Author Notes:
Quite literally, the newest RM chapter is all about making a deal with the Devil, and I hope I am on a good track of delivering them to you all.
Now, I thought that I could finish up this Erusean grand-arc early, but I think I underestimated just how hard my OCD hit, thus making things way more detailed and descriptive. But given that we all agree that RM needs to be extensive and not just bite-sized consumer product, I think I am doing well, maybe? I don't know man, just hit me up in the comment sections or my Discord server if ya want to discuss more on my brainstorm session Pretty please?
Shout out to Private Adalbert, by the way, for becoming the newest Private in our line of proud supporters! Remember, the discount is still running for the next few days!
https://www.patreon.com/Heartbreak117
https://discord.gg/cVZxJ29ruh
https://www.webnovel.com/book/in-the-grimdark-sector-with-a-system_31596105108346205
https://www.webnovel.com/book/my-soul.-occupied-body---please-the-other-me...!_35377211308783905
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/2271569/reich-marshal-of-the-belkan-reich/
https://photos.app.goo.gl/waZgkRa3UQhqKQBi9
----------------------------------------------------------------
"Men, it's been a long few days, it's been a tough few days." I watch as Colonel Bradshaw, standing atop what seems to be an empty munition crate, addresses his Scots Guards.
Other than the unavoidable rumbling of our war machines, most, if not all, of my soldiers in the local area of the memorial maintain a respectful silence as we keep a close eye on the proceedings.
The Erusean Colonel continues.
"You've fought bravely, proudly for your country, your King, and the very people beside you..."
The Erusean soldiers stand a bit taller at the acknowledgement. Although many of them are injured, with some lying on stretchers, their faces, caked in dried tears and blood, remain remarkably solemn. A part of me thinks that, were they not on such a tilted footing, these Scots Guards would have willingly followed Colonel Bradshaw to their deaths in a display of outstanding valiancy and loyalty.
It's hard for me to find myself disliking soldiers such as them, even if we're on opposing fronts.
"You are a special group. You found in one another a bond that exists only in combat. You've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You've seen death and suffered together." Colonel Bradshaw maintains his impassioned speech. There's this look in his gaze, in all of the Eruseans' eyes, as they are reminded of this whole, bloody war.
Taking off his officer's cap, Colonel Bradshaw places it on his heart.
"I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. You deserve long and happy lives in peace."
For the next few seconds afterward, no one says anything, not even a sniffle can be heard, for they have shed all of their tears and rage. While it may be a stretch to say that all of them have lost the will to fight, these Eruseans in front of me seem quite intent on honoring their part of the deal and won't cause any trouble as POWs. As before, the Reich will have to treat them all appropriately to ensure compliance.
ONI, however, will still have to vet these soldiers for any potential resisting element.
Colonel Bradshaw then put on his cap before turning to walk back toward my table. He then lays eyes on sheets of documents, ones that are pulled out from the briefcase by my foot, that are waiting to be signed.
I gesture with a slow swipe of my hand.
"These are the papers that contain the terms regarding the surrender of your unit, Colonel Bradshaw, and the expected ways that we all are expected to uphold afterward. Do take your time and read them carefully before signing them. The whole process will be recorded for proofing and posterity, and ultimately, each party will march out of here with their own identical copy of the agreement."
Bradshaw picks up the first document with a hand that has withstood the tests of the battlefield and time.
"You Belkans are... Surprisingly thorough." The man comments wryly. "But perhaps that is to be expected from you, given what I have seen so far."
I nod slowly.
"There will be time for you to revise your understanding of us, Colonel. And I sincerely suggest you do so before the age has moved on without you and your men."
My words slowly sink in as Bradshaw carefully scrutinizes and flips through the papers. Ultimately, he sighs before looking at me. His gaze conveys to me all the information I need.
"Perhaps there will be a place for the Scots Guards, Colonel Bradshaw." I then snap my fingers, saying to my troops in particular. "Get this gentleman a chair and a pen, will you?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once the Scots Guards are sent well on their way in a final parade march with colors, arms, and an accompanying musical band playing their favorite ceremonial songs, Bryn and the others escorted me inside Buckingham Palace, now mostly cleared of unwanted personnel.
The interior design is... Quite underwhelming, to be honest. The blend of Neoclassical and Baroque styles gave way to pure necessity. The Eruseans' own hands have literally torn apart the splendor Buckingham once had. Any and all sense of artistry suddenly found itself thrown to the wayside in an attempt to make Buckingham a fortress worth a damn.
Ornate sofas and tables were chopped up into thick barricades that were easily pushed aside by the 141st with their SPI armor. Windows that used to offer beautiful vistas were either cracked or thrown apart to make way for firing positions that were ultimately pointless. Priceless paintings, marred by soot, dust, and holes, serve to further signify just how fragmented the state of mind of the Eruseans at the time was, where they prioritized survival over any notion of culture and class.
I had thoughts and expectations in the past about today, but none went as far as making Buckingham lose all of its identity. I imagined that London would capitulate out of sheer internal and external pressure, not because of a civil war, then an invasion. In a way, this takes the saying 'No plan survives first contact' to a whole other level.
Stepping on cracked tiles, dirtied with dirt and blood stains, I am soon led to a relatively untouchable throne room that is draped in a red velvet tone. The room is occupied when we arrive.
King George VI, instead of sitting on his familiar throne chair, found himself stuck in a wheelchair due to the injuries he suffered. If he has any misgivings about that, or the Marines watchfully standing around him, or my presence, the defeated Erusean King doesn't display it past his rigid poker face.
I let out a soft hum to myself and explore the chamber with Bryn and the others by my side. It's only here that I come to appreciate Buckingham Palace for what it is. The architect, John Nash, greatly influenced by his experience in theater set designs, sculpted a dramatic arch and canopy over the thrones of Erusea. The arch, in white and gold, reflects the light coming from the chandeliers well, allowing us to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the red velvet interior and furniture. Everything in the throne room serves to highlight the icing on the cake, the thrones from which the leaders of the Kingdom of Erusea used to rule...
Unfortunately, that 'leaders' is now down to one person alone.
I step closer to the thrones with Bryn. A hand of mine moved to appreciate the red velvet on the Erusean Queen's chair. It's well-worn, and I can feel the history behind it despite its recent construction. Their design replicates the style of chair made for the coronations of Charles II and James II in the seventeenth century, evidenced by the X-shaped legs that are reminiscent of folding stools of the Tudor period. Other than the red velvet covering them all, the underside of the backs and seats is decorated with gold fringing. Overall, the Erusean thrones are surprisingly much simpler than the ones I have back home.
I am suffering from success here. Mama and Mom never allow me to have a simpler throne. They always say that I need to pay more attention to my identity on formal occasions. I am both the Crown Princess of the Reich and its Reich Marshal. It's why the thrones they commissioned for me are most certainly of the elegant, angular, imperial, and militaristic style.
Luxury aside, my thrones will no doubt be much more comfortable to sit on than these stools-for-thrones that I am touching. A couple of my thrones even have retractable cup and tablet holders, which is something pretty much unheard of, if you ask me. And if you ask who in their right mind would design a throne with modern appliances in mind, allow me to direct you to good old Nicolae the Shoggoth, who has taken my personal request for comfort a tad too zealously in her free time.
I swear, the moment you take your eyes off her, Nicolae will do things even I will have to, whether or not I have woken up to a wrong reality. But I digress.
Seeing that I have no intention to occupy the red thrones, Bryn assumes her position right by my side once more. I give her a subtle wink before turning to look at King George VI, who is lost in his own mulling, not even paying attention to my subordinates making exploratory rounds around him.
"Honestly, the thrones here are good, but I like mine better."
My words, coated in a surprising amount of sincerity, cause the Erusean King to jerk his head before slowly turning to face me. His face is pale, and his eyes can't be any more lifeless for someone who is technically still the ruler of a nation. Rather than saying that King George VI feels hatred or discontent at my words, it will be more correct to say that he is... Chill, if that's the correct term to be applied here. He's most certainly not putting in much, if any, emotion into his reply.
"Then you should have brought your own throne here, Reich Marshal." If anything, King George VI's words are spoken as an actual suggestion from one stranger to another stranger, not between two polar opposite rulers.
I shrug as I step down from the dais with Bryn. "I don't think any of my throne will fit this color scheme around us."
"Ah..." King George VI manages an emotionless nod. "The color can be... Quite gaudy, indeed. But it's tradition, at this point."
When I step directly in front of the wheelchair-ridden King, Colonel Hopson steps in to provide me with a folding chair. I accept the unfolded seat with thanks to the man. He didn't have to do it personally, but his dutifulness is noted. Once I am situated comfortably and both the King and I can see eye to eye, I lean back as I link my fingers on my crossed leg, ready for the coming, hopefully interesting chat.
King George VI regards me with sunken, albeit calm eyes. Clearly, his physical and emotional losses are great, but his willingness to put his resilience to the test right now is worth applauding. From what I've learnt, the King in front of me was also quite swift in ordering the Scots Guards to stand down before more blood was spilled on the palace grounds, saving us no small amount of trouble. So, on a personal level, there's not much hate to be had between us. The same can't be said for our line of work, however.
"Reich Marshal." King George VI offers me a barely perceptible nod, and I can't really fault him for that.
"King George VI." I return the gesture simply enough, no need to harp on my victory or his losses. It will be very dishonorable and uncharacteristic of me to do so... Unless the other party deserves it, though.
"..."
"..."
After a period of enigmatic silence, King George VI makes a soft nod, as if having gleaned something from my confident posture.
"Erusea doesn't answer to me alone."
I smirk due to his apparent calmness and acceptance of reality.
"If you're thinking about the Dukes and governors of your dominions, then you won't have to be worried about them being able to cause much of a ruckus."
"... How so?" The King asks in a lower, raspier tone.
"You may not know this, but most, if not all, of Erusea's overseas territories are either under revolt or already experienced a regime change. Currently, only your colonial regime in Africa remains mostly intact, but that can soon change in a heartbeat."
I stop before adding. "Africa is a bit far from this part of the world, you know, much less your other holdings in Asia or the American continent."
King George VI frowns at the information, and for once, I manage to glimpse a flicker of confusion and agitation. He would have leaned forward had his four limbs remained intact.
"Had the Reich moved so fast?"
I shake my head, replying with a small wave of my hand.
"Even the Reich is bound by physical limitations, no matter how high you prop us up in your mental pedestal."
"If what you are saying is true, then who?" King George VI asks hoarsely. "The Americans? The Japanese? There's no way this, any of this, can be a coincidence?"
"Huhm..." My finger gives my knuckle a couple of taps as I ponder. "Would you believe me if I say that the very group that reduced the Erusean royalty to this state was responsible for the entire mess that is gaining traction on the global stage?"
I can see the King's breath stall before a sudden, ferocious look of livid rage occupied his expression. Behind me, Bryn and Erika subtly move their hands to their sidearms.
"They dare!" A shocking roar bellows inside the once peaceful throne room.
I look at the enraged, yet utterly powerless King with a hint of pity. I only talk when the man has taken a breather again.
"Hoh? You're not gonna accuse me, or the Reich, of fabricating everything, that we were the ones to lay our hands on your family?"
"Huff... Huff..." King George VI breathes heavily with a red face. "Do you even need to go through all that trouble just to get to this point?"
I laugh refreshingly at that part.
"Hahaha, we most certainly don't need to do such convoluted things when a couple of bombs from our aircraft will do the trick. You, King George VI, certainly have a good mental faculty. More robust than I expected."
The King takes the compliment in a stride. However, our conversation is interrupted briefly when Bryn receives a report from her Night Witches. My Valkyrie then leans into my ear and whispers the information to me. Under the watchful eyes of King George VI, I smile. As Bryn pulls back to her prior posture, I speak up.
"So I got good news and the bad news. Your daughters, despite the long exposure to the toxin in their systems, have survived thanks to our magical doctors. Nevertheless, they won't be able to perform any royal duty as sequelae still exist, at least for the next few years. The damage to their nervous systems was too great."
"And the good news?" King George VI asks with a hint of trepidation.
I shake my head, losing my smile for the next part.
"That was the good news. The bad news is that your youngest daughter, Margaret, has a high chance of suffering from permanent disability in her legs. The toxin has wreaked havoc on the nerves in her lower spinal column. Even the Reich has to be very careful when treating anything involving the brain, spine, and nerves. And we can't promise you that the young princess can ever be cured."
I steel my gaze.
"Personally speaking, Margaret and Elizabeth didn't deserve what happened to them. And I would explore options to get them both nursed back to their primes. From a practical perspective, however, the Reich will lose more than it gains by treating both princesses of their ailments."
I let the words hang in the air, causing the King to tremble in anger and helplessness.
I suddenly smirk, however.
"But I am the Reich Marshal, I do not need to use such an underhanded tactic to keep this country under control. You have my word, King George VI, that I will exhaust all means to fully cure Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret from the effects of the toxin. I will even throw you an offer to get your limbs back in order, if you are so inclined."
I lean into say.
"I can certainly get you three back on your feet once more; it's just a matter of time, after all. But that's that, and this is this. We still need to discuss the country-sized topic we have on hand. How to eliminate the borders between us and all that..."
My right eye glints conspiratorially as I continue in a tempting whisper like the little Devil I am.
"So, King George VI, care to make a deal you will never regret? Play your cards wisely, and maybe a path to avenge the harm inflicted upon your family will open for you."
A long, silent five minutes befell us after my proposition. But I am patient enough, comprehending how hard it is for a ruler to ultimately submit to someone else's authority. To the less decisive one, it's an internal war on its own.
Ultimately, the desire to get his daughters healed up, to one day bear witness to the destruction of the bringer of ruin to his family, outweighed the blockade of shattered kingly pride in King George VI's heart.
"What would you have me do?"
When I hear the question, I smile softly.
"Ah, you just need to give us justifications... All the justifications."