As we look back on history afterward, we often find that even the wisest leaders occasionally lose their minds amid the relentless tide of events.
— From Imperial Chronicles, Volume 35, Entry 7: Reflections on the Roland Era —
It was a summer afternoon, and the scorching sun hung in the sky, pouring down its merciless heat relentlessly. To welcome the upcoming triumphal ceremony, countless Palace Guards in bright red armor had completely surrounded Pier No.1 at the docks, leaving not an inch of space uncovered.
A hundred paces away from the pier, the harried soldiers of the Imperial Capital Security Force were pushing themselves to their absolute limits. Many had their uniforms torn, their once-shiny epaulets ripped off, their imposing hats snatched away, and countless boots trampled off their feet in the chaos.
What frustrated the thousand security troops assigned to maintain order outside the port was that they faced over fifty thousand enthusiastic citizens of the Imperial Capital who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
These eager onlookers came prepared with flowers, cheers, and applause—and of course, many young women had even readied themselves to offer passionate kisses or even their virginity. Amid such emotional upheaval, the thousand security soldiers felt like a dilapidated boat adrift on a vast ocean, in constant danger of being capsized at any moment.
At that moment, they couldn't help but envy the Palace Guards standing inside the pier's cordon line. They could leisurely form neat ranks, showing off their newly issued, gleaming armor and weapons, all while remaining safe from having their faces scratched by some overzealous citizen the next second.
By the order of His Majesty Emperor Augustus VI, the section of the Lancang Grand Canal leading to the Imperial Capital had been widened by a full twofold for this grand triumphal event! The Empire had paid for this with the labor of ten thousand canal workers over six months, and the imperial treasury had shelled out nearly three million gold coins for the project.
All this expense was merely to allow the "Danton," the flagship of the Empire's "Xth Expeditionary Fleet," to sail smoothly through the canal directly to the port outside the Imperial Capital's Eastern Gate, where it would receive the cheers of the entire nation and demonstrate the Empire's mighty military power to the world.
No one questioned whether such a cost was worthwhile for a mere display of grandeur.
Because the previous Minister of Finance, who had been the first to voice strong opposition, had been promptly dismissed by the furious Emperor and sent back to his hometown to spend his remaining years in retirement. The only option left for his successor was to rack his brains, scrape together funds from every corner, and squeeze this enormous sum from various imperial expenditures to satisfy that "vainglorious old man."
Naturally, this nickname—"vainglorious old man"—was something the current Minister of Finance buried deep, deep in his heart...
When the afternoon sun shimmered on the canal's broad surface and the first hint of a sail appeared on the distant horizon, the crowd could no longer contain their cheers.
As the colossal warship, over two hundred paces long, slowly approached the port, its magnificent and imposing silhouette stunned every citizen who had come to witness the event.
The "Danton," flagship of the Empire's Sixth Expeditionary Fleet and pride of the Imperial Navy, was the largest warship ever constructed in the Empire's naval history. For this grand welcome ceremony, the vessel had undergone a complete renovation and repainting, its hull coated in an intimidating black. Amid wave after wave of cheers, the Danton glided toward the port like a giant black beast, with a huge thorned rose flag fluttering proudly from its mainmast.
When the anchor was dropped, the hundreds of thousands of citizens at the port erupted in delirium. Countless hats were tossed into the air, countless shoes were trampled off, and countless people suffered crushed legs in the stampede. The poor security soldiers could only keep shrinking the cordon line as much as they possibly could...
Count Raymond, Commander of the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet, stood on the flagship's bow deck, staring expressionlessly at the cheering throngs at the port.
The thirty-nine-year-old First-Class General of the Empire and Imperial Count was dressed in his most formal attire: a full set of light armor covered his body, a bright red cloak fluttered dramatically behind him in the wind, and two medals hung on his chest—awarded to him for his participation in the previous two expeditionary campaigns. Undoubtedly, this triumphant return would earn him a third imperial medal.
The Count's gaze seemed somewhat unfocused, his eyes not truly fixed on the celebrating crowd at the port. A closer look would have revealed a faint frown on his forehead, suggesting a hint of impatience.
Damn it, this armor is far too heavy—and utterly ridiculous!
The Count failed to see why a naval officer serving on an expeditionary fleet would need to wear such cumbersome armor in combat at sea. That was something for the army to use. And wearing all these medals was, in the Count's opinion, an even greater absurdity.
In fact, on a deeper level, Count Raymond even believed from the bottom of his heart that organizing this so-called "Xth Imperial Expeditionary Fleet" had been an absurd and ridiculous mistake.
For decades, the Empire had launched one "expedition" after another to the South Sea region.
It couldn't be denied that the South Sea was dotted with countless islands like scattered pearls across the vast ocean, boasting exotic forests, barbaric and primitive indigenous tribes still trapped in the clan stage, as well as gold, gemstones, spices, and abundant seafood.
However, the Count refused to consider actions like "sailing a dozen massive warships to bully those natives in their tiny canoes" as any form of "expedition."
It was nothing more than plunder, slaughter, banditry, invasion—a naked act of robbery!
The Count didn't see anything wrong with this in principle. The weak had always been bullied by the strong, and were expected to submit to their superiors. Yet he believed the Empire's policy toward the South Sea was flawed in one crucial aspect: these so-called expeditionary campaigns had been conducted far too frequently, and their effectiveness had been diminishing with each passing year.
In the first two or three expeditions, the powerful Imperial Navy had swept through the South Sea unopposed. When entire ships loaded with gold, gemstones, seafood, and spices were brought back, they had caused a sensation throughout the Empire.
But even the richest granary couldn't withstand such constant harvesting. Excessive plundering had led to the complete annihilation of indigenous tribes in the areas closest to the Empire. Subsequent expeditionary forces had been forced to sail farther and farther from home, and this increase in distance had posed a massive challenge to the fleet's supply lines.
After all, the South Sea wasn't just filled with vulnerable natives and precious treasures; it also held sweltering weather, unpredictable climates, terrifying giant waves, and countless hidden reefs, whirlpools, and storms...
Overexploitation had quickly turned this once fertile land, which could have become the Empire's granary, into a desolate wasteland. The spoils of each subsequent expedition had dwindled, yet ironically, the triumphal ceremonies had only grown more extravagant with each return...
Count Raymond himself had led three expeditionary campaigns in recent years, earning him a fearsome reputation throughout the South Sea. This Imperial Navy General and Count had accumulated a string of nicknames among the South Sea peoples:
Bandit! Butcher! Executioner! ... His hands were stained with the blood of indigenous people, making him an infamous invader in the eyes of native clans—a demon who burned their villages and enslaved their people.
Naturally, the Count didn't care about any of these labels. What did trouble him slightly, however, was that these excessive wars of aggression had somehow abnormally stimulated the development of these South Sea natives, particularly in terms of military capabilities. Even before his return this time, he had heard rumors that in the distant southern seas, indigenous peoples from several island nations had formed an alliance to resist the Empire's endless plundering.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to worry about these troubles any longer. He knew perfectly well that this would be his final expedition. Next, he would remain in the Imperial Capital. If all went smoothly, he would secure a prominent position in the Imperial High Command, serve there for another ten or eight years, and once the current Minister of War retired, use his family's influence to become the new Minister of War. With a bit more luck, he might even get to experience the role of Prime Minister in the final years of his political career.
As for future expeditions? To hell with them. They would be the next commander's problem to solve.
Even if those natives somehow managed to develop magical cannons, it wouldn't be his concern anymore.
Amid the wave-like cheers, the Count descended from the flagship's deck in full view of the crowd, finally setting foot on Imperial Capital soil! He waved to the celebrating masses... though the gesture looked more like he was swatting away flies.
First, a court official in ceremonial robes boarded the ship to read the Emperor's imperial decree of commendation, announcing that the Count would be received in the Imperial Palace the following morning to accept his medal.
Everything was going according to plan, and his political future looked brighter than ever.
But then a servant dressed in gray squeezed through the crowd and whispered another message in the Count's ear—a message that instantly sent Raymond's mood plummeting to rock bottom!
The news came from his family.
Having been away on expedition for over three years, with the vast ocean separating him from home, communication had been difficult. Raymond had no idea what had been happening with his family during his absence.
Most importantly, he worried about his wife. When he had departed three years earlier, she had been close to giving birth. Now, he didn't even know if the child had been a son or a daughter!
The news from home confirmed it was a son.
But the boy, it seemed, was an idiot.
This revelation almost knocked the Count off the peak of his joy.
Almost!
Yet nearly every noble from the Imperial Capital who had come to welcome him could see that the triumphant expedition commander's face had darkened to the point of collapse.