Sure enough. The marquis unleashed a bribery offensive.
Three thousand or five thousand gold coins was laughable. At the end of each day, the regiment commanders would file in with embarrassed expressions to report, "Um, Your Excellency the Court Count, here is today's tally." Each day, I praised the commander who brought in the most gold and berated the one with the lowest haul.
"How dense can you be! I tell you to take it and you just gobble it up without any push and pull—where's the finesse?"
"You've charmed lovers by the dozens, yet you can't properly wrap one old marquis around your finger. What a bunch of idiots! If you bring back this little again tomorrow, you'll taste hell, believe me."
"Are you joking with me right now! What in the world am I supposed to do with a mere thousand gold coins! A child's allowance would be more than that!"
After four days, the mercenary commanders were gritting their teeth in frustration.
Even though the situation was utterly bizarre—accepting bribes under their superior's own permission—the mercenary commanders descended upon the marquis like yaksha. Their eyes bloodshot, they reported to me with perfectly serious faces: "Today I earned five thousand," "I brought in three thousand."
"Hm."
I was quite satisfied.
"Good. I think it's time I imparted my secret techniques to you all."
"Secret… techniques?"
"Who do you think I am? I am Dantalion. I am the Demon Lord who once rose to rank 71. Wash out your ears with the waters of the Trebia and listen carefully."
And so the Dantalion Special Course was secretly held inside the camp.
"You leak false information, and you leak true information. If everyone cooperates smoothly, the marquis won't catch on. The important thing is that the marquis himself thinks, 'Hmm, I couldn't convince that one, but this one was practically recruited.'"
A method of gaining the other party's trust precisely by spreading false information.
"Information always has to be only half-right. Even if you tell him a supply convoy will pass at this time on this day, the convoy shouldn't actually pass at that exact time. You should say an hour earlier. Or an hour later."
"Um… Your Excellency."
Baroness Juliana de Blanc raised her hand cautiously. She was holding a notebook and had been transcribing everything I said with a quill pen.
"Excuse me. Wouldn't that make the marquis suspicious of us?"
"It's the exact opposite. As long as the marquis isn't an idiot, he's going to stay suspicious right up to the end no matter what. In situations like this, you actually need to let mistakes slip through. You make the other person think, 'Hmm, if this person had truly wanted to deceive me, he would have put on a flawless performance — but the way he's stumbling around, it seems like he's probably not trying to trick me after all,' and that puts them at ease."
It was a method of deliberately mixing in mistakes to actually reassure the other party.
"The important thing is to make the other side believe they hold the advantage. The more we make mistakes here and there, the more the marquis will get cocky. He'll look down on us, saying something like, 'I paid you all that money and this is the best you can do?' You have to plant that illusion firmly — that he's the one in control…."
By making the other party believe they held the superior position, you ultimately dispelled their suspicions.
"Understood, all of you?"
"Yes. Your Excellency."
The special lecture lasted three hours.
For some reason, the mercenary commanders were gazing at me with looks of tremendous respect. Though it was still a far cry from the reverence they showed when looking at Laura.
If the way they looked at Laura was 'Our Supreme Commander, Your Excellency, is truly extraordinary!', then the way they looked at me was more like '…Dantalion, Your Excellency, is, how should I put it. Yes. Truly a remarkable individual…' What did it matter? Respect was respect either way. I felt quite pleased.
"From now on, you are all my students. I do not take just anyone as a student."
"……"
"My standards are strict, and no exceptions will be tolerated. You will suck the Kingdom of Sardinia's royal household dry down to the marrow and eat their duodenums as sashimi."
The mercenary commanders swallowed hard.
"I sincerely wish you all the best of luck!"
"We shall carry out your orders, Your Excellency!"
They were wrapped in the grim resolve of people facing death itself. I wondered if this was what the face of a second-year retaker on the eve of the college entrance exam looked like.
While the battalion commanders were pulling off the greatest con job of the century against the marquis, our imperial army had begun constructing supply depots.
The supply line stretched from Novara to Pavia to Piacenza to Parma. All four bases were connected by rivers. Using the waterways as lifelines, the imperial army completed a strong and efficient supply route.
Since we had thoroughly stripped one city and its surrounding villages of resources, we wouldn't need to worry about food supplies at least until the end of the year. Anything we deemed insufficient, we purchased directly from the local residents by paying them in cash.
Of course, the locals had no desire to do business with us, an invading army. However, when we presented them with a choice between being robbed or meekly selling their goods, every single one of them chose the latter without hesitation. In truth, we imperial soldiers were quite gentlemanly — purchasing supplies with money, after all.
Meanwhile, back on the imperial homeland, the diplomatic war continued without pause.
— Our nation has achieved an overwhelming victory over the forces of Sardinia, yet as befitting the victor, we wish to extend magnanimity.
— The Kingdom of Sardinia shall return the territories that rightfully belong to Duke Laura de Farnese — namely, the Duchy of Piacenza-Parma. Furthermore, as war reparations, the Duchy of Milan shall be incorporated into the Farnese family's holdings.
— Should the above conditions be met, our nation pledges that no harm shall befall the Sardinian royal family, nor the subjects living under Sardinian rule. With the exception of Pavia, the chief instigator of this war, our nation has not engaged in pillaging any territory. This is the sincere will of the Habsburg Empire.
The ones leading the diplomatic offensive were Gamigin, Lapis, and Ivar.
Lapis and Ivar faithfully relayed my intentions, and on that basis, Gamigin commanded the diplomatic delegation from the front. I wrote the script and the lines, and they carried them out. A magnificent team effort.
When things developed this way, the Sardinian nobles began to waver.
Watching how the situation unfolded, they had to admit — was there really any reason to go to war?
The Duke of Milan was already catching severe criticism. He had driven the Count of Pavia to certain death, passively watched as the military stronghold of Novara fell, and even stood by doing nothing as the Grand Duke of Florence was defeated right before his very eyes.
To the nobles who didn't know the full picture, it must have seemed like the worst coward in all the world.
And as it happened, the only thing the Habsburg Empire wanted was the Duchy of Milan.
They had no plans to encroach on any other territory and no intention of pillaging. And they were actually keeping to that. From the nobles' perspective, the thought must have been tempting — "If we just get rid of the Duke of Milan...?"
Count of Pavia's death, the fall of Novara, the Grand Duke of Florence's defeat — all of it was the Duke of Milan's responsibility. Shouldn't he have to answer for it, one way or another? Those voices were gradually growing louder.
Naturally, the Duke of Milan would fly into a rage. The Sforza family that ruled Milan had a long and storied history. They were no expendable pawns to be discarded as cleanly as cutting off a lizard's tail.
But the more the Duke of Milan raged, the colder the looks directed at him became. If he had no intention of taking responsibility, then the least he could do was go out and fight. Each time, the Duke would counter — "Just hold out a little longer, and the mercenaries will disband on their own!"
That's right.
This is exactly what I'm aiming for.
Right here, the Kingdom of Sardinia splits apart.
"Court Count Dantalion...!"
It was around the time that nearly a month had passed since we fortified the supply depot.
Marquis Rodi burst into my tent, snorting steam from his nostrils. The marquis's face was flushed crimson from his neck all the way up to his shiny, bald forehead. There was no mistaking it — he was furious.
"Come in, Marquis."
"You deceived me! You used the mercenary company to make a fool of me!"
I let a faint smile cross my face. It seemed the bald marquis had finally realized, after a full month, that he had been dancing like a puppet all along.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Mercenary company? Marquis, surely you didn't make personal contact with our mercenary captains?"
"Don't play dumb with me!"
It wasn't an act. If I casually admitted "Yes, you're right" right here, what then? I had no intention of volunteering testimony that would put me at a disadvantage.
"Now I know exactly what kind of person you are, Court Count! Exactly!"
Marquis Rodi closed the distance in heavy strides. He shoved his face right up to mine. I could count every wrinkle, every mark of the years he'd lived.
"All you know is lies, down to the bone! You have no interest in anything except toying with and deceiving others! And yet you spout nonsense about the peace of the continent, the friendship between our nations — whatever suits you…… I despise you, Court Count Dantalion!"
I crossed my legs and rested my fingertips on top.
"A deceiver, a betrayer, a trickster? My ears aren't even itching. Go ahead and rant your heart out until you've cooled down."
"Wha..."
"You are the plenipotentiary ambassador of Sardinia. The fate of Sardinia's ten million subjects rests on your shoulders. Likewise, I represent the Empire. Whether I am despised or not, as long as the Empire is well, there is no problem at all."
I looked straight into the pupils of Marquis Rodi.
I was someone who had never once been overwhelmed by another's presence. Not Barbatos, not Agares, not even Bael had been able to steal my composure. I did not think you could accomplish what they could not, Marquis.
"I don't care what tricks you pulled with the mercenary company. The only certainty we have is this, Marquis: if negotiations fail, the war continues."
"......"
"Let me be perfectly clear. You have failed."
I smiled.
In the end, the Marquis achieved nothing that day either and departed alone. Perhaps because a considerable sum of gold coins had been tossed to the wind, his footsteps lacked all vigor.
The next day, I made it widely known that the Sardinian royal family had been bribing our mercenary corps.
I expressed deep regret that while the Imperial Army was conducting an exceedingly "gentlemanly" war — refraining from pillaging civilian homes and the like — the Kingdom's forces had resorted to such "unchivalrous" methods as bribery.
Among the Sardinian nobility, a bomb went off immediately.
What had been the Duke of Milan's reasoning for insisting on a siege strategy all this time? It stemmed from his assessment that the Imperial mercenary corps lacked funds. And yet the Sardinian royal family had ordered Marquis Rody to scatter the very gold coins he'd deemed so insufficient.
The Duke of Milan violently denounced the royal family for bungling the matter. His grand strategy had crumbled to nothing in the blink of an eye.
The Duke of Milan, who had done nothing up until now, was ironically the loudest one raising his voice. The royal family must have been dumbfounded as well. They officially reprimanded the Duke of Milan for standing idle through the Count of Pavia's death and the Grand Duke of Florence's defeat. They even threatened that he should immediately take the field to restore his honor.
The nobility immediately split into three factions.
The faction led by the Duke of Milan, redirecting the arrows of blame toward the royal family.
The faction centered on the royal family, demanding that the Duke of Milan take responsibility.
And finally, the faction that wanted to stop this pointless squabbling and simply start preparing for war. The Grand Duke of Florence belonged to this one.
In the end, our Imperial Army spent a month completing the logistics base, continued the diplomatic offensive, and managed to divide the enemy forces as well. The enormous profits reaped from the mercenary commanders were merely a bonus.
"Now then."
Sipping wine, I gazed down at the plain. The rivers of Sardinia flowed endlessly onward. I moistened my lips with the red wine and murmured quietly to myself.
"I'm growing weary of waiting. Come soon, Elizabeth."
Calling out to the one person capable of standing against my empire.