Chapter 38: The Masquerade of Martyrs
The courtyard of the border camp was filled with the rhythmic thrum of iron on leather. At the center stood Prince Alaric von Luxembourg, the "Hero" of Bohemia, resplendent in gold-etched plate. He was flanked by his "vanguard"—the Imperial Princess, a high-mage, a sheltered alchemist, and a beautiful widow whose eyes never left him.
"You are not mere soldiers!" Alaric's voice boomed, carrying that practiced, melodic resonance of a chosen protagonist. "You do not die for coin! You die for the glory of the Holy Roman Empire! For the honor of House Luxembourg and the House of Bavaria! Today, we reclaim the south from the Spanish shadow!"
Julian, standing by his carriage with his arms crossed, felt a physical wave of nausea.
'Why the hell is this cliché speech bothering me so much now?' he wondered, rubbing his temples. 'Before I got my humanity back, I would have just calculated the morale buff. Now... it just feels like I'm watching a bad theater production where the actors don't realize the stage is on fire.'
Alaric's strategy was as reckless as his rhetoric. He had mobilized 3,000 men—1,500 of his elite Bavarians and 1,500 mercenaries. But they weren't wearing the Imperial Eagle. They were dressed in a chaotic mix of looted Naples armor, scavenged Italian plate, and rebranded gear bought from merchant-vultures.
"They're sending me as the diplomat," Julian muttered to himself, "and they're sending this idiot as the 'offender.' If he oversteps, I'm the one who gets lynched by the Spanish Inquisition."
The Bittersweet Departure
Before the wheels of his carriage turned toward the heart of Naples, Julian had to navigate the minefield of his own household.
Emilia approached him first. She didn't offer a grand speech. She simply straightened his high collar, her fingers lingering on the marks she had left the night before. She leaned in, her voice a dangerous, velvet whisper against his ear.
"When you come back, Julian, I'm going to give you a proper punishment for being so... 'unfaithful' with your attention. Don't think a diplomatic mission buys you a pardon."
She pressed a firm, lingering kiss to his cheek. Not to be outdone, Mathilde, his aunt, glided forward and kissed the other cheek, her eyes sparkling with playful defiance. Julian offered a formal, respectful bow to Queen Eleonora, whose gaze was somber but filled with a new, quiet trust.
As he finally climbed into the carriage, his PA, Isabella, was already waiting. She immediately took a white silk cloth, dipped it in cold water, and began scrubbed his face with aggressive efficiency.
"Your Highness," she huffed, her cheeks slightly flushed. "You shouldn't look like you're coming out of a high-class brothel when you're about to meet a Spanish Viceroy. Keep your face still."
"I was just saying goodbye, Isabella," Julian groaned.
"You were being 'branded,' My Lord. There's a difference."
The Hero's Folly
While Julian's carriage moved toward the city, Prince Alaric's "Rebel Army" struck.
He didn't hit the 400 scouts as the Emperor had ordered. His aim was the 4,000-man remnant of the main Spanish Crusader vanguard stationed near the border. Alaric charged, his light magic flaring like a second sun, his heroines providing a devastating magical barrage from the rear.
The Spanish fire-casters reacted instantly, turning the field into a furnace, but Alaric's "Protagonist Buff" held. It was a stalemate of blood and iron. Spain lost nearly 1,700 men in the chaotic ambush, while Alaric lost 1,000 of his 3,000 troops.
It was a tactical disaster disguised as a victory. Alaric retreated, regrouped, and struck again, shouting that he was the "Avenging Ghost of Naples."
Watching from the high ridges were the 1,000 scattered Naples regulars who had survived the fall of their King. Their scouts narrowed their eyes at the sight of Bavarian knights pretending to be their kin.
"That boy is a pretender," the Naples Captain spat. "He uses our name to burn Spanish gold, but he doesn't serve our Queen. If we stay here, we'll be slaughtered for his 'glory.'"
The Naples remnant moved with the silence of veterans. They didn't go to Italy; they slipped toward the Duchy of Benevento. The city was a hollow shell, its capital demolished by the initial Spanish surge. They marched into a ruined district, securing the gates and offering a silent, armed protection to the remnants of the Ducal family. They had found their fortress—a ghost city for a ghost army.
The Viper's Den
Julian reached the gates of the City of Naples, flanked by 50 official Imperial guards. The presence of a Papal Cardinal in his carriage was the only thing keeping the Spanish arquebusiers from opening fire.
"I greet Your Holiness," Julian said, offering a humble bow to the Cardinal.
"Child, you have my blessing," the Cardinal replied, his eyes sharp and calculating. "We must ensure this burial is handled with the dignity a Christian King deserves. The heavens are watching."
They entered the Royal Palace—the very place where Eleonora's husband had once ruled. Now, it was occupied by the Spanish Viceroy, a man with a face like cold marble, flanked by the leaders of the three Grand Families of Naples who had betrayed their King for Spanish gold.
Julian stepped into the throne room, bowing with a grace that felt like a coiled spring. "This humble servant greets the court of... rebranded Naples."
The Viceroy looked down from the dais, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips. "You know how to sugarcoat words, boy. I hope your tongue is as sharp when we discuss why Imperial 'rebels' are currently slaughtering my scouts at the border."
Outside, Isabella was barred from entering. She stood by the heavy doors, her fingers digging into her palms. 'I thought this was just a job,' she thought, a strange ache in her chest. 'Lord, servant... but why does it feel like I'm the one being left in the cold? He's getting too deep into this. He's starting to act like he actually cares about this kingdom.'
In the distance, the dust of 50,000 Imperial troops began to rise in the North. The masquerade was over. The war of legitimacy had begun.
To be continued...