"
"Foolish old man who fears neither heaven nor retribution...! Pavia shall curse you for eternity!"
The Grand Duke seized the Magic Crystal Orb on the spot and hurled it to the floor.
The orb shattered into pieces. It was a priceless artifact, but the Grand Duke wanted nothing more than to wipe that shameless old man's smug look off his face. He had no regrets.
The Grand Duke of Florence ground his military boot over the shards of the orb.
"You call us whores, but aren't we the ones who should be ashamed?!"
Protect the citizens.
Aid one's brothers.
Repel the invaders.
These were duties so obvious, so self-evident they hardly needed stating. The problem, if any, was that these duties were unbearably "heavy." For an ordinary human — one whose days were spent in grueling, backbreaking labor — they were simply too much.
It was the nobility who existed to bear this heavy burden in their stead.
A noble, after all, was nothing more and nothing less than one who shouldered the burdens that ought to be borne, on behalf of others. Strip away that role, and what nobility had any claim to dignity, let alone the right to levy taxes? What, exactly, was such a noble worth?
Nothing at all!
And a noble must prove that he was not, in fact, nothing...
The Grand Duke of Florence took every possible precaution.
First, he did not simply dismiss the information the Duke of Milan had relayed.
If the Duke of Milan's guess was correct — and it galled him to admit it — then the proper course of action was exactly what the Duke had described: to fight a siege. To that end, the Grand Duke devised a plan.
The Grand Duke dispatched an envoy to the Imperial Army, proposing that he would purchase Pavia's prisoners on the Duke's behalf.
'If the Imperial Army finds itself in urgent need of funds, they would do well to accept my offer.'
The Grand Duke made his judgment.
'If it wasn't about needing emergency funds but merely about causing a food shortage in Milan, they would reject my offer.'
And the Imperial Army rejected the Grand Duke's offer.
The envoy returned having failed. The Grand Duke did not blame the envoy. Rather, he rewarded him generously. He was now certain of his own judgment.
'The Imperial Army is not suffering from any shortage of supplies!'
What they wanted was not a short, decisive battle but a long war. They intended to force Milan into a protracted siege.
"Assemble the officers!"
The Grand Duke of Florence summoned his regimental commanders.
The regimental commanders were already captivated by the young and beautiful Grand Duke's charisma. The mercenary commanders hailed from all manner of backgrounds — Franks, Habsburgs, Sardinians, Politunians, and more. The Grand Duke of Florence spoke seven languages with effortless fluency, enchanting them all.
"Sound the march! From this moment, we lay waste to the Emperor's army!"
Under Grand Duke Cosimo de' Medici of Florence: 35,000 troops of the Kingdom of Sardinia.
Northward.
"We've been caught."
After sending the envoy off, I smiled.
Rau also returned my smile.
"There is no reason whatsoever for the Grand Duke of Florence to pay the ransom on behalf of the Duke of Milan. It was not the Grand Duke but the Duke who left Pavia to fall. And yet the Grand Duke sent an envoy…."
"To determine why we are trying to hand over prisoners for a pittance."
We chuckled softly.
"The enemy command has split beautifully, my lord. It would be unforgivably foolish to let this opportunity slip."
"Truly spoken. Let us put on a grand performance…."
The foe of a competent commander is not incompetent allies, but their own competence. I learned that from Queen Henrietta. Perhaps I should spread this fine lesson far and wide.