Outside the window, heavy snow fell, and the light filtering through the palace's glazed tiles illuminated the emperor's face.
Karl Franz found himself in a dilemma over the High Elves' demands.
Whether he agreed or not, it seemed the Empire couldn't extricate itself from this situation.
Of course, with a population of 23 million (according to the Brunswick court's estimate, not the actual number), and the Reikland and the capital of Altdorf alone accounting for 7 million (1 million in Altdorf and 6 million in Reikland), if push came to shove, the emperor could easily mobilize 100,000 to 200,000 troops with a single command.
As mentioned earlier, the Empire's military was divided into three tiers: city-based professional standing armies, semi-professional provincial armies, and local militia organizations. Compared to Ryan's recently established system of peasant levies, freemen regiments, and the Old Guard, the Empire's system was undoubtedly more advanced.
But what the High Elves wanted was "no less than 20,000 regular troops."
The emperor was at a loss. Where was he supposed to find 20,000 regular troops? The entire Empire had only about 180,000 professional standing troops, and they were scattered across the realm. The emperor himself commanded around 50,000 regular troops, with the rest being provincial armies or even militia.
As an excellent politician, Karl Franz wouldn't rush to make a decision. Even if he could mobilize 20,000 troops immediately, he wouldn't commit right away. He first expressed the Empire's current difficulties to the High Elf envoy: the ongoing chaos, the endless Beastmen incursions, the constant activities of Chaos cults, and, indirectly, the issue of the Marienburg merchant princes hoarding grain and driving up prices.
To his disappointment, Tyrion had sent a Silver Helm, not a High Elf noble. The envoy was merely there to deliver a message, not to negotiate. That was Teclis' style, not Tyrion's.
After the High Elf envoy left, the emperor continued to review reports until Reiksmarshal Helborg entered. "Your Majesty, a Beastmen tribe has been spotted battling a Goblin tribe in the Bloodpine Forest, about 78 kilometers from Altdorf. The rangers are closely monitoring the situation."
"What do you think, Helborg?" Karl Franz asked casually. "How large is the conflict?"
"Quite large. There are several thousand Beastmen and fewer Goblins," Helborg reported. "Since they're fighting each other, we can enjoy the spectacle for now. But it's only temporary. Whichever side wins will grow stronger and likely turn their attention toward Altdorf."
"78 kilometers? That close to Altdorf?" The emperor sighed and tossed the document onto the table. "What's your recommendation?"
"Your Majesty, we should strike while the Beastmen and Goblins are weakened, wiping them out in one go," Helborg suggested, his signature mustache as impeccable as ever.
"I'd like to," the emperor couldn't help but smirk. He stood up and handed Helborg a document from the table. "Take a look at this. It's Ryan's proposed military rations standard."
Helborg took the document.
"Bretonnian Military Rations Standard Proposal—Ryan Malcador "
Class I Rations: Temporarily conscripted peasant mobs, peasant infantry regiments from various duchies, peasant archers.
Daily ration standard per person: 3 copper coins.
Sample meals: Hard black bread, stewed beans, cabbage, porridge, potato and corn stew with animal offal (one meal per day).
Class II Rations: Town infantry regiments, halberdiers, longbowmen, battle pilgrim regiments.
Daily ration standard per person: 5 copper coins.
Sample meals: Barley bread, stewed beans, cabbage stir-fried with meat, roasted meat, meat pies, mixed meat and vegetable stews, meat or fish soup, beer.
Class III Rations: Elite infantry regiments from various duchies, foot squires, handgunners, artillery, engineers, knight aspirants, errant knights.
Daily ration standard per person: 10 copper coins.
Sample meals: Butter bread, stewed beans, vegetable salad, eggs, pork, mutton, beef, special hodgepodge (a delicious stew made with Bretonnian horse sausage, Cathayan preserved eggs, and snotling brains), malt ale (or Imperial beer).
Class IV Rations: Old Guard, Knights of the Realm, Questing Knights, Grail Knights, Pegasus Knights.
Daily ration standard per person: 25 copper coins.
Sample meals: Wheat and cheese bread, Tilea pasta, macaroni, various meats including venison, fish, stewed chickpeas, fresh vegetable salad, candies, coffee, mead (or wine), and dessert fruits.
Additional notes: Olive oil, fine salt, spices (cinnamon, cloves, pepper, saffron, mustard, vinegar, sugar, and honey).
"They eat well," Helborg remarked after reading, shaking his head. "Your Majesty, our Empire can't match Bretonnia's rations. Just look at the market prices. A pound of barley costs about 6 silver shillings here, but in Bretonnia, where they harvest directly from their estates, it's only 2 silver shillings—a third of the price. You know Bretonnia is the Old World's largest grain producer and exporter. How can we compete with them in terms of rations? Not to mention, the Old Guard has its own royal estates. Their rations cost next to nothing."
Directly harvested and processed, with no middlemen or transportation costs.
"I know!" Karl Franz frowned. Grain prices were skyrocketing, and Reikland, dominated by yeomen and the middle class, struggled to procure military rations. The Marienburg merchant princes were also at odds with the Imperial authorities. "Helborg, we're facing a serious problem."
"A problem?" The Reiksmarshal was puzzled. The emperor continued, "Someone, somehow, got their hands on this document and made copies, distributing them to almost every barracks in Altdorf. Now, many soldiers are dissatisfied, and some have even started refusing to train, demanding rations on par with Bretonnia!"
"What?" Helborg immediately realized this was the work of Chaos cults. "This is no accident, Your Majesty. There's definitely something sinister behind this."
"Of course I know it's a Chaos cult plot!" The emperor slammed the table, furious. "But we all know this is true. The Bretonnians' rations are indeed this good. What do we do? Tell our soldiers defending the Empire that they don't deserve it? Bury our heads in the sand like ostriches? Or try to match their standards? This is a blatant scheme, and we're powerless against it!"
"I'll handle the military, Your Majesty," Helborg immediately saluted, ready to go all out. "Rest assured, the Empire will always support you, and the Reiksguard will always stand by you."
"Good. As for the Chaos cults, we must investigate thoroughly," the emperor's expression softened slightly. He nodded, about to say more when Imperial Treasurer Lady Hawkesworth entered, her face grim. "Your Majesty, I have bad news."
"Did the negotiations with Marienburg fail?" Karl Franz's face turned ashen.
"The merchants of Marienburg refused our proposed grain prices," Lady Hawkesworth said hesitantly, her head bowed. "They said we either pay the inflated prices or figure it out ourselves. Also, procuring grain has become a major issue. Farmers and estate owners prefer selling to Marienburg merchants rather than us."
After the great victory at Black Fire Pass and his ascension to the Saint Realm, the emperor's prestige in the Empire was at its peak. Lady Hawkesworth no longer dared to argue with him. "Even the merchants in Reikland are reluctant to sell to us."
"What?!" Karl Franz stood up, his beard trembling with anger as he slammed his hand on the armrest of his chair.
"Hmph! Is there any nation more lenient toward these merchant princes than the Empire?"
"Without the Empire's armies protecting them, where would these merchants be?"
"Now that trouble has come, they're all standing by, unwilling to give back!"
After some thought, the emperor had no choice but to relent. "What about Bretonnia? Are they still prioritizing supplies to Nulr?"
"Yes, given the special relationship between the Sun King and the Elector Countess..." Lady Hawkesworth hesitated. "Nulr has also warned us not to disrupt the 'friendly relations' between Reiklanders and Nulrers."
"Enough, I don't want to hear it," the emperor shook his head. He turned to his attendant. "Where's Wolfgang? Didn't he say he wanted to visit the zoo this afternoon?"
Wolfgang Holswig-Abelnor, the grandson of Karl Franz's uncle Maximilian, had recently come to Altdorf for a visit. The emperor had promised to take his nephew to the Imperial Zoo that afternoon.
Truth be told, the emperor didn't care for this cousin. Wolfgang was lazy, lacked talent, and failed at almost every task assigned to him. He also loved to flaunt his status as the emperor's nephew, behaving arrogantly and eccentrically. For some reason, he had insisted on bringing his grandfather to the capital, and the emperor had no choice but to host them, given that Maximilian had stepped aside during the election, allowing Karl Franz to ascend the throne unopposed.
The emperor owed his uncle this much.
"Let's go," the emperor signaled that it was time.
In the afternoon, light snow still fell outside. The emperor, accompanied by only one Reiksguard, strolled through the zoo with his nephew Wolfgang.
It was still the Winterfest holiday, and the Imperial Zoo was nearly empty. Since this was the emperor's relative and Wolfgang had explicitly stated he disliked crowds, no one else was brought along. As for the zoo, if assassins could strike here, Karl Franz would have been dead hundreds of times over. The emperor himself was a Saint Realm powerhouse, so there was little to fear.
The Reiksguard accompanying them was a local named Hermann Konrad von Radetz, highly regarded by the emperor. The thirty-year-old Reiksguard soon brought a steaming bowl of creamy mushroom and corn soup to the emperor. "Your Majesty, creamy mushroom and corn soup."
"How did this get here?" Karl Franz was surprised.
"Lord Wolfgang prepared it especially for you, Your Majesty. He spent two hours in the kitchen making it," Hermann said earnestly. "He heard you like to have a snack in the afternoon and took great care in preparing this."
"Rare for my nephew to be so thoughtful," Karl Franz glanced at Wolfgang, who was standing in front of a two-headed griffon, and shook his head. "It's a shame he has no talent. And after all these years, he hasn't grown much taller."
Hermann glanced at Wolfgang, who was at most 1.6 meters tall, with an ugly appearance, a large hooked nose, and messy long hair. The Reiksguard didn't want to discuss the topic and simply said, "Your Majesty, it's cold. Drink it while it's hot."
The emperor, who had eaten before leaving, noticed the snow covering Hermann's armor, surcoat, and cloak. He thought about how dedicated the Reiksguard was, standing guard all day and now accompanying him on this outing. He patted Hermann on the shoulder. "You've worked hard. I'll reward you with this bowl of soup. I don't feel like drinking anything right now."
"But... Lord Wolfgang made this especially for you," Hermann hesitated.
"It's fine. I appreciate the gesture," the emperor smiled, showing his perfect set of teeth. "Go ahead and drink it."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Hermann clumsily picked up the spoon. His gauntleted hands made it difficult, so with the emperor's permission, he simply lifted the bowl and drank it all in one go.
At that moment, the two-headed griffon in front of Wolfgang noticed him and let out a loud, hostile roar. Karl Franz's attention was drawn to the scene. "What's wrong, Wolfgang? That two-headed griffon was a rare catch from the World's Edge Mountains..."
"Ugh! Ugh! Aaaah!" Before the emperor could finish, Hermann suddenly clutched his throat. The seasoned warrior let out a heart-wrenching scream, writhing in agony on the ground. Black blood poured from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. After a few violent convulsions, he went still.
The jade bowl shattered on the ground, its contents—originally a creamy yellow—turning a sickly green.
"What? What happened? Hermann?" Karl Franz was horrified, but the shrill scream that followed immediately awakened his instincts as a warrior. He reached for the Runefang at his waist, Ghal Maraz, its blade glowing with ancient Dwarven runes.
In the emperor's sight, Wolfgang had transformed into a complete monster.
His eyes dangled like slugs on long stalks, connected by fleshy tendrils. Massive bat wings sprouted from his back, and his grotesquely swollen body extended two long claws as he lunged at the emperor. "Aaaah~"
"Wolfgang!" The emperor instinctively wanted to strike, but he hesitated, realizing this was his nephew. Karl Franz rolled to the side, dodging the attack, and shouted urgently, "Wolfgang, what's wrong with you?!"
"Die, Uncle! For the Red Crown, for Tzeentch!" Wolfgang spread his wings and lunged again, his claws glinting in the winter light.
"..." The emperor looked at Hermann's lifeless body, a promising Reiksguard, then at the shattered bowl and the spilled soup. He understood.
The two clashed briefly. At first, the emperor hesitated, hoping to capture Wolfgang and seek help from the church or wizards to restore his nephew. But after a few exchanges, seeing Wolfgang's body mutate further, Karl Franz realized his nephew was beyond saving.
Wolfgang had likely used various potions to maintain a human appearance and infiltrate the Imperial court.
This was a premeditated assassination!
The emperor stepped forward, luring the fully mutated Wolfgang into a charge, then deftly sidestepped and slashed with his flaming blade. The Runefang pierced Wolfgang's right leg and severed one of his wings. Wolfgang crashed to the ground like a ragdoll, smashing into a fence and sending splinters flying.
The Chaos mutant tried to rise, but the emperor was already upon him. Ghal Maraz plunged into his chest, the runic power burning him to ashes in moments.
The zoo was in chaos. Guards and zookeepers finally arrived, drawn by the commotion.
Holding the Runefang, Karl Franz's heart was as cold as the snow on the ground.
Damn it! Has Tzeentch's corruption reached this far? Even my uncle Maximilian's grandson...
How many Chaos cultists are there in the Empire?
Reikland, Altdorf, the Imperial Palace... How deep has the Chaos cult infiltration gone?
Treading on thin ice, standing on the edge of an abyss.
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