Episode 212

The calm before the storm.

The relationship between the Marquisate of Barcel and the Margravate of Gibraltar could only be described as a tense calm before the storm.

The territorial war hadn’t officially begun yet.

It might seem strange, but since this was a sacred duel among nobles, it’s customary to follow the traditions and etiquette to proceed “properly.”

Dragging soldiers in and launching a territorial war out of nowhere?

Not allowed.

“On such and such a date, we shall invade your land.” Writing such a notice and sending it marked the official start of the territorial war.

This was known as a declaration of war.

Before issuing the declaration, one must first inform the kingdom: “For this and that reason, I declare a territorial war.” The kingdom, in turn, tried its best to mediate.

However, there would be no mediation. The Prime Minister, Grand Duke Winchester—nominally neutral—had already taken sides.

He leaned toward the Margravate of Gibraltar.

The fact that he hadn’t attempted to persuade Gibraltar to reconsider its stance on avoiding internal conflicts already showed his favor toward them.

Think about it.

Even if soldiers were equipped with the latest battle gear, ordered to write their wills, and prepared for severe deployment—

With the Margrave Crimson Gibraltar in place, who would think the Margravate would lose?

Everyone had one concern.

“Where will the Earl be?”

Crimson Gibraltar would protect the main base.

Specifically, he would stay by Margravine Charlotte’s side.

So, who would march to the Marquisate of Barcel, breach their fortress gates, infiltrate their inner castle, tear down their banner, and raise the flag of Gibraltar in its place?

Who would do it?

This question stirred tension among the soldiers.

Even though Gibraltar boasted a number of skilled knights, the thought of directly facing the “Kingdom’s First Knights” made them reluctant.

This uncertainty made people hesitant to engage in territorial wars.

Even those aware of the process dreaded the concept of war itself, though public opinion could be quite persuasive.

“Did you hear? Apparently, Lord Grey was almost assassinated.”

“What? Lord Grey? How did that happen?”

Disguised, someone listened intently to the people’s conversations.

To understand the thoughts of the Margrave’s people, they quietly sipped tea at a café, blending into the streets.

“Who knows? Maybe it’s because of his victory at the royal competition after defeating the King?”

“Could be… it does seem like that.”

“It’s less about him being Magraveine Charlotte’s son and more about him standing out as Margrave Crimson Gibraltar’s heir.”

“Tsk, tsk. That man still thinks he was robbed of the Margrave’s wife? It’s bad enough he harbors resentment toward the child, but attempting assassination too?”

Public sentiment at a glance.

“Honestly, eight years ago, instead of just punching him, they should’ve cut his head off.”

Internally, the people of the Margravate harbored deep discontent toward the King, which was more intense than one might expect.

If one were to measure approval ratings using the empire’s political methodology, it would be around 4%.

“Watch what you say.”

“Why? Are you one of the King’s supporters?”

“No. But if the King dies, disaster will strike. The wrath of the Golden Dragon.”

“Tsk….”

While this was the Margravate of Gibraltar, the people still vividly remembered the day eight years ago when Saint Gio Nostrum was punched in the face by his father and fled in disgrace.

“So, is civil war finally happening?”

“At least it’s against the Marquisate of Barcel. That means it’ll just stay as a territorial war.”

Most people in the Margravate already viewed war as an inevitable fact.

“It’s been a long time coming, huh.”

While citizens of the empire might protest and issue statements against war, the culture here was different.

Despite adopting imperial practices, the people of the Margravate still identified themselves as “subjects of Gibraltar.”

“I remember my grandfather joking once before he passed. If Nostrum ever fell, it would be Gibraltar that judged and ended it.”

“Haha, does that mean Gibraltar becomes a kingdom?”

“A kingdom? Nah, would the Margrave even bother? Too much hassle.”

“Maybe he’d pass the crown to his son just to dodge responsibility…”

A chill ran down their spines. Even though they laughed, the ominous thought lingered.

The speakers were older folks, born and raised in the Margravate, unlikely to be conscripted. Their fears were limited to Barcel sending a strike force to harm the Margravate’s heartland.

What about the younger generation?

“Damn, am I really getting conscripted?”

“Conscripted? You’re fulfilling your duty as a subject.”

“Why does this duty have to fall on my generation, and against the Kingdom no less? Damn it.”

“The Magrave is preparing for war. It’s our obligation as subjects, isn’t it?”

Naturally, they worried.

Even trained soldiers found it terrifying to take up arms and march into battle.

“Screw it, let’s just get it over with.”

Only a handful thought this way.

“It’s because there’s no propaganda.”

In the empire, rallying people with elaborate speeches—like “50 reasons why we must eliminate the Marquisate of Barcel”—was common practice.

“What if I step up?”

Taking lines from Emperor Hapsburg’s speeches, planting agents in orphanages, and fanning the flames of war could turn people into fervent supporters.

“Unity! Down with Nostrum! Crush the old ways! We are part of the empire, destined to destroy the diseased and embrace a new era!”

This strategy could forge elite troops willing to die for the Margravate.

Or simpler still:

“Victory in this war means Saint Gio Nostrum is no longer our King!”

“Hooray!!!”

Just reciting past words spoken during the march against Nostrum could stir the people into a frenzy for victory.

“Ugh, I’ll fight if I must, but I really don’t want to go….”

“I don’t want to die. I haven’t even tried all the imperial sweets yet….”

“Talking about sweets at a time like this?!”

“What? When I open a candy shop someday, I’m never selling to you!”

Still, nobody wants to die in battle.

Talking about ideals and duty, the people of the Margravate of Gibraltar have already become “imperialized.”

At this point, it is more accurate to see them as citizens of the Gibraltar autonomous region or the city of Gibraltar.

As such:

“Hey, did you hear that rumor?”

“What rumor?”

“About the upcoming territorial war….”

As the ‘responsible party’ leading this territorial war, I made a decision.

“Apparently, they’re planning to conduct the war solely using the knights stationed within the Margravate of Gibraltar, without conscripting anyone.”

“……?”

“It’s just a rumor. My sister, who works in Caroline Castle, said she overheard Lord Grey talking to his siblings.”

“Shh, quiet! Don’t talk like that…! It’ll cause big trouble!”

“Why does it feel like it’s even more dangerous to say this than to curse out the Incompetent King?”

“This is Gibraltar; that’s about the Incompetent King!”

“True.”

Despite my efforts to spread the rumor, it hadn’t spread much, likely due to Gibraltar’s reputation.

“Still, it should be fine to discuss this, right? If it turns out to be true….”

“…Do you think the knights alone can win? Even if their numbers have increased….”

“Who knows? Maybe there’s a hidden ace among the knights.”

“…Prepared just for this?”

“Perhaps, or maybe even for the day we march toward Nostrum.”

I quietly rose from my seat.

“Preparations must be made.”

The ideal scenario was to avoid war entirely, but what caused Nostrum to fall to this state?

Lack of real-world training.

Even if the people’s mindset had shifted from subjects to citizens, if the opponent was determined to wage war, preparations must match their resolve.

“I’ll take them to the battlefield, but I won’t let them die.”

Someday.

When a real war broke out, they must make cold, rational decisions in a life-or-death situation.

“Still….”

Never.

“We have the Master; we’ll win, right?”

This had nothing to do with lingering traces of Nostrum within Gibraltar.

It was simply an internal plague, a harmful tradition that must be eradicated.

Meanwhile, in the Marquisate of Barcel, Golden Castle.

“Marquis Barcel, remember this. You are the Marquis of Barcel.”

“Ah, ahem. Yes.”

A man who looked strikingly similar to Zelos Barcel stood upright with a solemn expression.

“Though you are the illegitimate child of the former Marquis, the resemblance is undeniable.”

In front of the new Marquis of Barcel, a young man with indigo hair and glasses exuded an ominous air, adjusting the Marquis’s attire before pointing outward.

“The previous Marquis is no longer relevant. You are the commander of the Kingdom’s First Knights, and you’ve never died. The attack on Grey Gibraltar was the work of the Empire’s Shadows….”

“People like you?”

“…….”

“H-Hic….”

Marquis Barcel turned pale as the indigo-haired youth tightened his tie, but the youth patted the tie lightly and stepped back.

“The Empire’s Shadows aiding this civil war is impossible.”

“Of course, absolutely.”

Creak.

“It doesn’t make sense for the Empire to interfere in the Kingdom’s affairs, does it? Heh.”

The office door opened, and a blond man with red eyes—Saint Gio Nostrum—entered, carrying a bottle of imperial wine.

“Wow, the previous Marquis sure spread his seed around. How can there be such identical copies?”

“…Your Majesty.”

“What? Oh, was that supposed to be a jab at the great Emperor Tersian? Heh.”

“Your Majesty, why didn’t you spread your seed around as well?”

“H-Hmph…!”

At the indigo-haired youth’s comment, Marquis Barcel turned pale again, but Saint Gio burst into laughter, slumping onto the sofa.

“How can commoners understand the will of a dragon?”

“…….”

“Trying to provoke me into revealing something, huh? Why? Are you planning to run off to tattle to your daddy?”

“…….”

“Do as you please. Not that it matters.”

Saint Gio spun the wine bottle playfully, smirking.

“I’m just providing the venue. The rest is up to you. That way, you won’t lose your spot to someone else’s kid, right?”

“Is it fitting for a king to resolve an internal civil war using external forces?”

“And yet, here you are, trying to earn your daddy’s approval by clinging to such a king. Heh. Do what you will. If someone comes here to declare war in my presence….”

Swish.

“I’ll brand them as rebels, then drag all the nobles gathered here into war—”

“Y-Your Majesty!!”

The door burst open, and a bespectacled minister rushed in, his face frantic.

“A messenger is here!”

“A messenger? Finally. If it’s a declaration of war, we’ll send back his head….”

“A Master!!”

“…….”

“Baron Mente Lift has brought a declaration of war… Your Majesty!!”

Saint Gio grabbed his wine bottle and exited the room immediately.

“Ah….”

“…Marquis Barcel.”

The indigo-haired youth trembled with anger, glaring at the mint-haired woman entering through the shattered castle gates.

“Prepare to accept the declaration of war.”

“B-But….”

“We’ll handle the logistics. You just need to move your lips. After all….”

The youth grinned as he touched the scar on his collarbone.

“We specialize in bloody battles.”

Underneath the scar, branded as if by fire, the faint number “03” was visible.