The Tsarina's court, or rather, the Kislevite government-in-exile, was currently headquartered in Bekafen, the capital of Ostermark. With the relocation being recent, the Empire's logistical support for the White Guard remained temporarily stable, allowing the army to retain its structure for the time being.
The newly formed Romanov Guard appeared somewhat impressive, at least on the surface. The 5,000-strong force consisted of soldiers personally selected by Katarin, with criteria primarily based on their height, appearance, and military posture. Their salaries were funded by the Tsarina's personal wealth and the royal family's treasury, while their equipment came from the Imperial city of Nuln. The procurement was facilitated by Emilia and Old Krupp, the president of the Krupp Trading House, which had been in charge of logistics during the Chaos invasion led by Morkar. Through a mix of discounted sales and barter, Katarin managed to acquire a batch of standard Nuln-issued equipment.
Of course, Emilia was no charity worker. Ryan's petite and cunning handmaiden had two clear motivations. First, arming these Kislevites provided a way to occupy Chaos forces, thus reducing the pressure on the Empire and lowering its casualties.
Second, the Chaos main force had collapsed far too quickly. No one had anticipated Morkar's sudden suicide, which left vast stockpiles of weapons and military supplies unused. Factories in Nuln and the Krupp Trading House now faced significant inventory issues, so this was effectively a clearance sale: sell off the surplus, recover costs, and make way for new production.
Though Emilia lacked military expertise, her diplomatic and administrative skills were widely recognized as being of masterful caliber. Her experiences as a mercenary had given her a deep understanding of societal challenges and the plight of the lower classes. Moreover, years of studying under Ryan and Sulia had taught her advanced courtly maneuvering, clever schemes, and political strategies.
The Romanov Guard's appearance was now nothing short of majestic. The soldiers, tall and clean-cut, marched in neatly polished uniforms crafted by Nuln's finest. When Katarin emerged from her private chambers and saw her guard on duty, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and reassurance.
"Ryan has his loyal and mighty Old Guard protecting him, and now I have my Romanov Guard!" she thought to herself.
"I'll prove that my Old Guard is no less than his!"
Meanwhile, the key members of the Kislevite Duma and military were gathering outside her audience chamber. Among them were:
Petrov Panov, the current Chief Court Minister of Kislev. Denikin, the current Grand Marshal and commander of the White Guard. Semyonov, the Romanov Guard's commander. Demilov, the Finance Minister. Bagramyan, General of the Army and head of logistics and supplies for the White Guard.
As the group waited, they spoke in hushed tones. Chief Minister Petrov, noting that everyone had arrived, chuckled lightly and said, "It's about time. Her Majesty must be ready by now."
"She's likely convened us to discuss plans for the northern expedition to reclaim our lost lands," Grand Marshal Denikin said confidently, draped in his military coat. His tone was one of satisfaction.
"Or perhaps it's news from Erengrad," Semyonov suggested, his expression dark. "Have you seen Arakcheyev's miserable state? Something must have gone wrong over there."
"I heard someone leaked details about the White Guard's rations," Demilov muttered, his face grim. He shot a glance at Logistics Minister Bagramyan and added with feigned concern, "Who knows, maybe Her Majesty will replace us with that whistle-blowing brat. What do you think, General Bagramyan?"
"Hmph!" General Bagramyan scowled, recalling how the incident had unfolded. After receiving Katarin's orders and the 800-ducat allocation, Finance Minister Demilov had personally handed him 300 ducats, saying, "Here's the money. Get the troops better food—make sure there's no more trouble!"
Bagramyan had done his utmost to stretch the 300-ducat budget to its limits, personally negotiating with Bekafen's merchants to ensure timely delivery of supplies. Yet, somehow, the problem had persisted. "I have no idea what went wrong. But every expense was documented—I didn't pocket a single coin!" he declared defensively.
"Well, our dear general is quite the diligent worker, isn't he?" Demilov sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Seems he's ready for a promotion to Marshal!"
"Enough," Petrov interjected, waving his hand to end the squabble. "Gentlemen, let us give thanks to Ursun's blessings. The Chaos main force has been vanquished, and Erengrad has been liberated with the help of the Bretonnians and the Empire. However, this ration issue has surely put Her Majesty in a foul mood. Let's try to resolve it quietly and avoid adding to the chaos. Agreed?"
"Yes, yes, of course!"
"Petrov is right. Let's settle this for now and figure out the rest later."
With that, the group filed into the chamber. General Bagramyan lingered at the back, grumbling silently. He wondered if it was time to consider resigning. If things continued like this, he'd either be scapegoated and arrested or end up hated by everyone around him.
Inside the chamber, Katarin was already waiting. The room was filled with the scent of high-grade ambergris incense, and the fireplace burned with premium silver coal. The furniture, crafted from fine cherrywood, exuded an air of elegance.
Katarin produced a small piece of paper and slammed it onto the table. The Tsarina was furious. She glared at the assembled officials, her focus particularly on General Bagramyan. "Hof! Look at the mess you've made! I allocated 800 ducats for rations, yet all they got was this pitiful amount! I want an explanation, and I want it now. Otherwise, you can report directly to Yezhov!"
All eyes turned to Bagramyan, who remained calm. He retrieved several documents from his coat and handed them to a servant, who passed them to Katarin. "Your Majesty, here are the procurement records. They detail every expense, including itemized prices and total costs. And if I may correct Your Majesty, I only received 300 ducats—not 800."
This revelation darkened the atmosphere in the room.
"Three hundred?!" Katarin's voice rose in disbelief. "Why only 300? Where did the other 500 go?" She turned her ire toward Finance Minister Demilov. "Demilov! Get over here! Didn't I give you 800 ducats? Why did you only allocate 300?"
Demilov stepped forward, bowing stiffly. "Your Majesty, giving General Bagramyan 300 ducats was already the best I could do. The kingdom's finances are in dire straits. Many expenses are on hold, waiting for funds. When we finally receive some money, we must address the most pressing needs first. The constant deficits and mounting debts leave me with few options. I beg Your Majesty to understand my difficulties."
Katarin's anger cooled slightly. Demilov had served as her finance minister for over a decade, always loyal and diligent. Softening her tone, she asked, "Fine. Explain the situation clearly. Where did the other 500 ducats go?"
"Of the remaining 500 ducats," Demilov began, "300 were used to pay and compensate Bekafen's shipyards for debts related to transporting supplies and equipment."
"Yet I never saw a single cargo ship!" Bagramyan erupted, his patience snapping. "We had to organize manual labor ourselves! Hundreds of civilians died of exhaustion or starvation while hauling supplies. And how could renting a few ships cost 300 ducats?"
"Let me finish," Demilov retorted with a cold smile. "We did rent ships and transport supplies. But while navigating the Upper Talabecland River, Chaos forces in the area caused trouble. Two ships caught fire, and one capsized. We had to switch to land transport, which incurred additional costs. Compensation and losses were included in the total. If we didn't settle these debts, it would tarnish Your Majesty's reputation—a far more serious matter!"
Petrov seized the moment to mediate. "Well, that clears things up. These were unforeseen difficulties. Let's learn from this and move forward. Next time, let's communicate better. Agreed?"
The officials murmured their assent. Petrov downed three glasses of vodka as a self-imposed "penalty," diffusing some of the tension.
Bagramyan, though still fuming, could find no rebuttal. Katarin, beginning to feel she might have been too harsh on Demilov, waved her hand impatiently. "And the remaining 200 ducats? Where did they go?"
"Those were for palace renovations and covering court expenses," Demilov said smoothly. "Your Majesty's southward journey to Bekafen was a display of diligence and humility. As your loyal subjects, how could we not ensure your needs were met?"
The officials nodded in agreement. Encouraged, Demilov continued, "Your Majesty's court has been as frugal as possible. But certain banquets and ceremonies are unavoidable to uphold Kislev's prestige and your royal reputation. We chose to tighten our belts and allocate 200 ducats to cover these expenses. The palace's accounts are fully transparent, as Marshal Semyonov can attest."
"Indeed
," Semyonov stepped forward, glaring at Bagramyan. "I can vouch for Minister Demilov. Why is it that those who do the most work and endure the most grievances are always the first to be blamed? Shouldn't the soldiers understand Her Majesty's struggles?"
Demilov wiped his eyes, feigning tears of injustice.
Bagramyan's face turned ashen. These scoundrels! They had clearly pocketed the funds. But if he spoke up now, it would be tantamount to accusing the Tsarina herself—a dangerous gamble given her infamous temper and the countless prisoners rotting in her dungeons for similar offenses.
Sure enough, Katarin's expression softened further. These ministers seemed loyal and hardworking—surely this was just a case of miscommunication. She dismissed her lingering doubts with a wave of her hand. "Very well. Let's ensure this doesn't happen again. Show some care for the soldiers and ensure rewards are distributed fairly."
"Understood!" The officials bowed in unison, and the matter was laid to rest.
Bagramyan knelt, his forehead pressing against the luxurious elven carpet. His voice trembled with suppressed rage. "Your Majesty… truly wise and just!"
"Now, let's discuss plans for the northern expedition!" Katarin declared.
Meanwhile, back in Erengrad...
"Her Majesty is no Ryan," Talleyrand remarked with a sly smile. "Your Majesty, the bureaucrats know exactly who you are. You're a monarch who won't be misled by their schemes or silenced with a few glasses of vodka. Your ability to choose capable subordinates, maintain independent oversight through Lady Morgiana, and command the unwavering loyalty of your armies sets you apart. It terrifies them."
"Terrifies them?" Ryan asked, intrigued.
"Throughout history, rulers have faced a dilemma," Talleyrand explained. "Competent individuals may lack loyalty, while loyal ones often lack competence. Most rulers favor loyalty, even if it means appointing inept officials—it gives them peace of mind. But you, my knight-king, have achieved the impossible: through endless victories and masterful diplomacy, you've commanded the loyalty of highly capable subordinates."
"Including you, Talleyrand?" Ryan gave the elf a sidelong glance.
"Your Majesty's greatness has earned my loyalty," Talleyrand replied with a bow. "Though a swift elven steed would make me even more loyal."
Ryan laughed heartily. "Very well! When we return to Bretonnia, take my letter to Sulia's stables and choose a mixed-blood elven warhorse as your reward. For now, pick a good horse from the camp."
"Your generosity humbles me, sire!" Talleyrand bowed deeply, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
Plan successful.
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