Chaos. Everything in Paris was shrouded in despair and riotous disorder.
King Louis XI, who had originally pacified them by saying he would defend Paris to the death, had fled. He first escaped to Amboise Castle with his court, picked up his wife and children, and fled all the way south.
After all that talk, the people of Paris were left to defend the city themselves.
Of the several Compagnies d'ordonnance that fled from the battlefield, only three returned to Paris intact. The remaining units were either completely annihilated during the Imperial Army's pursuit or had their formations broken, wandering aimlessly in the wilderness.
Over ten days passed, and the armies of the Empire and Burgundy arrived outside Paris one after another. They began constructing siege camps, seemingly preparing for a long-term blockade of the city.
Reading novels on the go, smooth and easy.
Earlier, Paris had also received some pleas for help from northern towns. Now, it seemed those towns had likely been completely destroyed.
Inside the city, the unlucky soul left behind to serve as a scapegoat was Marshal Jean de Lescun, Count of Comminges. He hailed from the County of Comminges at the foot of the Pyrenees and was nicknamed the "Bastard of Armagnac."
He was the product of adultery between the Count of Comminges and a woman of the Armagnac family. Later legalized, he inherited his father's lands and was made a Marshal for his many years of service to Louis.
The French have always had liberal views, and inheritance by illegitimate children was not uncommon. However, his political enemies always seized upon this sore point to attack him, even giving him that unpleasant nickname.
Despite being called that, he chose to side against the Armagnac family. He exerted great effort in the King's campaign against Armagnac and was rewarded with a significant amount of land.
This time, the King ordered him to lead over a hundred men to stay and defend Paris, which was also a sign of trust.
It was just that this trust seemed a bit too heavy to bear.
"Can you really not stay? Paris needs you," Marshal Lescun pleaded with a bitter face to the general leading over a thousand heavy cavalry from the Compagnies d'ordonnance.
"Wherever His Majesty the King is, there France is. We must follow in His Majesty's footsteps."
"But..." The Marshal let out a long sigh but did not continue his plea.
He really had no standing to persuade the other party to stay in Paris. After all, one of His Majesty's orders was to gather the scattered troops and have them move south to rendezvous with the royal army.
"Your Excellency Marshal, the walls of Paris are very strong. I believe you will surely be able to hold out until the day His Majesty leads the grand army back for a counter-offensive." The general commanding the heavy cavalry bowed to the Marshal and then turned to leave without looking back.
The cavalrymen, who had just flooded into the city and brought a glimmer of hope to the people, set out from the city gates without pause after requisitioning enough supplies. Ignoring the desperate pleas of the citizens on the streets, they embarked on the road to follow the King.
They were no fools; they could see that staying in Paris was no different from suicide. It was better to keep fleeing south, to a place the Imperial Army couldn't reach.
Thus, the small spark of hope that had just risen in the hearts of the Parisian citizens was completely extinguished.
Meanwhile, their King, after incorporating the Count of Maine's forces at Chartres, saw his military strength swell to six or seven thousand. He was now heading straight south for the Loire Valley, intending to expel the Duke of Brittany, who was taking the opportunity to cause trouble.
As for Orléans... even Paris had been abandoned; there was no room to worry about Orléans.
Outside Paris, the sky was clear and the autumn air was crisp, making the soldiers of the allied forces, who had been washed by heavy rain for days, feel quite comfortable.
Even facing the high walls and deep moats of Paris, they were full of energy, their hearts brimming with a desire for wealth.
On a watchtower at the edge of the camp, Laszlo and Charles observed the city's situation together.
"The defenses look quite lax."
Laszlo saw hardly anyone on the walls. The suburbs outside the city had already been turned into scorched earth—some burned by the French themselves, but more by the advance units that had arrived earlier, looted the area, and razed it.
In terms of scale, Paris was even significantly larger than Milan, its population having reached two hundred thousand long ago.
According to the characteristics of medieval urban populations, there were likely no fewer than forty thousand people in the city capable of taking up arms. Yet, from the looks of it, the city's interior seemed very empty.
"Louis XI has fled. The intelligence I've received says Louis XI took all the elites of Paris and escaped south, destination Tours. So, the defenders of Paris are actually just the city guard," Charles explained.
"Then it's no wonder," Laszlo said, realization dawning. "This Louis XI is certainly decisive enough. It's a pity to waste such a good opportunity..."
"Hmph, no matter. Now that he's gone, it won't be so simple for him to come back," Charles sneered, effectively declaring Louis XI's defeat.
After struggling for so many years, he had finally made it through and saw a glimmer of victory.
"Then let's proceed according to the original plan. Each side will be responsible for a section of the wall. Leave an opening to the south, and arrange for cavalry to roam the roads and intercept them. We'll wear them down until this city surrenders."
Laszlo reconfirmed the arrangements they had previously settled on.
Charles had no objection. After the discussion, the two armies each divided into several sections to surround Paris. Even the Seine River shipping lanes were closely monitored, leaving only one opening to the south of the city.
Citizens continuously fled south from there, yet they had no idea what was waiting for them on the road ahead.
Inside the city, the city guard, barely assembled under the external threat, reinforced the wall defenses. However, most people had lost their will to fight because of the King's flight.
In the city council, representatives of various guilds and those of relatively high status were arguing incessantly in front of the defending commander, Marshal Lescun.
Many of them wanted to open the gates and surrender to the Burgundians, just as they had fifty years ago, in exchange for clemency from the Burgundian and Imperial armies.
However, Charles's fierce reputation had long since spread throughout France. No one dared to bet on whether he would order his army to loot freely or even massacre the city.
As for that Emperor, they had even less of a way to understand him.
In Orléans, within the camp of the Duke of Berry, the three who had previously risen in arms together were reunited for a rare meeting.
The Duke of Berry sat in the primary seat; after all, he had once again been elected as the "leader" of the rebellious French lords.
Seated beside him were the Count of Nevers, representing the House of Burgundy, and the Duke of Nemours, representing the Armagnac family and the Emperor.
Except for Brittany, all the major French noble opposition factions had gathered here.
Jacques, the Duke of Nemours, who had hurried from Paris representing the Emperor, and the Duke of Berry, who was currently fighting for the French throne, began a negotiation concerning the future of France.
"Not long ago, His Majesty the Emperor crushed the main French force at the Battle of Péronne. The army has now reached Paris and is making preparations for a siege."
Jacques described the scenes he had personally witnessed to his two allies. His vivid narration filled both the Duke of Berry and the Count of Nevers with excitement.
"Yes, the scouts I sent out earlier also detected the retreat of the enemy from the direction of Chartres. Presumably, they were taken south by my royal brother."
Combining the recently gathered intelligence, the Duke of Berry confirmed that the news Jacques brought back was no lie.
"In that case, our siege of Orléans can continue without worrying about a sneak attack from behind... This damned Orléans refuses to open its gates and surrender, blocking my path to Paris completely. It's truly..."
The young and aggressive Duke of Berry gnashed his teeth. If things went as expected, on the day the city fell, the stronghold of Orléans would face a catastrophe. Years ago, the English had besieged this place for six months, and the residents had persevered even when their food and ammunition were exhausted, until the arrival of that village girl known as the 'Maid of Orléans,' which became the great turning point in the final stage of the Hundred Years' War.
Unfortunately, Orléans was unlikely to have such good luck this time.
"You need not be so impatient, Your Highness. Both the Emperor and the King of Burgundy fully recognize your claim to the French throne. They will await your arrival in Paris."
Jacques smiled, using a soothing tone as much as possible to pacify the Duke of Berry. He was truly worried that the content of the upcoming negotiations would make this twenty-five-year-old prince explode on the spot.
Hearing Jacques's words, the Duke of Berry first felt a surge of joy, but then he gradually began to reconsider, realizing something seemed off.
There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world, and no one would hand him Paris and the French throne on a silver platter. This kind of gift from fate was destined to have a price clearly marked on it.
"So, what is the price, Jacques?" The Duke of Berry, having calmed down from his excitement and joy, asked tentatively with a frown.
Undoubtedly, he had already prepared himself—prepared himself to sell out France.
In his youth, he no longer cared for anything else; his heart was now set only on replacing his fickle, insidious, and cruel brother to become the true King of France.
Seeing this, Jacques no longer hid anything and directly pulled out a list previously drafted by Laszlo and Charles together.
After so many years, as the player of this great game of European chess, the carving knife in Laszlo's hand had grown sharper, and his skill in slicing the cake had become more adept.
The main goal was to share the spoils equally, ensuring everyone got what they needed, and trying to create a result that satisfied everyone.
Both the Duke of Berry and the Count of Nevers leaned in curiously, intending to see what the Emperor had up his sleeve.
"All lands east of the Rhône River, except for Avignon, shall be ceded to the Empire. Avignon shall belong to the Pope."
"Lands in Champagne north of the Seine, such as Reims and Langres, shall be ceded to Burgundy. Burgundy's rule over the cities of the Somme, such as Amiens, Péronne, and Saint-Quentin, shall be confirmed."
"Restore the title of Duke of Armagnac to Jean d'Armagnac. Restore the title of Duke of Nemours to Jacques d'Armagnac. Northern territories like Nemours and Limousin shall be ruled by Jacques, while southern territories like Rouergue and Armagnac shall be ruled by Jean."
"Cede disputed territories in Normandy to the Duke of Brittany, and allow him to seize disputed territories in Maine, Anjou, and other areas."
"Cede Sancerre of the House of Bourbon to the Count of Nevers. The lands of the Duke of Orléans and the Duke of Bourbon shall be discussed and distributed among the dukes themselves."
"After the fall of Paris, the Imperial Army shall conduct an unrestricted six-day sack. After six days, the Imperial Army will withdraw from Paris and hand it over to the King of France."
Undoubtedly, this was a treaty of national betrayal and humiliation. From the perspective of the French people, and especially the people of Paris, it was simply unacceptable.
After six days of ravaging, even Rome would be completely destroyed, let alone Paris.
Moreover, the demands for land cessions were particularly harsh and comprehensive—everyone involved in this war had essentially received their due reward.
From the Duke of Berry's perspective, he was still receiving the most.
First was Normandy, which had been forcibly stripped from him by his brother. Although a portion needed to be carved out, most of it would eventually fall into his hands.
Then there were the territories of the Orléans and Bourbon families. On the Bourbon side, there was still Pierre de Bourbon acting as duke, which might be difficult to settle for a while, but the Orléans lands had been solidly carved up by several of them, leaving only the isolated city of Orléans itself.
Beyond that was the most important part: the Île-de-France, and the throne of the Kingdom of France.
Even though the Duke of Berry knew what agreeing to these terms meant, the desire in his heart to go one step further could not be suppressed. Wait, the most important thing—the throne—was not mentioned in these terms.
This made the Duke of Berry look somewhat anxiously at Jacques, who had a relaxed expression. He took a deep breath and asked in a low voice: "These conditions... I can agree to them all, but what about the throne? Why is it not mentioned here..."
Jacques had long anticipated this and thus pulled out another Papal decree.
The content was also very simple: to be crowned king was perfectly fine, but he only needed to recognize the Pope's rule over Avignon, announce the overthrow of the results of the previous French religious council, and declare war on the antipope in Avignon and the false king Louis XI who had retreated to the south. In this way, he would be qualified to become the new King of France.
"Well? I wonder what your thoughts are on these conditions?"
What thoughts could he have? The Duke of Berry gnashed his teeth, as the desire and reason in his heart were in fierce conflict.
Should he bear the infamy and ascend the throne he had coveted for so long, or should he repent now and join hands with his brother to resist the invading foreign enemies... Thinking of Louis XI's past behavior, the Duke of Berry suddenly felt a wave of relief.
This was a damn single-choice question!
"I'll do it! Someone, bring me my seal!"
Having made up his mind, this younger brother of the French King, also named Charles, breathed a long sigh of relief and fully accepted the treaty given by the Emperor and the encyclical issued by the Pope.
Even a broken France was still France!
In fact, after being tormented by his brother for over ten years, the Duke of Berry had gradually come to terms with it, intending to be a submissive royal brother. He thought he might have a chance to become the heir presumptive later; after all, he was twenty-three years younger than Louis XI—a whole generation's difference!
Unfortunately, just a year ago, Louis XI had a healthy son. Seemingly out of his own wicked sense of humor, the child was named Charles.
With that, the Duke of Berry's hopes were completely dashed, and his mindset shattered. Thus, the drama of betrayal and fratricide was staged once again.
Finally, he touched the throne of the King of France that had once been out of reach. As for what calamities France would suffer afterwards... that was not within the scope of his concern.
After Charles, Duke of Berry and the reserve King of France, signed the treaty that changed the fate of France, it actually had little impact on the practical war situation.
Champagne, Normandy, and the outskirts of Paris were all swept by detachments from the Empire and Burgundy. Those Frenchmen, who did not yet know they had been abandoned by their king, were no longer fighting for him, but merely for their own survival.
The attacking Imperial-Burgundian allied forces were there to help collect more supplies for the troops, aiming to alleviate the logistical pressure of the siege.
Since the second autumn harvest had ended, the fodder and grain available in the entire Paris Basin could be described as quite abundant. However, the process of obtaining supplies from the French populace, who desperately protected their property, was not peaceful; many died, and numerous villages and towns were completely destroyed.
The entirety of Northern France was burning, filled with flames, fear, and wailing.
Needless to say, the Duke of Berry, who rose to power by selling out his country, could not possibly restrain such occurrences, and this caused him to lose the support of the people under his rule even before his coronation.
In times of war and chaos, if you have a title, people are willing to follow you; if your fist is hard enough to protect everyone, people are also willing to follow you.
However, the Duke of Berry's title was not legitimate enough, the way he obtained the throne was even more despicable, and he allowed French lands to be ravaged, almost losing the very foundation of his rule.
To maintain his rule, he had to rely on violent means, on the great feudal lords who supported him, on his "old ally" King Charles of Burgundy who backed him, and even on the Emperor's invisible hand.
He undoubtedly possessed the qualities of an excellent puppet.
So many threads pulled at him, turning him into a marionette manipulated by various interests, though occasionally he had the chance to exercise his own initiative—though such opportunities would likely not be many.
Of course, even if he appeared to be a puppet king, he did indeed have the support of the Duke of Brittany and the various Dukes of Armagnac, and was currently working toward a reconciliation with Bourbon.
In the siege camp at Paris, Laszlo set aside the letter sent by the Duke of Berry. After considering for a moment, he picked it up again and hurried to the Burgundian main camp with his attendants.
Accompanied by Charles, Laszlo saw the Duke of Bourbon, who was receiving careful medical attention.
Charles had summoned the most well-trained doctors to treat his injuries, and it seemed the Duke was recovering reasonably well.
Laszlo glanced at the Duke of Bourbon lying quietly on the couch, lowered the door curtain, and turned to look at Charles.
"Given your resentful tone before, I thought you intended to torture him severely. Why have you suddenly changed your mind?" Laszlo asked curiously.
After all, it was this man lying in the tent who had led a massive army to turn the Burgundian heartland into scorched earth, causing Charles untold losses.
Previously, for revenge, Charles had personally led men to capture Clermont, the ancestral home of the House of Bourbon, destroying it completely to vent his resentment.
Now that the Duke of Bourbon had fallen into his hands—even if Laszlo had only given him custody temporarily—he shouldn't have been this restrained, should he?
Charles looked at Laszlo with some helplessness and sighed. "What does Your Majesty take me for? Even if his past crimes are countless, he is still my aunt's son, my cousin, and he's injured. I can't exactly have someone beat him up at a time like this, can I?"
"True. Better to heal him first before taking your anger out on him," Laszlo said with a slight smile, though his words sounded like a demon's whisper.
In any case, killing him was out of the question; they were all relatives. Furthermore, if they killed him and got no ransom, the previous losses would be a total waste, and it would likely push the House of Bourbon entirely into the enemy camp.
To be honest, Laszlo was not keen on crossing mountains into the Massif Central to fight Bourbon now. There was no profit in it, and the army would have to bear significant risks.
Therefore, he was somewhat moved by the Duke of Berry's proposal.
Hearing this, Charles also gave an awkward smile; that was indeed his plan.
During the Hundred Years' War, the English method for extorting large ransoms was to beat nobles until they couldn't take it anymore and agreed to have their families raise a massive sum for their release.
The English at the time were dirt poor, and their methods for scrounging money were endless.
Laszlo and Charles weren't that poor, but the losses brought by the Duke of Bourbon were real and heavy. This matter wouldn't end easily without making him cough up plenty of gold.
"Look at this, a letter from the Duke of Berry. He has contacted Pierre, the Duke of Bourbon's younger brother, who is interested in paying a ransom for the Duke's freedom."
Laszlo handed the letter over.
"One hundred thousand florins?" Seeing the price, Charles furrowed his brows. "Is he treating us like beggars? He slaughtered his way from Langres to Dijon, then circled back to Paris, looting half the Duchy of Burgundy along the way. He thinks he can settle this by paying a hundred thousand?"
"Well, he was only acting on Louis XI's orders, after all. Besides, he wasn't the only one committing these crimes.
However, one hundred thousand is indeed too little; it can be raised. And I see the Duke of Berry seems to intend to use this chance to win over the House of Bourbon. What do you think..."
"Let's wait for them to show some sincerity in negotiations first. And Your Majesty, isn't this money to be split between us? Don't you want to ask for more?"
"Of course I do, it's just that the situation in France... Never mind, as you say, we'll talk once they show sincerity. Just remember not to go too far, or it will be hard to wrap things up later."
Laszlo cautioned once more, and Charles gave a reluctant nod.
In truth, Charles didn't just want money. He controlled the Low Countries and was incredibly wealthy; conversely, he desired land even more.
If he could obtain some land from Bourbon, the previous hatred could be allowed to fade away.
Chambéry, this sturdy mountain city, had now been turned into widespread ruins.
After months of siege, shortly after the arrival of the army led by the Pope himself, the city finally could not escape the fate of being captured.
After a clash that wasn't particularly fierce, the rebels inside the city were all wiped out, and the rebel leader, Luigi di Savoia, also died in the chaos, his remains lost.
The city was quickly occupied by the Imperial Army and became a key hub for transporting grain and military supplies across the Alps.
With Chambéry taken, there were no longer any obstacles on the road to Southern France.
Everyone turned their heads, casting their eyes toward that radiant and prosperous metropolis—Lyon, where wealth was gathered that could make them a fortune.
Because the French Army was completely unable to attend to the south, the towns and castles in Southern France were now only protected by locally recruited garrisons. They could hardly interfere with the Imperial Army's movements, allowing Matthias and other Imperial generals to choose their marching routes more flexibly.
Previously, Matthias might have indeed gathered his troops to besiege Lyon first before worrying about anything else.
However, the Pope's personal arrival with an army caused a clear shift in the priority of strategic objectives.
As the most difficult city to capture in Southern France, Lyon's priority was pushed back, while Avignon, the seat of the antipope, became the primary target of the allied forces.
Thus, Lyon, which had gathered much of the southern French defensive strength, was bypassed. The Imperial Army launched a surprise attack on the Dauphiné through the mountain passes around Chambéry and quickly captured several towns in the region.
A string of victories boosted the morale of the Imperial Army, which had previously felt some regret, and they soon rushed into the Rhône Valley under Matthias's leadership.
Just as in the north, the French here also attempted a scorched-earth tactic.
However, because it was so far from Paris, the execution of the tactic was not very thorough. Many villagers and townsfolk had lowered their guard after not seeing the Imperial Army for half a year.
As a result, when the massive Imperial Army suddenly crossed the valley and appeared before them, the sheer size of the force terrified the residents of the villages along the way.
After sending a detachment to Lyon to conduct harassment operations, Matthias led the remaining army of over ten thousand men rapidly south along the Rhône Valley.
This decision was quickly proven wise.
Louis XI had invested heavily in Lyon's development and construction and had close ties with the local burgher class and wealthy merchants from Italy. Therefore, the group most loyal to Louis XI in all of Southern France was now gathered in Lyon.
They had contributed massive tax revenues to Louis XI over the past few years of war, but now the enemy was at their doorstep, and the King's reinforcements were nowhere to be seen.
As the Imperial detachment's raids in the outskirts of Lyon intensified, panic began to spread in the city, and many who were able to flee chose to take their families to safer places.
Meanwhile, the biggest problem facing the Imperial-Papal allied forces entering the Rhône Valley did not come from the enemy, but from within the army itself.
The army, full of factions and varying in quality, was a major headache for Matthias, the commander personally appointed by the Emperor.
Fortunately, he also held the key to solving the problem: the Emperor's appointment and the Imperial Army's regulations.
After a certain city along the river chose to surrender and pay a ransom, Matthias sent a unit to garrison there to ensure no issues with subsequent supply transport.
To his surprise, as soon as he left, the garrison in the city violated military orders, committing outrages and even causing loss of life, nearly provoking the surrendered city to rebel again.
Upon hearing of this, Matthias sent his personal guards back into the city overnight to deal with the rule-breakers according to military regulations, and even paid out of his own pocket to compensate the citizens for their losses.
Following the Emperor's instructions, he proclaimed to the citizens that the Imperial Army's actions were aimed at recovering Imperial territory, not conducting destructive operations in enemy lands.
This move quickly won the goodwill of the local populace, and they gradually became less hostile toward the Imperial Army occupying their homes.
The ones punished were from the Milanese forces. Since this army was almost entirely composed of Italian mercenaries, it was hard not to suspect that Matthias's previous arrangement had been intentional.
Outside the city of Montélimar, in the Imperial camp, a tense atmosphere spread through the air.
The commander of the Milanese forces, Piccinino the Younger, stood before Matthias with a face full of indignation, while the latter unhurriedly handled military affairs, striving to eliminate any worries for the army.
To be honest, there was no suspense in this war. He had over ten thousand troops under his command, and how many men could Provence, ruled by the Duke of Anjou, muster?
Five thousand was likely the enemy's limit, and that was without considering the quality of the troops.
Therefore, by simply pushing forward, the war could be won; it was an absolute gap in power.
However, he had not forgotten the Emperor's previous instructions. Thus, in the battles following the fall of Chambéry, he did his best to restrain his troops and win over the local hearts.
Fortunately, those greedy soldiers now only had eyes for wealthy Lyon and weren't very interested in other towns. Combined with his efforts to distribute loot as fairly as possible, the army hadn't run into major trouble along the way.
However, accidents always happen, like now.
"I know you are nominally the commander appointed by His Majesty the Emperor, and in reality, you act as an overseer. But by what right do you bypass me to directly punish Milanese soldiers?"
Piccinino suppressed his anger, slamming a heavy fist onto Matthias's desk.
Those soldiers were elite mercenaries he had personally recruited; in other words, every one of them was a seasoned rogue.
Their fighting skills were indeed good, but their will to fight was not firm, and their desire for wealth could not withstand temptation.
Piccinino was well aware of this, which was why he was angry at the young commander's calculations.
"General Piccinino, there are no Milanese soldiers or Austrian soldiers here; they are all soldiers of the Empire. And, stepping back, to whom should the Milanese officers and men be loyal?"
"The Duke of... Milan."
"Then, who holds the title of Duke of Milan?" Matthias stared at Piccinino with a playful look.
"It is His Majesty the Emperor..."
"Then I, by order of His Majesty the Emperor, command the army to attack Avignon. Is there a problem with me enforcing military discipline and pacifying the people during this time?"
"But..."
"There are no 'buts.' You know their situation best. These sentences strictly follow the military regulations issued by His Majesty the Emperor and have been approved by His Majesty the Pope as being in accordance with doctrine.
A life for a life is the law; I only had them branded on the face and whipped, using their belongings to compensate the families of the deceased. Is that not merciful enough?
Robbing in the streets and attacking markets are intolerable crimes. They should have been tried in court and found guilty, not simply stripped of their gear and expelled from the army.
The regulations set by His Majesty the Emperor are already lenient enough. You really should have those men of yours reflect on their own problems.
Or is it that they intend to offend the majesty of both the Emperor and the Pope and suffer the most extreme punishments in this world?"
These pointed words made Piccinino snap to his senses instantly.
He had controlled the Milanese army for too long and almost forgot who the true master was.
"I will restrain my subordinates; it won't happen again." Piccinino's expression shifted several times before his tone finally softened.
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear." Matthias politely saw off the troublesome Italian, having no intention of reporting him to the Emperor.
They didn't work within the same system, and after this, they would likely have no further opportunity to cooperate.
However, the experience of commanding a mixed force was... indescribable.
Clearly, this was a test of his ability by the Emperor, but the process was so difficult that he found it hard to adapt for a time.
Fortunately, the army relied on overwhelming strength and encountered no major crises, and the march was quite smooth.
After taking the small city before them through intimidation and persuasion, the distance between them and Avignon was only a few dozen li.
Presumably, the final battle wouldn't be too far off.
He wondered how the Emperor, who had dumped all these troubles on him, was doing now; likely, nothing unexpected would happen there either.
Matthias shook his head, brushing aside those idle thoughts, and continued processing military affairs to ensure no oversights.