Chapter 5: The Italian Gambit and the Hero's Hypocrisy
The afternoon session of the Imperial Diet felt like a slow descent into a gilded purgatory. The air in the Frankfurt council hall had grown thick with the scent of expensive oils and the mounting frustration of three hundred men who had spent four hours arguing over a salt tax.
Julian leaned back into the plush leather of the minor nobility bench, feeling the weight of the "The Diet of Worms" system pressing against the back of his mind. To his right, Lady Mathilde was a vision of focused lethality, her eyes tracking every speaker with the intensity of a hawk watching a field mouse.
"Watch the man in the green doublet," Mathilde whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of a Bavarian count complaining about border tolls. "Duke Otto of House Welf. He's about to throw a torch into this room."
Right on cue, the Duke of Saxony rose. He didn't shout; he didn't need to. His voice carried the weight of House Welf's ten thousand troops and their deep-seated rivalry with the Emperor.
"Imperial Majesty!" Otto IV's voice cut through the bickering. "We speak of mobilization as if it were a simple game of chess. But a full call to arms will panic the peasantry. It will lead to a tax hike that neither this Empire nor its people can endure. If we wish to secure our interests against the Spanish encroachment in the south, we must be surgical."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall. Even the Emperor, Frederick II, leaned forward, his cynical eyes narrowing.
"Go on, Duke," the Emperor commanded.
"We should not march an army," Otto continued, a cold smirk touching his lips. "We should relocate. Move loyal, minor families to the Italian provinces—specifically the contested borders of Sicily and Naples. Establish a permanent Imperial presence there to counteract Spanish influence. It protects our northern positions without bankrupting the treasury."
Julian felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. He didn't need the system to tell him what 'loyal, minor families' meant. It was a euphemism for 'families we can afford to lose.' Houses like Andechs-Merania.
[System Notification: Historical Context Detected.]
[Sarcastic Commentary: Oh, look. They've found a way to use you as a human sandbag. Moving a Tier 4 'Broken House' like yours to the Spanish border is essentially a death sentence with better scenery. How delightful.]
'Shut up,' Julian thought, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrest. 'Mathilde, tell me we aren't the ones being moved.'
Mathilde leaned in closer, her shoulder pressing firmly against his. The warmth of her body was a stark contrast to the cold political maneuvering. She reached out, her fingers grazing his hand under the table, a gesture that was technically a breach of decorum but served as a grounding anchor.
"Don't react," she murmured, her thumb tracing a small circle on the back of his hand. "The vultures are watching for fear. We wait. Hans of House Wittelsbach is preparing a counter-motion. We wait until the dominant faction is clear, and then we pivot. Survival in the Diet is about being the last one to speak, not the first."
[System Notification: Attachment Increase!]
[Affection Update: Lady Mathilde von Andechs +5%. (Total: 35/100)]
[Analysis: Political guidance and shared danger increase 'Attachment' faster than traditional flirting. The User is currently viewed as a 'Partner-in-Survival.']
Julian tried to ignore the way his heart hammered against his ribs—half from the threat of being shipped to Italy, half from the proximity of the woman who held his family's purse strings.
The debate raged on. A Count from a neighboring district tried to shift the blame for local banditry onto 'negligent border baronies,' clearly glancing toward the Merania delegation. But the hall was too busy debating the Spanish threat to care about a few raided grain wagons in the hinterlands. In the grand theater of the Empire, Julian's family was a footnote—a fact that, for once, was actually a blessing.
Then, the air in the room changed.
Albrecht von Habsburg, the "Hero" of this twisted dating sim, stood up. He walked to the center of the hall with the effortless confidence of a man who knew the sun shone specifically for him.
"My lords!" Albrecht's voice was rich, heroic, and utterly insufferable. "We speak of taxes and relocation, but where is our honor? A man's duty is not to hide behind logistics. It is to protect what is his! I hear the cries of the damsels in the borderlands, threatened by pirates and foreign steel. A true knight protects his lovers, his fiancée, and his home with his life!"
He turned, striking a pose that belonged on a propaganda poster, and looked directly at the gallery.
"To my own fiancée, Lady Emilia," Albrecht declared, his voice booming. "Know that every sword I swing is for your safety. A man who cannot protect his woman is no man at all!"
The hall erupted in applause. To the observers, it was a romantic, chivalrous display. But Julian, positioned in the corner, saw what everyone else missed.
He saw Emilia von Schwarzberg.
The "Villainess" was sitting in the high balcony, her white hair shimmering under the mana-lamps. Her face was a mask of porcelain perfection, but her red eyes were shaking. Julian watched as her fingers dug into the velvet railing until the fabric began to tear.
Albrecht was talking about "protecting" her, yet he hadn't looked at her once since they arrived in Frankfurt. He was performing for the Emperor's daughter, winking at the princesses in the front row, and using Emilia's name as a prop for his own heroic brand. He wasn't protecting her; he was ignoring her existence while claiming credit for her safety.
[System Notification: Moral Dissonance Detected.]
[Observation: The Protagonist's 'Heroic Halo' is currently blinding 98% of the room. The remaining 2% consists of you and a very angry, very heartbroken Duke's daughter.]
Julian's stomach turned. He remembered the game's lore—how Emilia eventually breaks and becomes the "villainess" because she is socially isolated and publicly humiliated by Albrecht's "heroic" neglect.
"What a hypocrite," Julian hissed.
"Quiet," Mathilde whispered, though her own eyes remained fixed on the Schwarzberg girl. "Chivalry is the lie the strong tell the weak to keep them obedient. Albrecht is a Habsburg; he doesn't need to be honest. He just needs to be loud."
The Emperor Frederick II suddenly raised his hand, silhouetting his elegant, slightly bored frame against the stained glass.
"Enough poetry," the Emperor said, his voice cold and dry. "I am weary of these speeches. We shall adjourn for one hour to allow the clerks to finalize the petitions. When we return, the voting begins."
As the hall began to clear, Julian felt a surge of adrenaline. The System screen flickered a deep, warning crimson.
[Urgent Scenario: The Tipping Point.]
[Event: The Imperial Diet Adjournment.]
[Target: Emilia von Schwarzberg.]
[Objective: The Villainess is currently reaching her breaking point. If she leaves this hall in despair, she will trigger the 'Exile' route, and your chances of a political alliance with House Schwarzberg vanish forever.]
"Aunt Mathilde," Julian said, standing up with a suddenness that made her blink. "I need to... clear my head. The air in here is stifling."
Mathilde eyed him suspiciously, her gaze lingering on his flushed face. "Don't go far, Julian. And don't speak to anyone from the Luxembourg faction. They'll eat you alive."
"I'll be careful," Julian promised, already moving toward the side exits.
He navigated the crowded corridors, ignoring the whispers of the court mages who were likely debating his "delicate" constitution. He didn't care if they thought he was gay or weak; he had a 500-gold reward and a survival alliance at stake.
He found her in the secluded Garden of Statues, just outside the main hall. Emilia was standing by a fountain, her back to him. Her shoulders were shaking—not with tears, but with the repressed rage of a woman who had been humiliated one too many times.
Julian took a breath, his "Gamer Knowledge" flashing through his mind. He knew her triggers. He knew her pride.
"You know," Julian said softly, stepping into the light of the setting sun. "If a man truly wanted to protect his fiancée, he'd start by actually looking at her when he speaks her name."
Emilia spun around, her red eyes flashing like dying embers. "Who are you? A Merania? How dare you approach me with such insolence."
Julian didn't flinch. He walked closer, stopping just outside the range where her guards might intervene.
"I'm just a 'Mob' character, Lady Emilia," Julian said, a cynical smile touching his lips. "I'm the guy who's about to be sent to Italy to die as a speed bump for the Spanish. And you're the girl who's being used as a backdrop for a hero's vanity. I think we're playing the same game."
Emilia froze. The sharp retort died on her lips as she looked at him—really looked at him. She saw the "broken" noble who was supposed to be soulless, but instead saw a boy with eyes as tired and calculating as her own.
[System Notification: Event Triggered!]
[New Connection: Emilia von Schwarzberg.]
[Status: Intrigued.]
The bells of the Frankfurt Cathedral began to toll, signaling the end of the adjournment.
"One hour is up," Julian said, extending a hand—not in a romantic gesture, but in a silent offer of a pact. "The Diet is about to vote on our lives. Shall we go back in and show them that 'mobs' and 'villainesses' can bite back?"
Emilia looked at his hand, then back at the hall where Albrecht's laughter could be heard echoing through the windows. She didn't take his hand—not yet—but she stepped beside him, her chin lifting with a pride that finally had a purpose.
"Lead the way, Lord Merania," she said, her voice like cracking ice. "Let us see if the Empire is ready for a change in the script."
To be continued...