After concluding the council meeting, King Ryan emerged from the command tent, but he didn't immediately meet with Count Metternich. Instead, he turned to Nicolas Davout and asked, "What kind of man is this Imperial envoy?"
"What kind?" Davout paused, trying to give an impartial and objective answer. "He's a well-dressed diplomat with a distinct Reikland style. However, his attitude is somewhat… assertive. I wonder if he's truly here to negotiate."
"Overconfidence often disguises insecurity. True confidence doesn't need to be loud." Ryan smiled faintly, removing his outer coat and handing it to Davout. "There's no need to complicate things here. You can leave for now. Oh, and find Belial—ask if everything has been arranged."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Davout accepted the coat, bowed respectfully, and departed.
Just outside the tent, Ryan met with Count Metternich.
"Welcome, Count Metternich," Ryan began, his tone warm and inviting. "Please, make yourself at home. Bretonnia and the Empire are steadfast allies and sincere friends. We've stood watch over one another for a thousand years, and I'm confident we'll continue to do so in the future, just as we've done in this campaign."
"Greetings, Your Majesty, and congratulations on your victories in Kislev. I bring Emperor Franz's regards and best wishes," Metternich said as he bowed deeply. Despite secretly considering Ryan the Empire's greatest rival and potential enemy, the count maintained a facade of respect and cordiality. "I am here with a few minor matters to discuss."
"Let's dispense with unnecessary formalities. A man's strength lies in his heart and abilities, not in cumbersome rituals," Ryan said, looking down at the envoy from his towering height. "Consider this your home, Count Metternich."
"I believe both the Empire and Bretonnia would agree that our true homes are far from these frozen ruins," Metternich replied, his words laden with subtle criticism. "Do you consider this place your home, Your Majesty? I recall that Erengrad has always been the domain of the Romanov royal family."
Ryan smiled knowingly, his expression calm yet sharp. "The people of Erengrad themselves told me otherwise. They expressed their gratitude for our aid and invited us to stay as if it were our own home. They told Lady Emmanuelle the same thing. Or perhaps, Count Metternich, you suspect that Lady Emmanuelle misunderstood their intent?"
"Oh, no, of course not. That's not what I meant," Metternich quickly backtracked, clearly caught off guard. "My apologies; I wasn't aware of that."
"Not aware, or unwilling to be aware?" Ryan quipped before changing the subject. "How is Emperor Franz's health?"
"The Emperor is in excellent condition, as I hope you are," Metternich replied, trying to regain his footing.
"Oh, I'm doing quite well. In fact, I feel so good I might just march further north to eliminate the remaining Chaos forces," Ryan said with a smirk, taking control of the conversation.
"A fine sentiment, Your Majesty," Metternich responded cautiously, realizing he had fallen into a defensive position. He decided to proceed with his mission. "Emperor Franz has tasked me with addressing two matters on his behalf."
"Ask away. I will answer truthfully," Ryan said, gesturing for Metternich to sit. The two men sat just outside the tent's main entrance. Moments later, Old Guard soldiers served them vodka and roasted lamb.
"The first matter," Metternich began, "is to ask whether Your Majesty adheres to the fundamental principles of chivalry, respects the established order of the Old World, and recognizes the Romanov royal family's lawful claim to Kislev's rule?"
"Of course," Ryan replied without hesitation. Despite his growing power and ambitions, he remained grounded in political realities. As a champion of feudal monarchy and the Old World's established order, Ryan understood that denying the Romanovs' legitimacy would isolate him and provoke hostility from every other lawful power. It was a line he couldn't cross.
Hearing Ryan's swift affirmation, Metternich's eyes flickered with relief. This was a promising start. Emboldened, he pressed on. "That is reassuring to hear. However, I must ask about recent reports suggesting Bretonnia has influenced Kislev's internal affairs—specifically in the appointment of the Grand Duke of Erengrad. Some might question the validity of such a title."
"This appointment reflects the will of Erengrad's people. How can it be invalid? After all, isn't the Romanov monarchy also rooted in the people's choice?" Ryan countered, his tone calm but firm. "Bretonnia has never interfered in Kislev's internal affairs. That said, Erengrad needed new leadership, and this decision arose organically."
"In theory, yes," Metternich conceded, unwilling to let the matter drop. "But I've heard that Bretonnia supported Vladimir from the start. Doesn't that create the perception of favoritism or pre-selection?"
"Vladimir was never a predetermined candidate," Ryan replied coolly. "The referendum process was both legitimate and transparent. And let me remind you, during Karl Franz's election as Emperor, didn't he campaign for votes across the provinces? Didn't Bretonnia's King Richard openly support him? By your logic, does that make Karl's emperorship invalid?"
"Ah… That's not what I meant," Metternich stammered, momentarily flustered. Seeking to regain ground, he added, "But shouldn't Vladimir's appointment require formal approval from Tsarina Katarin?"
"Hah!" Ryan chuckled coldly. "I fear Tsarina Katarin no longer has the authority to enforce anything. She's just lost the majority of her army in yet another defeat. In fact, there was nearly a mutiny among Erengrad's garrison. They initially called for the punishment of corrupt officials in her name, but upon hearing of her latest retreat, they were deeply disappointed—no, utterly disillusioned."
"What if the Empire were to support the Tsarina's return to Erengrad?" Metternich countered. "We could help her suppress the rebellion."
"Which Empire? The one to the south?" Ryan's smile turned razor-sharp. "Can you, Count Metternich, unilaterally represent the Empire in this matter? I recall that such significant decisions require approval from the Imperial Diet. Moreover, didn't we all agree not to interfere in Erengrad's internal affairs? Wouldn't such actions betray that commitment?"
Ryan leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "If the Empire intervenes, Bretonnia will have no choice but to get involved as well. I can assure you, Karl won't risk it. I know him too well."
Metternich's face turned ashen. He opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a loss for words. In a final bid to salvage his position, he said, "What if Tsarina Katarin resolves the matter herself?"
"As I've said before, I will not interfere in Kislev's internal affairs. Whatever decisions they make are their own," Ryan reiterated. He leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his smile. "But let me offer a word of caution. While I can't stop the Empire from pouring resources into that bottomless pit, you'd best consider the cost. How much have you spent so far? How effective has it been? Instead of helping her face reality, you're giving her false hope—'I can still make it,' she thinks. This solves nothing. I suspect the Imperial treasury is running on fumes by now."
"…" Metternich fell silent. After a long pause, he sighed heavily. "To be honest, Your Majesty, you're not wrong. The treasury, the armories, the powder stores—they're all nearly empty. Please don't blame us if we can no longer provide logistical support. The Emperor is already struggling to figure out how to pay soldiers' pensions and officials' salaries in the coming months."
"I have some funds at my disposal. If Karl needs assistance, we can arrange to purchase supplies," Ryan offered magnanimously, knowing full well that the wealthy Reikland could recover quickly given a year or two of peace.
The endless wars had left the Empire like a man dangling from a gallows. Most of the time, the rope loosened just enough to allow a breath of air, but whenever it tightened, the Empire was forced to use every ounce of strength just to stay alive.
"I respect the Romanov family's lawful claim to this land," Ryan said, standing up as he noticed Talleyrand entering the scene. "By the Lady, I swear it."
"What is it, Talleyrand?" Ryan asked.
"Your Majesty, urgent news from Bretonnia. Lady Suria… she…" Talleyrand hesitated.
"What happened to her?!" Ryan's face darkened with worry.
Talleyrand cast a deliberate glance at Metternich, prompting the Imperial envoy to rise quickly. "I won't intrude further, Your Majesty."
Once Metternich had departed, Talleyrand revealed the news with a grin. "Lady Suria has led an army of 20,000 to decisively defeat Wulfrik the Wanderer's forces at Andaye Port. The Norscans suffered over 4,000 casualties, while our losses were just over 600. It's a great victory. Wulfrik's marauders have retreated back to Norsca."
"Excellent! Suria never disappoints me," Ryan said, his tension melting into a proud smile. "Though her tactics were a bit conservative, they were highly effective
."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Talleyrand agreed. "While you take risks on the frontlines, your wife provides steady leadership at home."
"Is Metternich satisfied?" Ryan asked offhandedly.
"Not entirely, but he has no better options," Talleyrand replied.
Ryan's smile faded. "I have a feeling, Talleyrand, that our honeymoon phase with Karl Franz is over."
Talleyrand nodded slowly, tapping his cane on the ground. "For individuals, it's difficult to share hardships but easy to share joy. For nations, the opposite is true: it's easy to unite in adversity but hard to cooperate in prosperity."
"And the public sentiment?" Ryan inquired.
"Firmly in your favor," Talleyrand replied with a sly grin. "I've ensured that news of the Tsarina's defeat has been spread throughout Erengrad. Every major street corner now has soldiers explaining the disaster in excruciating detail. When people compare her failures to your leadership, the choice becomes obvious."
Moments later, Davout entered with a report. "Your Majesty, Belial has searched extensively but found nothing."
"No Romanov family members at all?" Ryan asked, surprised. "Not even distant relatives?"
"None, Your Majesty. Most died in the Battle of Zedevka or perished during their flight south. The few remaining branches were with the Tsarina at Fortenhaf-Rakhov and perished in the recent battle. According to Belial, Tsarina Katarin may well be the last surviving close member of the Romanov line," Davout admitted awkwardly.
"I see. Belial did his best; I don't blame him," Ryan said with a sigh. He had hoped to avoid dealing with the Tsarina directly, but it seemed there was no alternative.
However, Ryan's indomitable will and adaptability prevented him from dwelling on disappointment for long. He quickly turned to Talleyrand. "Good. Let's divide our efforts. You will handle negotiations with Metternich, following the framework we discussed. You know your limits, Talleyrand."
"Of course, Your Majesty. I've prepared an airtight treaty." Talleyrand handed Ryan a parchment. "Here's the draft."
Ryan skimmed it, his brow furrowing. "I don't recall agreeing to let Katarin rebuild her army, even if it's just a 500-man guard. And what's this about offering Karl Franz low-interest loans?"
"Maintaining peace requires maintaining balance," Talleyrand said with a wry smile. "We've already gained so much in Erengrad—not to mention the lucrative Dulong trade route. If we take too much, we risk becoming everyone's enemy. Trust me, Your Majesty, this is in Bretonnia's best interest. The Tsarina's family name still holds some value… minimal, but not nothing."
"Perhaps you're right. I feel like I've spent too much time in Kislev," Ryan conceded, handing the parchment back. "Let's proceed as planned. Focus on the trade route and loans."
"Francois and Bérard will handle the remaining military operations here. Meanwhile, Morgiana and I will travel to Dulong to negotiate directly with the dwarf lord Thorgrim Deepcrimson."
Talleyrand felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was the kind of leader he served—a man of unparalleled martial prowess, political acumen, and strategic foresight, yet grounded enough to heed wise counsel.
Ten minutes later, Talleyrand approached Metternich. "His Majesty has entrusted me to negotiate with you."
"You?" Metternich raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were just the ambassador to Nuln."
"I'm now His Majesty's Minister of Foreign Affairs. You should thank me, Metternich. It was I who convinced the King not to annex Erengrad. It was I who secured the low-interest loans for your Emperor. You owe me."
"Much appreciated," Metternich replied cautiously. Despite his gratitude, he felt uneasy. The crippled diplomat standing before him seemed far more dangerous than the imposing King Ryan. While Ryan operated within the constraints of chivalry and justice, Talleyrand was unburdened by such principles.
"Shall we find a place to discuss matters? How about the halfling mess hall? They serve excellent food," Talleyrand suggested, hobbling away without waiting for a response.
Metternich remained rooted in place, his expression dark.
This man, he thought grimly, might be even harder to deal with than the King.
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