People rose at dawn.
"We will sell."
The old man from the trading caravan approached and spoke. He had clearly spent the entire night deliberating. His face had grown gaunt in just one night. Deciding whether or not to deal with us must have been one of the most critical crossroads of his merchant career. Yet his eyes still burned with a sharp gleam.
Zacharie on our side accepted readily.
"A wise decision. How much are you prepared to sell?"
"However much the knight desires."
The two finalized the deal. Normally, when this magnitude of goods and money changed hands, a fierce battle of nerves would ensue. But on their side stood a weapons merchant, and on ours, mercenaries. Both were experts when it came to arms. An appropriate price was reached in no time.
We parted ways with the caravan and proceeded along the Imperial Road. Once again, skeletal, barren trees stretched endlessly on all sides. We moved at a leisurely pace, leading our loaded wagons.
Zacharie rode his black horse and spoke.
"They've caught a lucky break over there. If a wagon full of weapons appears in the middle of a civil war, they'll skip the trading and loot it first, promising payment later. Happens all the time."
"Zacharie, are you planning to present the weapons to the Empress Dowager and make a good impression?"
War always meant a shortage of arms. Deliver a large cache of weapons at a time like that, and you'd earn a voice in the matter. You'd go from being pushed around to holding some small measure of influence. Not a bad thought at all.
You'd never make it into the high command making strategy, but if you could at least determine the placement of your own unit, that was more than enough. Whether you were positioned on the right flank or the left—where you belonged could drastically change your survival rate. Zacharie's judgment was sound.
"That is correct."
"Good. But it's not the best move."
"Could you explain why?"
Zacharie did not appear particularly offended. Ever since the meeting concluded last night, his manner had grown even more respectful. Yesterday, the dynamic had felt like a mercenary addressing an employer. Today, it felt like a knight attending his liege. A welcome change, as far as I was concerned.
"Instead of handing the weapons over to the Empress Dowager's camp, give the weapons to the people."
"Pardon?"
"You mean to say I should provoke a popular uprising."
Zacharie furrowed his brow, lost in thought. After a long while, he spoke.
"Your Highness. A popular uprising is extremely dangerous. Frank is not like other countries. The villagers' autonomy is weak, and knights are plentiful. It is perfectly suited for suppressing rebellions. Moreover, Frank's republican faction consists entirely of those who support a noble republic. They would never endorse a popular uprising."
Zacharie was the branch chief of the Liberation Alliance. He understood the internal affairs of Frank better than anyone. He must have endlessly deliberated over whether republicanism was viable, whether revolution was truly possible. As a senior member of the revolutionary alliance, he had surely made his judgment rationally.
An uprising was still premature.
"If the scale of the uprising is insignificant, it will be quelled immediately. Its meaning will be lost. In other words, a large-scale uprising must be provoked—but in doing so, one might inadvertently give the royalists ammunition."
After all, the goal of republicanism was for the people to overthrow their overlords, wasn't it? The royalists would attack on exactly that point. The republican faction would waver. They were nobles themselves, after all. Most republican nobles could not bring themselves to support a popular revolt.
"The royalists and republicans might stop their civil war and reach a compromise. It would all be for nothing. Your Highness. I am opposed to distributing weapons to the people."
"But what would happen if the Kingdom of Bretagne intervened?"
I smiled.
"Pardon?"
"Frank and Bretagne are mortal enemies. The people rose up on their own to resist Bretagne."
Not against the nobles. They would be fighting against Bretagne's invading army. Would the nobles have any justification to stop them?
"The people would be given the title of 'righteous army.'"
"…!"
Zacharie's mouth fell open slightly. It had opened on its own. His expression grew more severe than ever. He had a habit of contorting his features when deep in thought.
"It's possible… no, it will certainly work!"
He said in a low voice. Hot excitement trembled in his tone.
"The Empress Dowager and the republican nobles will massively support the righteous army!"
"Indeed. After all, there is nothing more formidable than a political faction backed by the will of the people."
Farmers rise up to defend the nation. The republicans' standing soars overnight. In the already teetering battle of legitimacy, the scales tip further toward the Empress Dowager.
The longer the war drags on, the fiercer the popular uprisings become. The righteous army will win more and more victories against the foreign invaders.
Eventually, even the nobles won't be able to ignore the righteous army's deeds of valor. The voice of the minor nobles and commoners will grow powerful. Battle-hardened through countless fights, these righteous soldiers now have a political voice to match—
"Let me ask you something. Do you think the republican nobles will stand by and watch the commoners grow in strength?"
"…No. Most of them will try to suppress the commoners."
"Correct."
I smiled.
"Then the next question: do you think the commoners will quietly accept it when the republican nobles try to exploit them?"
"……."
From the righteous army's perspective, there was no greater injustice than this. They had bled and sweated to fight for their homeland.
The very nobles who had been backing them all this time—the ones who tossed around lofty words like equality and freedom—turned their backs the moment the war ended. It was a textbook case of biting the hand that feeds you. They had every right to be furious.
"If they had no combat experience, and if they didn't have weapons in hand, the anger would have remained just that—anger. But by now, a considerable number of those righteous soldiers will have been forged into an elite force. And they have sharp spears and blades."
"A massive… revolution…"
That's right.
A revolution is coming.
"The Emperor of the Franks was so consumed by his thirst for power that he invited foreign forces into the land. He knew full well that foreign armies would ravage his own people, and he did it anyway. That alone was enough to destroy his authority. Even if the Empress Dowager wins the civil war, she is not the rightful master of the imperial house. The Empire will lose all legitimacy."
"……."
"Now we need to give the people a justification of their own."
For that purpose, I had spent the entire night drafting a manuscript.
Excluding the vast majority who couldn't read, the revolutionaries would also draw in minor nobles and wealthy commoners. They would read my pamphlet and arm themselves with theory. And then they would give speeches to the people—not through written text, but through the spoken word. They would explain why we are the righteous ones.
"Well, it's still a distant story. Even at the quickest, it'll be another two or three years. We'll need to work quite hard for that future."
I turned around with a smile. Jacques and Jeremy were staring back at me blankly. Their expressions were rather amusing.
"A mindset of simply cooperating with the Empress Dowager won't cut it. You need to swear that you'll see the Empire's banner fall over Franc and raise the banner of revolution everywhere. I'll show you your dreams being realized."
Our party arrived at the village for the first time.
Bercy was a small barony.
As if to prove they had barely survived a harsh winter, quite a few corpses lay piled along the Imperial Road. They had been carried out from the village. The bodies of the elderly and children were the most numerous.
"Not exactly a rare sight in the hell of the Demon Realm."
Jeremy said that perhaps the families had deliberately killed them. Young children and the elderly were nothing but labor with no immediate use. With plague and famine overlapping, they were the first who had to be disposed of.
A group of roughly fifty arrived with horses and carriages, and it seemed a state of emergency had been declared in the territory. When we reached the village entrance, several dozen soldiers were standing guard with spear tips leveled our way. Among them was a single knight in plate armor. That must have been the baron.
"Halt!"
A man standing near the baron stepped forward and shouted. He was the lord's retainer—a close aide who could lead the army in the lord's stead during emergencies. He was probably a village chief or landowner from one of the villages within the barony.
Seeing several dozen soldiers gathered, it seemed they had caught wind of our arrival well in advance. The lord's rule must have been quite solid. The soldiers weren't holding farming tools—they carried proper spears and bows.
"This is the territory granted to Baron Bercy by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor! State your identity!"
"I am Jacques Bonhomme of the Green Beard, captain of the Two-Bladed Axe Mercenary Company."
Jacques urged his horse forward and pulled a parchment scroll from inside his coat.
"We carry the mobilization order of Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Dowager and are traveling along the Imperial Road. We wish to spend one night in this territory. I trust you will not disregard the will of Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Dowager."
The retainer walked over toward us. He took the scroll from Jacques and delivered it to the baron. Baron Bercy removed his helmet and read the scroll over carefully. He was a handsome man with bright blond hair.
Baron Bercy nodded once. He spoke.
"Indeed, orders have come down from the Imperial Capital to grant passage to mercenary companies."
He had probably just turned thirty. His voice was deep and steady, carrying a well-centered composure. The natural bearing of a noble was plain in him. As a baron and a territorial lord, he was upper nobility—cut from a different cloth than the rabble of miscellaneous knights.
"Among them is the name of the Two-Edged Axe mercenary company, no mistake. But Jacques Bonhomme, mercenary captain—I have no interest whatsoever in the pointless political squabbles of the capital. I see no reason to obey the central government's orders beyond what is necessary, let alone the orders of someone other than His Majesty the Emperor."
"Oh ho."
I whistled softly under my breath. What a fierce-mouthed gentleman we had here. He was either supremely confident in his own strength or had a powerful noble backing him. Come to think of it, this man had seized a midpoint stronghold along the Imperial Road—there was no way he lacked ability...
Jacques replied in an indifferent tone.
"That is none of your concern, my lord. We are acting under the orders of Her Majesty the Dowager Empress, and you may accept us or not—it is entirely your choice. Of course, Her Majesty the Dowager Empress will be watching with great interest to see how the Baronets choose to conduct themselves."
He was making absolutely no effort to hide the threat.
But Baron Bercy did not retreat a single step.
"I will be blunt. Unfortunately, our territory does not have the resources to feed and house fifty soldiers. You are unwelcome guests—nothing more, nothing less."
"Blunt indeed."
Even Jacques cracked a faint smile at that. An interesting character had appeared.
"Then what will you do? Will you drive us out just like that? Be mindful of the capital's wrath."
"Of course I am afraid of it. But do not play dumb with me, mercenary captain. In Franka there are two suns. Whether we accept you or turn you away, the capital's wrath does not spare us either way."
In other words, he did not wish to side with the Emperor's faction, nor with the Dowager Empress's faction.
"You may spend the night in the fields outside the village. I will even provide warm soup. But you will not be permitted inside the village itself. Do I make myself clear, mercenary captain?"
"There is nothing in this world that cannot be understood, Baron Bercy."
Jacques smiled. From here on, it was a negotiation. Both sides had laid out what they wanted and what the other wanted. All that remained was to find a way to convince each other.
"We have been sleeping rough for days on end now. Our muscles are stiff as boards, our backs are bent and aching. Surely the Baronets can understand our desire to let bodies that may be thrust into battle at any moment spend even one night in a warm place."
"And what do I receive in return for sympathizing with your situation?"
"Our company happens to be delivering a quantity of Black Herb."
This was the truth. The Black Death was still roaming the continent. If an epidemic swept through an army, it was the end. Just in case, they had loaded the wagons with plenty of Black Herb.
"Hmm."
Baron Bercy crossed his arms and tapped his right foot.
"An attractive proposition. My domain is in need of Black Herb. If you can provide a reasonable supply, I'd even be willing to throw a few pieces of chicken into the stew. But incurring His Imperial Majesty's wrath wouldn't be worth the trouble. Surely there's a better way?"
"This gentleman here is not a mercenary but a priest of the Temple of Artemis."
Jacques pointed at me. I had been wearing a black robe for several hours already — a forged identity that Jeremy had prepared for me. Nothing in the world could be funnier than me, the Demon Lord, becoming a temple priest. And I was rather fond of funny things. I bowed my head respectfully toward the Baron.
"A pilgrim who wanders the land to comfort poor souls in these dire times."
"So you're saying we're not providing lodging and meals to your mercenary company, but to a pilgrimage party?"
"That is correct."
"Hmm..."
Baron Bercy looked us over with a sweeping glance.
"Magnificent."
He threw his arms wide open.
"Disciples of Artemis! And holy warriors who protect them! The lands of Bercy welcome you!"