The Betrayed Master Betrays In Turn

Chapter 58

After entering Saint-Toir, Gerhardt quickly resolved critical tasks such as organizing the prisoners and reorganizing the army. Then, he issued orders:

"Any other movements reported?"

"None, sir. The remaining enemy forces are minimal and lack the capacity to act."

"Good. The soldiers deserve to enjoy their victory. Suspend training for a week and reduce guard duties to the bare minimum."

"Understood!"

With that, he effectively declared an end to the state of war.

"Are we out of liquor? Wasn’t it all finished last time?"

"That’s correct, sir."

"That’s unfortunate. Allow the soldiers some freedom to enjoy themselves, provided they cause no harm to civilians. If they wish, they may also be given an advance on their pay."

"Yes, sir!"

Having annihilated the enemy’s main army and captured their leadership, the Imperial officers raised no objections to Gerhardt’s decisions.

-Thud!

"See? I told you I’m a master with a shield."

"Ha! If I hadn’t been there to back you up, you’d have been dead long ago."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that."

"Because it’s true."

"...Idiot."

Officers and soldiers celebrated in taverns and markets, basking in the afterglow of victory.

"Hey, weren’t you with the 1st Provisional Legion?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Your Deputy Commander—don’t they call him the Supreme Commander over there?"

"Come to think of it, yeah."

"Right?"

"So... how did you guys lose?"

"Seriously. How do you lose with a general like that?"

"Because everyone other than General Viktor is useless?"

"Oh."

"Well... yeah."

The soldiers of the 8th, 10th, and 1st Provisional Legions, having faced death together, bonded under the shared banner of the Empire.

While the Imperial forces enjoyed their time in Saint-Toir, the person most credited for the victory, Viktor, had other priorities.

"Guillaume Châtillon, King of the Kingdom of Brotan."

"...Who are you?"

Following Viktor’s request to delay any celebrations until Brotan was fully subdued, he went to see Guillaume, who was being held alone in a guest room.

The conversation with Anna had helped Viktor regain his composure. Her words—that those who had passed on and those who stood behind him might be smiling—had lightened his heart.

Coming from Anna, who rarely spoke in such a way, her words had a greater impact. For now, he felt he could manage.

As "Viktor," he would strive to do his best, for those who believed in him.

"You’re working hard."

Dressed in the ceremonial uniform of an Imperial officer, Viktor approached the room where Guillaume was being held.

"Ah, Deputy Commander Viktor."

The soldiers standing guard outside the room saluted him.

On his way back to Saint-Toir, Viktor had contemplated how to treat Guillaume. Should he extend the courtesy befitting a king, or should he confront him as the future puppet ruler of a client state?

After much deliberation with Gerhardt, they had chosen the latter. A man like Guillaume might interpret respectful treatment as a sign of lingering opportunity.

"I’ll have a private conversation with Guillaume. See to it that no one interrupts."

"Understood!"

After issuing his orders, Viktor pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, Guillaume sat dressed in clean clothes, likely provided by the Empire, though the battered crown atop his head stood in stark contrast. His posture and expression, oddly dignified, left an impression.

"Let’s see how long he lasts."

And if it took longer than expected, they had plenty of time to spare.

***

For ten days, I repeated a cycle of one-sided conversations and leaving Guillaume to stew in isolation.

Recently, I had heard reports that Guillaume was struggling to sleep, his nights punctuated by screams echoing from his room. It was time to pay him another visit.

"How have you been? Holding up well?"

"Ugh... uh..."

"You seem to be having a hard time."

Guillaume was far more haggard than before. His previous air of authority had completely vanished. When I entered, he shrank into himself, trembling like a cornered animal.

The psychological pressure seemed to be working. Discussing the failures of the Battle of Baldua, emphasizing his tactical and strategic incompetence, and detailing the nobles’ reactions to his irrational retreat likely contributed to his decline. The suggestion that nobles were uniting around Antoine, the weakest claimant, to shift the blame onto him probably stoked his fears even further.

Whispers near his quarters about nobles considering alternative candidates for the throne may have been the final straw.

"I have good news for you today. It seems the kingdom’s nobles are prepared to negotiate. The war is effectively over."

"L-Look here, D-Deputy Commander Viktor!"

"Hmm?"

At last, Guillaume, who had desperately clung to his dignity until now, called out to me with urgency.

His trembling voice was barely coherent. I smiled faintly.

"This is the first time you’ve addressed me as Deputy Commander. Are you ready to negotiate?"

"Yes—no! I mean, yes! I, I apologize for my earlier disrespect..."

-Clang!

"F-Forgive me."

He didn’t bother to correct my own disrespectful tone. Instead, he immediately scrambled to pick up the fallen crown and place it back on his head. The pitiful display reminded me of how intoxicating and corrosive power could be.

I made a mental note to avoid becoming like this.

"Oh, excellent. You should wear your crown properly. Even if you die, you should do so as the King of Brotan."

"W-What? Die?!"

"Why not stand tall as the King of Brotan, taking responsibility for your nation’s defeat and protecting your people with dignity?"

"P-Please, I beg you..."

Guillaume, who had initially tried so hard to interrupt and assert his pride, now hesitated, his words cautious and deliberate.

It seemed I had sufficiently bent him to my will.

"Still, seeing you like this tugs at my heart," I said with a smile.

"Though I speak harshly, the truth is that having you remain in place benefits us. As the legitimately crowned king, your position raises fewer questions than installing a new leader would."

"...What?"

Now it was time to dangle a bit of hope.

"The Empire will limit and oversee Brotan’s military while stationing Imperial forces at key locations, including your capital, Levoir."

"T-That means..."

"If you cooperate fully in negotiations and continue to demonstrate good behavior, the Empire might even safeguard your crown."

"...!"

The sheer irony of it was laughable. Guillaume’s eyes lit up at the prospect of Imperial forces occupying Brotan.

"I swear it! Yes, I’ll swear! Whatever it takes!"

"Oh?"

"Gold? Jewels? Whatever you want, I can provide it! Please, help me return to my throne as king!"

"Hmm."

In the end, he was willing to sacrifice everything for the illusion of power.

I paused for effect, letting the silence stretch before replying.

"Let’s see what we can do."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Leaving Guillaume bowing profusely behind me, I exited the room.

With just another push or two, he’d become the perfect puppet ruler.