Military forces were mustered from across the Empire.
I brought the Emperor along and headed outside the Imperial Capital. Civil and military officials trailed behind us. We all wore resplendent garments, and I draped a crimson cloak over my shoulders. Hundreds of courtiers, great and small, hurried after us with brisk steps.
"Behold the Empire's sole sovereign, blessed by all gods and receiving the fealty of all demons—His Imperial Majesty, the great Emperor of Habsburg!"
A broad platform had been erected on the wide plains outside the city. A herald spotted us and boomed out his announcement. His magically amplified voice rang across every corner of the plains, and roughly two hundred guards snapped to attention in unison.
Here, an unusual spectacle unfolded. I did not ride a horse. Nor did I climb into a palanquin. I simply relied on my prosthetic leg and cane, hobbling along as I walked. The Emperor matched my pace, and so the hundreds of people following us had no choice but to move along at a sluggish crawl.
"..."
It was the most eloquent of silent demonstrations.
Those unsightly, limping steps simultaneously proved, in quiet silence, who the true power behind the Empire was. The people watched with solemn reverence as I ascended the platform alongside the Emperor.
I stood atop the high platform and surveyed the plains.
Ministers, soldiers, and above all, envoys from foreign nations. The envoys had gathered in a tight cluster at one edge of the parade ground, casting nervous glances our way. I raised my right hand expressionlessly.
—BWWOOOOM.
The horn-blasts sounded. Shivering blades of grass betrayed the grim atmosphere.
Moments later, something akin to distant drumbeats began rumbling softly from the very spot where the horn-calls had faded. The vibrations crept closer from across the plain. A column of cavalry was charging toward us, trailing a cloak of dust behind them.
Hundreds of warhorses snorted fiercely as they bore down on us. Leading the charge at the very front was none other than the Demon Lord Marbas. Tucking his helmet against his hip, Marbas guided his mount skillfully with one hand.
The herald unfurled a parchment and cried out:
"The noble Grand King of Pannonia, eternal guardian of the Habsburg Imperial House, and the Empire's greatest pillar—the Sebastokrator Marbas! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with five thousand men-at-arms!"
The soldiers swept around the outer edge of the parade ground in a wide arc, passing slowly before the platform. The banner of Demon Lord Marbas fluttered in the wind—a lion clutching a set of scales.
"..."
Marbas turned his upper body toward us. He raised his fist to his right chest. A military salute—a gesture that had once belonged to the Demon Lord's army and now belonged to the Imperial army. Meeting Marbas's gaze from afar, I quietly raised my fist to my chest in return.
Marbas's forces swept past the platform and drew into neat formation on the plain. Five thousand soldiers cooled their heated bodies with rough, heaving breaths. As they exhaled their heat in silence, the sound of hoofbeats once again rose from beyond the far side of the plain.
The banner bore a three-horned goat.
The herald cried out once more:
"The noble Grand Duke of Luxembourg, noble Elector of Mainz, and Grand Steward of the Empire—Sitri! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with ten thousand men-at-arms!"
Sitri rode atop a massive mountain goat at the head of an army ten thousand strong. A violet cloak snapped in the fierce wind.
Sitri had absorbed every last one of Paimon's personal troops. He had also taken in the forces of the purged Mountain Faction Demon Lords. If one were to pick the Demon Lord with the most soldiers under their command, it would be Sitri without question.
"..."
Sitri swept past the platform and saluted me.
Because I stood right beside the Emperor, from a distance one might not have been able to tell where Sitri's gaze was directed—but from this vantage point, it was perfectly clear. Not Sitri my lover, but Sitri the head of the Mountain Faction—Sitri with a cold, expressionless face—stood there. I returned the salute with an equally icy expression.
Ten thousand soldiers filed into formation alongside Marbas's forces. The heat of anticipation only grew.
The emblem of a unicorn bearing a stag's antlers.
"The noble Duke of Moravia, commander of all the Empire's seas, and immortal patron of the Imperial House—Gamigin! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with four thousand men-at-arms!"
The emblem of a crocodile wearing an inverted crown.
"The noble Elector of Cologne, wise counselor of the Imperial House—Vassago! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with three thousand men-at-arms!"
The emblem of Anubis with a black cloth wrapped around its eyes.
"Count of Zaghan—Amon! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with three thousand men-at-arms!"
The emblem of a white bear biting a venomous snake in its fangs.
"Count of Bayreuth—Purson! He answers His Majesty's solemn muster with two thousand men-at-arms!"
The fifteen Demon Lords who had survived until now.
They each circled the parade ground in order of rank and took their positions. Some undoubtedly yearned for war, while others wished they had no part in it. Yet every Demon Lord who passed the platform showed me the backs of their fists, and every one had to receive my salute in return.
A combined force of forty-two thousand.
Fifteen different banners blazed brilliantly in the wind.
"..."
The envoys gazed upon the Imperial host with fear in their eyes. Forty-two thousand was an impressive number by any measure, but this was a legion of Demonkin. At minimum, twice the strength of a human army—and in the right circumstances, perhaps three times.
Put another way, if measured by human standards, nearly a hundred thousand men-at-arms stood arrayed before them.
Yet there was still one force that had not yet taken its place on the plain. One more banner remained—the one that should have claimed this air and dominated it.
Far in the distance, a cloud of dust rose into the sky. A legion was approaching, its passage shaking the very earth.
It was not the tremor of hundreds, nor of thousands. The hoofbeats and footsteps exceeded those numbers by a vast margin. Sunlight cutting through the dust clouds set tens of thousands of spear tips glinting.
A banner of blue hydrangeas.
"The noble Duke of Farnese!"
At its head, leading the great host, was a golden-haired woman.
She rode a black horse named Amicus, her sky-blue cloak billowing behind her as she approached. Behind her, soldiers maintained their ranks with solemn precision. No orders were exchanged, yet the formation was flawless.
"The Emperor's sole proxy commander—Laura de Farnese! She answers His Majesty's solemn muster with thirty thousand men-at-arms!"
That was my army.
The banner of Demon Lord Dantalion was nowhere to be seen—only the colors of House Farnese flew in the wind. But every Demon Lord assembled here knew perfectly well: that grand army of Helvetica mercenaries and multinational soldiers was the host of Demon Lord Dantalion himself.
With the Plains Faction in ruins, Helvetica's mercenaries stood alongside the Neutral Faction as the finest elites remaining. Moreover, they had only recently carried the Second Chrysanthemum War to victory. No—"victory" was far too modest a word for what they had accomplished.
They had forged the legend that was Laura de Farnese.
Absolute trust in their commander.
Loyalty born from always receiving more than the promised compensation.
And the pride of knowing they were rewriting the history of the continent.
This legion, with Laura de Farnese at its apex, operated on an entirely different level from the other forces. Dozens of mercenary captains followed immediately behind Laura, surveying their surroundings with easy confidence. Among them were familiar faces—Baron Juliana de Blanc, Zackly, and others I recognized.
"..."
Laura halted before the platform.
The other commanders had swept past the platform, but Laura dismounted. Then, alone, she climbed the platform steps with steady, heavy footfalls.
Laura dropped to one knee. The direction she bowed toward pointed to the space between the Emperor and me. I looked down at Laura and spoke calmly. The words exchanged between us carried across the plain to its farthest corners.
"Duchess Laura de Farnese."
"Yes."
"The Empire faces a new challenge—one that scorns our honor, threatens our lives, and stands in the way of our future. Laura de Farnese, the Ever-Victorious. Are you prepared to bring the hammer down upon these insolent challengers?"
Laura lowered her head and placed her hand over her right chest.
A voice that was both beautiful and utterly resolute flowed from her lips.
"With every ounce of my life and conviction, I shall obey."
"I hereby delegate full authority of the war to Duchess Farnese."
I received the sword from the Emperor and bestowed it upon Laura. Laura accepted the sword reverently with both hands, then raised her head.
Laura's eyes burned with cruel, vengeful fire.
She spoke in a cold voice:
"From this moment on, the only thing permitted to those traitors who stand in the Empire's way is a just death."
Laura did not know the true details of the current situation.
To her, Daisy was a traitor who had repaid kindness with rebellion. When she heard that Daisy's betrayal had forced me to sever my own left foot, Laura's face twisted like a demon's. The story of Elisabeth conspiring with Daisy had fueled her hatred further.
"Not just death—but a death beyond all cruelty. Agonizing pain. I shall make those traitors understand what the hell of the living world truly is."
What drove Laura now was pure hatred.
If Laura and I shared one trait, it was this: the more our hatred rotted away at the edges of our hearts, the colder and more composed we became.
Laura had traveled alone to the Helvetica Confederation, where she persuaded clan leaders and mercenary captains to join her cause. She then swept up the mercenary companies scattered across northern Sardinia, rallying them in a single stroke. Hiring so many soldiers required an enormous sum, but it didn't matter. The funds that Ivar and I held were more than sufficient to sustain an army of thirty thousand.
"..."
I turned my gaze to the envoys. Among them, one figure—Saint Longwy—met my eyes as though she had been waiting for precisely this moment. Saint Longwy ascended the platform and took her place beside the Emperor.
The meaning was unmistakable.
If the Emperor were a corpse puppet resurrected through dark magic, there was no way a Saint like Longwy would stand by without acting. At least, that was what the world believed. The mere sight of Saint Longwy publicly supporting the Emperor directly contradicted Elisabeth's claims.
In truth, the Emperor had long since been replaced with Ivar's puppet.
Even if they were to examine him for dark magic now, they would find no evidence.
"..."
Laura rose and turned to face the rear.
Looking down upon the army of seventy thousand, Laura raised her right hand.
In that same instant, the soldiers erupted with a roar that seemed ready to bring the sky crashing down.
Voices chanting the name of Laura de Farnese shook the earth. Goddess of war. The great general who had toppled Bretagne and Sardinia. The soldiers thrust their spear tips skyward and pumped their arms like pistons without pause.
Late May, Year 1513 of the Continental Calendar.
The seventy-four-thousand-strong army of the Habsburg Empire.
The Emperor's proxy commander, Laura de Farnese, and sixteen Demon Lords.
Under the pretense of suppressing the rebel armies ravaging the homeland—southward.