Imperial Calendar, April 30, 2515 — City of Erengrad
Count Clemens von Metternich, the Imperial Ambassador to Bretonnia and now appointed by Emperor Karl Franz as the Chief Observer for Northern War Affairs, entered the city on horseback under the escort of the Old Guard's Dragoon Regiment.
The central square of Erengrad was a scene of military order. Bretonnian soldiers formed neat formations—knights of noble lineage stood in groups on either side, while two battalions of Old Guard and the Grail Knights occupied the center. Behind them were ranks of a dozen peasant infantry regiments.
Old Guard Deputy Commander Nicolas Davout radiated the divine light of the Lady of the Lake, his piercing gaze sharp as lightning.
"All units! Prepare—"
"Salute!"
The Old Guard, peasant infantry regiments, and the knights saluted in unison.
Count Metternich, dressed immaculately in tailored silk attire, with his naturally curly, well-groomed hair, surveyed the Bretonnian army as he dismounted. The more he observed, the grimmer his expression grew.
Every single soldier bore a beard—a sign of maturity. They were all hardened veterans. Their equipment was excellent, and the killing intent in their eyes was palpable.
More troublingly, their morale was sky-high.
On closer inspection, Metternich estimated the average age of these soldiers to be around 25 or 26—prime fighting age. Worse still, this was but a small fraction of the Knight-King Ryan's forces. Metternich knew that Ryan's mobilization rate for this expedition was a mere 1 in 50 households—essentially a light draft that had hardly affected Bretonnia's daily life.
Damn these Bretonnians! Metternich cursed inwardly. They are poised to become a major threat to the Empire in the future.
Though Metternich was a staunch imperialist—an Old World supremacist who dreamed of a world where the Empire reigned supreme over all other nations—he grudgingly acknowledged that Ryan and his army posed the greatest obstacle to the Empire's unchallenged dominance.
Adding to his discomfort, crowds of Erengrad citizens had gathered to watch the spectacle. Though the city still bore scars of recent wars, its people radiated hope and optimism.
"It seems the citizens of Erengrad are growing increasingly fond of their new Duma and the leadership of Grand Duke Vladimir," Nicolas Davout said diplomatically, trying to engage the count. "This is indeed a positive development for restoring order in Kislev."
"A positive development?" Metternich retorted coldly. "Grand Duke? Who bestowed that title? Was it self-proclaimed? Was it granted by your King Ryan? Or was it sanctioned by Tsarina Katarin? Does such a title even carry any weight?"
"This was the choice of the people of Erengrad," Davout replied, visibly irked by the count's tone. Being a soldier rather than a diplomat, he struggled to come up with a suitable response. After a pause, he could only add, "We must respect that."
"Referendums represent the will of the people?" Metternich sneered. "I'm beginning to doubt how much of your so-called chivalry remains, Bretonnian knight."
Davout's face darkened. As a Grail Knight and Old Guard deputy commander, he felt personally insulted by the insinuation. His tone turned sharp as he countered, "Count Metternich, I suspect you may not be aware—"
"Aware of what?" Metternich asked, sensing that bad news was coming.
"Her Majesty, the Tsarina, has been defeated—utterly defeated. Upstream of Fortenhaf, in fact," Davout said, his voice laced with cold irony. "Her 50,000-strong White Guard suffered 33,000 casualties. As we speak, there isn't a single inch of Kislevite land under her effective control. Tell me, Count Metternich, do you think the people need a hero?"
Metternich's face paled. His composed demeanor cracked as he demanded, "I will not discuss this with you! I must see King Ryan immediately!"
The two Old Guard soldiers standing guard at the command tent immediately crossed their halberds to block him.
"His Majesty is currently in a meeting with the dukes," one guard stated firmly. "Please wait outside."
Davout added, his tone matching the guards' firmness, "Be patient, Count. Once the meeting concludes, His Majesty will see you."
"…Very well." Metternich begrudgingly agreed, though his clenched jaw betrayed his frustration. Davout signaled discreetly to the guards, who nodded subtly.
At that moment, a poised and aristocratic voice, tinged with a Nuln accent, called out, "Who's causing such a commotion outside? Oh, Metternich, is that you? I'm surprised Karl sent you to such a frigid backwater."
"Metternich greets the honorable and beloved Lady Emmanuelle von Liebwitz!" Metternich's demeanor changed instantly. Though he had been arrogant and confrontational with Davout, he now bowed deeply, his voice dripping with deference. "I bring greetings and well-wishes from Emperor Karl Franz. How have you been, Lady Emmanuelle?"
"I'm well, thank you," Emmanuelle replied with a graceful smile, clearly amused by his change in attitude. "Come inside, we can talk."
"Yes, of course!" Metternich followed her eagerly, his obsequious behavior drawing a smirk from Davout. The deputy commander decided it was time to report to the meeting himself.
Inside the command tent
King Ryan, Fay Enchantress Morgiana, Dukes Bohemond, François, and Louen, along with Old Guard Commander Bertrand, were gathered around a map table. Talleyrand stood behind Ryan, observing quietly. The absent Duke Hagen was recovering from injuries, while Duke Jerrod was at the map, providing a detailed briefing.
"As predicted by His Majesty, Duke Bohemond, and my uncle François," Jerrod began, holding the latest war report, "Her Majesty the Tsarina has suffered a catastrophic defeat upstream of Fortenhaf."
Jerrod summarized the events:
On April 20th, the White Guard began constructing pontoons on the Upper Talabec River, planning to cross and engage Zaan-Ek's Chaos remnants near Lakhov. Despite taking an entire night to build the pontoons, the poorly trained and disorganized White Guard took most of the next day to cross the river. Initially, they made progress, driving Zaan-Ek's fragmented forces from Lakhov under Katarin's personal command. However, the soldiers' discipline broke down as they looted abandoned Chaos encampments.
Jerrod continued, "At this critical moment, several barges loaded with explosives were sent downstream by Chaos forces. The makeshift pontoons were destroyed, cutting off the White Guard's retreat. Then, a Kurgan cavalry force led by Subotai the Grey Wolf launched a devastating charge."
The room was silent as Jerrod described the ensuing chaos:
The White Guard's morale collapsed. Soldiers on the northern bank were routed, while those on the southern bank panicked at the sight of Kurgan cavalry crossing the river behind them. Tsarina Katarin fled yet again, using her magic to create an ice bridge for her escape. The bridge melted soon after, leaving thousands of her troops stranded. The battlefield became a slaughterhouse, with over 33,000 White Guard casualties. Chaos forces suffered minor losses by comparison—Zaan-Ek's troops lost 3,000, while Subotai's cavalry lost barely 100.
By the time Jerrod finished, the room was heavy with a mix of disbelief and grim resignation.
Ryan finally broke the silence. "The strategy itself wasn't flawed. The real issue lies in the quality of her army—it's abysmal. If it were me, I wouldn't have fought this battle at all. With such disparities in training and morale, engagement should've been avoided entirely."
Duke Bohemond, ever the military strategist, spoke next. "What do we do now? The White Guard is effectively destroyed. After such a disastrous campaign, they're no longer a viable fighting force."
François, ever pragmatic, raised a different concern. "Your Majesty, do you still plan to assist Kislev in reclaiming its lands? Our troops are growing weary, and many long to return home."
Louen added cautiously, "What about General Rokossovsky? Should we pay the 2,000 gold crowns the Tsarina demanded to clear his criminal record?"
Ryan tapped the table thoughtfully before responding. "Kislev's lands cannot be reclaimed for now. We lack the manpower to press further north. However, I plan to secure Erengrad's northern borders and reopen trade routes to Karak Vlag."
"Karak Vlag?" The mention of the Dwarf hold and its lucrative trade opportunities immediately caught everyone's attention. Even Bohemond couldn't help but feel intrigued by the prospect.
François, ever attuned to economic opportunities, pressed further. "Will we involve the Empire in this trade agreement? Or will we keep it for ourselves?"
Ryan smiled wryly. "Can we even monopolize it? Without Nuln's infrastructure and distribution channels, we can't absorb the full trade volume ourselves. The Empire must be involved."
Everyone nodded in agreement. The profits from Karak Vlag's trade were too vast for Bretonnia to handle alone. Cooperation with the Empire, particularly Nuln under Emmanuelle's leadership, seemed inevitable.
"What about Rokoss
ovsky?" Louen asked again. "Shall we pay the Tsarina's price?"
Ryan smirked. "500 crowns. No more. And tell her that if she wants the money, she needs to issue a declaration revoking Rokossovsky's Kislevite citizenship so we can grant him Bretonnian citizenship."
"That's quite a harsh condition…" Jerrod murmured.
"It is," Ryan admitted, his expression cold. "But I doubt the Tsarina has the leverage to enforce anything anymore. We gave her a chance to remain Tsarina, but she squandered it. Erengrad no longer needs a puppet."
The room erupted in quiet laughter. Indeed, Katarin had gambled away what little leverage she had left.
"Let's adjourn for now," Ryan concluded. Rising from his seat, he added, "It's time I met with Emperor Karl Franz's envoy to see what he has to say."
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