When the *Imperial Peace Decree* fails for some, the peace of the Empire itself dissolves into a pipe dream.
If the high princes still maintained a semblance of basic restraint, the Imperial Knights—especially those living in relative squalor—no longer saw the Emperor as a figure of authority. In truth, since the Decree's inception, the princes had lobbied fiercely for special exemption clauses; they sought to ensure the lower ranks could not initiate regional conflicts while reserving for themselves the "privilege" of engaging in private war (*Fehde*). Although the Emperor repeatedly vetoed this proposal—viewing it as a direct betrayal of the Imperial Peace—the princes continued to treat private war as their ultimate weapon of dispute resolution.
For the princes, the Emperor and the Imperial Circles provided useful tools for conflict mediation, and they were often happy to avoid armed clashes that only resulted in mutual damage. Even without war, they could maintain their opulent lifestyles, often seeing their tenant populations and tax revenues grow due to general stability.
The knights, however, faced the exact opposite reality. For a significant portion of them, a long absence from the battlefield meant financial ruin. Following the Black Death, the cost of managing manors had skyrocketed. As the economy recovered, prices rose while land values dipped slightly, leaving many small and medium knights unable to sustain themselves. They were forced to become either mercenaries or brigands.
This was why many knights responded so eagerly to the Emperor's summons for war. In the past, they would have turned to regional private wars or become "robber knights" to supplement their income. The lower tier of these brigands did little more than mug passing merchants—often meeting their end when they picked the wrong target. Bolder villains, however, dared to attack the Emperor's messengers. In regions like Swabia and Franconia, Laszlo's Royal Postal Service had already lost dozens of couriers; some messengers' arms or heads were even mailed back to the postal headquarters in Innsbruck. These acts were often commissioned by local rivals, intended as a calculated insult to the Emperor's majesty.
The boldest and most formidable robber knights formed gangs to raid markets, loot wealth, and kidnap nobles for exorbitant ransoms, with many amassing fortunes through these illicit means. When the Imperial Circles were established, the southern Circles—under the Emperor's strict orders—invested significant capital and manpower into "cleaning house." They largely eradicated the major bandit groups in Austria, Swabia, and Bavaria, improving the commercial climate, though the underlying economic plight of the knights remained unresolved.
As for the North, even a figure as powerful as the Elector of Brandenburg could not fully suppress the fierce robber-nobles within his borders. Years ago, the Emperor's envoy sent to mediate the Pomeranian Succession War was nearly intercepted and killed by Wendish robber-nobles. To this day, Northern Germany remains infested with bandits due to its harsh economic and agricultural environment. In regions where the Peace Decree and Circle regulations have utterly failed, private war has intensified to the point where Laszlo must divert his energy from the war in Lorraine to handle these internal fires.
***
**Innsbruck, Imperial Castle**
"Majesty, here is a letter from Lübeck requesting protection; these are letters of mutual accusation between the Bishop of Würzburg and the Bishop of Bamberg; here is the appeal from the Nuremberg City Council regarding the inheritance dispute over the Brauneck lands with the Elector of Brandenburg; and finally, pleas for help from several Imperial Counts and abbeys in the North. They claim their territories are under threat and seek the protection of Imperial troops."
Archbishop Adolf practicedly arranged a stack of petitions on the Emperor's desk, placing them in the designated spot for Imperial state papers. Laszlo, currently reviewing the administration of Austria and its client states, furrowed his brow but did not immediately touch the documents that promised so much trouble.
After leaving the Lorraine campaign to Christopher and his minor court, Laszlo had not rushed back to Vienna. Instead, he remained in Innsbruck—the convenient heart of the Austrian postal network—to coordinate affairs across his domains.
Business in Austria, Bohemia, and Hungary was tedious but stable. In Hungary, Bishop Vitéz continued to enforce the new *Golden Bull*, strictly limiting the power of the great magnates. A new class of military nobility, forged in successive rebellions and foreign wars, had become a stabilizing force. Three field legions ensured the security of Hungary, Transylvania, and Croatia; the suppressed magnates lacked the courage to defy the Emperor. Though small-scale peasant uprisings occasionally flared due to heavy taxation, they caused little lasting damage.
Despite Laszlo's efforts to balance the tax burden, some underdeveloped regions remained overtaxed. Furthermore, the Crown's monopoly on salt and the harsh crackdown on contraband meant the Hungarian lower classes bore the brunt of high salt taxes. Since the long state of war had paused, maintaining tens of thousands of troops, a robust government apparatus, and investments in universities and industry consumed vast revenues. Laszlo had considered a policy of "light taxes and low levies," but Vitéz dissuaded him: if the King voluntarily reduced his income, the surplus would simply flow into the pockets of the nobles, fueling future resistance.
The system of the Hungarian Kingdom was like a war machine without brakes—a hangover from sixty years of fighting Ottomans and Hussites. Laszlo's reforms had only reinforced this structure. Unless he was prepared to utterly dismantle the autonomy of the Hungarian nobility, he had to maintain a high-pressure rule until he found the time to fix it—or until Hungary exploded. For now, he had no such time.
Integration in Bohemia was proceeding smoothly. The Prague Diet paid its tribute in April as agreed, increasing the Vienna government's revenue by nearly **20%**, and the Court Military Council's control over the two Bohemian legions grew firmer. As for the plan to partition the Bohemian Estates, it remained in the phase of "public opinion guidance" for now.
Austria remained peaceful. State governments, assisted by specially appointed Imperial judges, began compiling local customary laws to lay the foundation for a future Austrian State Code. The only sector affected by the chaotic European situation was commerce, particularly trade with the Imperial heartland and the Low Countries. However, the impact was manageable, given that Austria's urbanization was still lower than that of Northern Italy or Swabia.
Having sorted through his western affairs, Laszlo reviewed a report from the East. The Aq Qoyunlu (White Sheep) army of tens of thousands had invaded Ottoman territory. Currently, Sultan Mustafa was employing a scorched-earth strategy, avoiding a pitched battle. On the Anatolian plateau, Muslims were killing each other—a rare bit of entertainment for Laszlo.
Finally, news arrived from Naples and Rome. King Ferrante of Naples had quelled his internal rebellions and prepared dowries for his two daughters. He invited Prince Maximilian and the Duke of Ferrara to Rome to marry them. Considering the Emperor's heavy burden, Ferrante had sent a symbolic invitation, though it was understood the Emperor would likely send an envoy. At the end of the letter, Ferrante expressed concern over the Empire's situation and hoped the **30,000 Florins** he had scraped together for his daughter's dowry might provide some assistance to the Emperor.
"The man has a conscience after all," Laszlo remarked. He tucked the letter away, composed himself, and finally picked up the pile of Imperial documents. Archbishop Adolf, sitting opposite him, perked up as the Emperor finally decided to face reality.
"Majesty, between the trouble with Burgundy and the internal problems of the Empire, we can likely only handle one at a time. You must decide quickly."
"Actually, in theory, I can handle both challenges simultaneously." Laszlo understood the Archbishop's anxiety, but he had a clear assessment of his own strength. The current Burgundy and the rebellious northern princes were no match for him.
"Do you intend to pin your hopes on a cruel war again?" the Archbishop asked helplessly. Over the years, by using superior numbers and expanding his influence, the Emperor had built a "snowballing" advantage. Subjugating the Empire was possible, but the fires of war would burn for years, and victory was never a guarantee on the battlefield.
Besides, the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg cared little for Burgundian expansion. Being in the East, they weren't worried about the fate of the western princes. If they could gain a powerful ally by tolerating the Burgundian consumption of Imperial land, they would happily sell the Empire out.
The Emperor had occasionally done the same, but the difference was that Laszlo knew where to draw the line and acted decisively when it was crossed. The opposition Electors likely lacked such scruples. If the two forces merged, the Emperor would face a dire challenge. War, in the Archbishop's view, was unwise.
"If such a war starts, it would indeed be endless. But I will fight it anyway. In the current climate, debates and speeches at the Diet can no longer change the Empire. Only iron and blood can bring the Empire a new life!" Laszlo stood up excitedly, his impassioned words met only by the Archbishop's bewildered look.
"Majesty... what has come over you? All of a sudden..."
"Ahem. Your concerns are valid. I do not actually intend to face Burgundy and the internal opposition at the same time." Laszlo tucked away his dramatic flair and sat back down, resuming his calm, confident demeanor.
"Oh? You have a clever plan?"
"As you know, Charles only officially took over Guelders three months ago. Local opposition in Eastern Lower Guelders remains, leaving his main forces bogged down in the Low Countries. Though the riots in Liège and Utrecht were suppressed, the local nobles and cities are constantly trying to break free. I am certain Charles cannot spare many troops to contest Lorraine."
Laszlo swept aside the mountain of documents to reveal the large map underneath. "He won't get Lorraine, but I can offer him a new territory as compensation. On that condition, I will not only reach a settlement with him but force him back into the framework of the Imperial order."
"Which Imperial land do you intend to carve off for him this time?" The Archbishop leaned in to look where the Emperor pointed, and his eyes lit up. "This is... Friesland? The land of the free folk? I recall this isn't part of the Empire, and East Friesland was excluded after you rejected it."
"It wasn't before, but it will be. I will promise this land to Charles. The House of Burgundy has wanted sovereignty here for ages. Once he leads his army to take Friesland personally, it will naturally become Imperial territory."
It was a familiar tactic—the same way the Teutonic Knights had expanded their frontiers.
"How can you be so sure King Charles's attention will be diverted to such a remote place?"
"First, he is finding it very difficult to compete for Lorraine right now. If I simply recognize his rule over the Duchy of Bar and the Meuse Valley, his interest in Lorraine will diminish, facilitating negotiations. Second, the provinces of the Low Countries will naturally be more interested in Friesland. I will send people to provide some 'friendly guidance' to help the States-General change Charles's mind for us."
Laszlo smiled as he revealed the plan. It was an open maneuver (*Yangmou*): first, create a massive show of force to make Charles feel the difficulty, then offer an acceptable alternative. Even a hothead like Charles would know which way to jump. Furthermore, Christopher and Mary would exert psychological pressure on him from within.
Archbishop Adolf looked at the map, then at the Emperor, suddenly wanting to apologize for his earlier misunderstanding. He had been convinced the Emperor formed the League of Constance to have a real showdown with the Burgundians. It turned out he had underestimated the Emperor.
"Adolf, the embassy to Burgundy requires a heavyweight—someone who represents my authority and that of the Empire. Would you be willing to undertake this mission?"
"It would be my honor, Majesty." Since the Emperor was showing him such respect, the Archbishop had no reason to refuse.
"Clement will accompany you. His task is more complex. You will first go to Franche-Comté to see Christopher, then to the Low Countries to negotiate with Charles. I will have the specific treaty terms and bottom lines prepared for you. I hope you can make the arrogant Burgundians see reason."
"As you wish, Majesty."
Seeing the Emperor's harsh attitude toward his in-laws, Archbishop Adolf actually felt relieved. Constant concessions would only make the Emperor lose face before the princes. His current tough stance had earned him immense prestige. While it was merely "the icing on the cake" for the Emperor, it gave the western princes a genuine sense of security. If the Emperor could force Burgundy to back down—after already scaring off the Danish King—the impact would be legendary. The Archbishop could only marvel at the Emperor's decisiveness and majesty.