Chapter 73

  Special interlude

  The tragic tale of Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat: The man who sold the world and got a penny in exchange.

  Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat was born as the third son of a small noble family in a minor fiefdom of the Re-Estize Kingdom.

  Some were blessed with a powerful body. Some with a quick mind. Some saw their talent sprout in the most varied fields. In Philip, the illusion had been cultivated that all these qualities had converged in a single man: himself.

  Where did this conviction come from? This was a question that would seriously challenge even the keenest observer.

  If work ennobled the man, Philip had little that was noble about him. As the spare for the spare, he was not granted great privileges from an early age, especially when compared to the opportunities granted to his older brothers.

  He had enough to eat and dress without problems, which already placed him above a large part of the population of that stupendous, glorious, magnificent kingdom that was Re-Estize. But for the rest, his military education was shallow and the teachings of noble etiquette barely touched upon.

  No one had ever expected him to carry on the Montserrat name, and so he hadn't even been found an insignificant—but devoted—woman who could allow him to form his own family. After all, other nobles had no interest in granting their daughters to someone who was unlikely to inherit. Even outside the most modest houses, there weren't many alternatives.

  The great merchants who would have wanted to aim for a title would have had very little hope in a union with Philip. Perhaps some peasant would have preferred to know their daughter was safe within the walls of a manor, rather than at the mercy of the chivalrous nobles from Re-Estize. It was common practice for the high aristocracy to take what—justified by law, right, high morality, and simple conviction—they believed was due to them.

  Unfortunately for Philip, his father was, as it happened, one of those almost extinct defenders of that ancient and now almost completely out of fashion thing called righteousness.

  "A noble has many privileges, but these translate into duties and respect towards those who serve him."

  An obsolete and outdated reasoning that his son, as a luminary of a new way of understanding social relations, detested with every fiber of his being. Obviously, like every illustrious personality, Philip avoided confrontation with his paternal figure, out of a sort of natural respect, a simple form of gratitude that connected authority to blood.

  It was therefore, a rather uncommon thing, that the plebeians —whom Philip looked upon with the scornful eye of his high moral character— could boast, in the Montserrat fiefdom, of an existence that, if not entirely rosy, was at least more fortunate than the vast majority of the poor people of that magnificent, splendid gem that was Re-Estize.

  Thus deprived of any possibility of asserting himself through force, the only alternative left to him to win the graces of the gentle sex were charm and coin. Of the former, he was full, perhaps too much so. It was natural that the common folk avoided him, as if they were in awe. Of the latter, however, given his unfortunate nature as the last of the last, he did not have much to squander.

  And so, like most great men who distinguished themselves by the difficulty of mingling with their inferiors, Philip's childhood and adolescence were marked by a certain solitude, both in friendships and in love.

  His older brothers at best, ignored him. At worst, surely moved by envy, they mocked him for a perceived slowness.

  'I am not slow,' Philip replied in his thoughts. 'I am simply wise enough to understand that thinking well requires necessary time.'

  Henri, the firstborn, in particular reprimanded him more than once for perceived mistakes in the rare occasions that had given him some duty to attend in his stead.

  "It's not education that you lack, but common sense. You just have to follow what I tell you. It's not that hard, is it?"

  'Like a sheep?' Because that was how Philip perceived his role in the Montserrat house. No more than an ornament, something that could be discarded at the first chance.

  Thus the years passed, without any event that could truly give him the chance to shine. Placed in complete solitude, far from any possibility to show his worth, Philip had resigned himself to finishing his days in oblivion, like many of those geniuses who, whether due to circumstances or misfortune, had failed to carve out a space in the pages of history.

  For someone of his caliber, the military career that many cadets aspired to was the only alternative, along with the clergy, to which he could set his future on. However, lacking connections, lacking armaments and experience, there was no other possibility than to try to beg for a place among the low-ranking militia, access to which was open to anyone who proved their worth.

  In reality, he could have very well served under his elder brother, if it hadn't been for more than one unpleasant episode.

  "The battle with the Empire becomes more arduous every year," Henri had explained to him once, in one of those rare moments when Philip had perceived a sort of affection in his brother's words. "Even our lord father is realizing the long-term damage these periodic conflicts have on our resources and our people. Continuing like this, the false Emperor will have nothing to do but wait to enter our lands triumphantly."

  "Why not simply crush him once and for all? We have many more soldiers than the Empire. It shouldn't be that difficult," Philip had replied.

  Henri had sighed loudly, gripping the table with his hands, his palms firmly attached to the cedar wood. His thick brown hair covered his face, which was crossed by a certain melancholy.

  Melancholy, as was well known, arose from cowardice. Which made Henri a coward, a poltroon, in Philip's eyes.

  "It's not that simple. A war is not won by numbers alone."

  "I know that. I'm not as foolish as you think."

  A capacity to adapt and elaborate strategies on the spot. Inspiring one's soldiers with fervent words. Reading and predicting the enemy's moves even before they did. All things that came naturally to Philip. Whenever he imagined the battlefield, he envisioned a large chessboard, where every piece moved according to his calculations.

  It was reasonable to suspect that Henri had noticed this, which is why he didn't want Philip to take part alongside him in battles. If given a chance, perhaps even their lord father might reconsider the terms of succession. Even if the rights of the firstborn could not be bypassed, he could have conferred important assignments on him which in turn would have allowed even an almost forgotten cadet to form his own circle of contacts.

  Jealousy was an ugly beast, but Henri's distrust was therefore understandable.

  "The Empire invests large sums in the training and professionalism of its troops. Furthermore, their magical research and the beasts they employ as mounts are more than one step ahead of us. Every time I find myself in the Katze plains, I realize the great difference. Even our father agrees. But alone, we will never be able to rethink military training methods in new terms. We could present a proposal to the king, but this would mean bypassing the authority of our feudal lord, Marquis Boullope, and would have serious consequences for our position."

  Marquis Boullope was one of the six great nobles of Re-Estize, as well as the holder of the largest military force, besides that of the King himself. His military reforms, applied in the territories directly under his control, had been famous, but evidently, for the Montserrats, they were not sufficient.

  Probably, what Henri and his father feared were the sorcerers churned out by the Imperial academies. Magic had its conveniences, but it was also true that its applications in battle were lacking. Philip fully agreed with the Marquis: it was better to focus on heavy cavalry and strong men to win a war, not weaklings who used staffs for support, and who wasted time accomplishing what a good group of archers could do with much less effort.

  In any case, their father was too much of an ass-licker to truly offer any discussion to those who were above him… A pity, for his family couldn't distinguish themselves neither as daring innovators nor critical thinkers.

  "You're making it too difficult. It would be better to aim straight for the heart of the problem, and use the battle of Katze to cut off the heads of the legionary generals. A large part of the Imperial power resides in the army. Take that away, and the False Emperor will be forced to comply with the nobility's requests, and resolve his internal problems. This will give us the opportunity to conquer the Empire once it has fallen into chaos."

  It was a plan so simple that he was surprised no one had thought of it. To be honest, he couldn't expect what came almost naturally to his intellect to apply to others.

  'I should always bear in mind the actual capabilities of those I'm discussing with.'

  Henri had placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with an unjustified pity. "Should something happen to me or Bernard, remember your duties. What our father taught us. The love of our mother. The trust of our people."

  'You mean what they taught you. The love they showered you with. The trust they showed you,' because Philip had not been granted anything of the sort. Not that he held a grudge. To be honest, it was a blessing. Receiving the same treatment would have run the risk of him becoming weak and pathetic like Henri.

  "I will bear it in mind, older brother."

  That was one of their last conversations. Shortly thereafter, almost as if he had sensed the danger, Henri died during the annual battle of Katze. Philip had turned twenty, and would have had to prepare to leave his father's house soon, if it hadn't been for that tragedy.

  His brother's body had been returned haphazardly. The head, which had been severed by an Imperial knight, was roughly stitched back on. When it was time to bury him, his corpse smelled so bad that not even magic could cover the pestilential odor.

  'The rightful end for those like you,' Philip thought, resolving never to end up like Henri.

  The ceremony held was of little consolation to his parents. His father recited unconvincing words of farewell, partly broken by grief, partly unable to rise to say anything truly meaningful. His mother did nothing but cry. Henri's wife had not yet borne him any children, and thus found herself a widow in a precarious position.

  His brother Bernard, now the new heir, pretended to be as devastated as the rest of the family, but Philip knew what he was really thinking.

  The second-born had always been sickly, and his hopes of becoming the new baron of the Montserrat lands were not very high. On the other hand, Philip's position had strengthened, and would remain so until Bernard conceived a child.

  "Father, let me lead our troops during the next annual war," he had proposed to the head of the family, on a day when the inactivity had simply become intolerable.

  Given the change of events, Philip's father had tried to cram a noble education into a few weeks, with mixed results. Etiquette was merely a way the powerful exerted to keep the weak in check, which was why it was utterly useless for those who wanted to revolutionize the world.

  Military art was more fascinating, but for Philip it now held few secrets: guided by his superior intellect, the battlefield, which in truth he had never seen up close, seemed the only suitable way to display his worth.

  "What troops? We barely have soldiers to manage the manor and keep at bay the monsters that infest these lands. Without the adventurers who settle for little, we would be in deep trouble," the baron replied, clearly frustrated by it all. Philip knew he was too idiotic to truly try to change things, and would remain in his miserable condition, drowning in self-pity, if left to himself. "It will be your brother Bernard who leads our meager forces during the annual war. Marquis Boulloupe expects nothing less. Presenting a cadet as a commander would be seen as an act of disrespect towards him."

  'And who cares about the Marquis?' After all, Henri had died to save him, and they both knew it. His brother had perished precisely to rescue his lordship Boulloupe, after a detachment of Imperial cavalry had broken through the flank of his army.

  Not even his chosen troops had managed to keep the flower of the Baharuth Empire at bay. But soldiers were judged by their commanders, and the only thing Philip had learned from the affair was that mediocrity crept even into the most prestigious houses of Re-Estize.

  "If you send Bernard, it will be another disaster."

  "If I send you, instead?"

  "I will bring you the head of an Imperial general."

  His father looked at him shocked, evidently unable to maintain composure when faced with such confidence. For the people who were accustomed to serving, those who sought to climb the heights of success always appeared as madmen.

  But revolution was a continuous compromise, a coming to terms with those who couldn't see. The truth, so clear to Philip, was blinding to others.

  "Your brother will go. End of discussion. You should focus on your studies. The tutor I hired is complaining a lot about your efforts in learning."

  Why waste time listening to the nonsense of an old braggart? Listening to him would be detrimental to his true formation.

  "And what if Bernard dies?" Philip asked.

  "I pray to the Gods that it doesn't happen. At least not before he's produced an heir." The insinuation was clear, but there was no need to be offended.

  'Even he can't see the bigger picture.'

  Bernard never got to see the Katze plains. An illness took him away months later, striking him down while he was still in the prime of his youth. He left behind only a young wife, who had been unable to bear him children.

  That was a year of changes. Immediately afterwards, King Ramposa III also breathed his last in his bed, finally succumbing to old age.

  The first prince Barbro Andrean Ield Ryle Vaiself had been chosen as the new monarch, according to the laws of succession.

  Philip, as the new Baron of the Montserrats, had been sent to the capital to swear fealty to the new king and confirm his pacts of vassalage and alliance with the high nobility.

  The reception following the coronation had been a long sequence of introductions to members of the lesser nobility, which, according to his lord father's instructions, were necessary for the various commercial and military relations of the Montserrat barony.

  'A long line of idiots,' the new baron recognized, exhausted. No action-man, no one who could truly boast an important title. To be compared to them was, for Philip, equivalent to the death of the spirit.

  "Ah, you are Henri's brother," when it was his turn to offer his greetings to the Marquis Boulloupe, the first thing he noticed was the way the older man immediately compared Philip to his deceased relative. "I sent my condolences to your father for your brother's passing. Know that I do not forget those who have been loyal to me. Young man, I expect great things from you too, just like your brother."

  Boulloupe was a stocky man, who, although at the dawn of old age, had not yet lost his fighting spirit. When he placed his hand on his shoulder, Philip felt a great strength from the intensity of the grip.

  "Now that new times are upon us, I look forward to demonstrating my ideas," Philip had replied, well aware that even the Marquis was nothing more than a stepping stone for his future climb to glory. 'One day I will be in your place.' And that was not mere hope, but a mathematical certainty.

  Fortune clearly had a favorite, and that favorite was now doing nothing but positioning every piece in its place, already setting up the patterns for the future.

  "Well said, young man," Boulloupe's face, marked by numerous scars, a symbol of a life spent on the battlefield, brightened. "For years the crown has been weak. But now that there is a capable King ready for action, we will rout all the enemies of Re-Estize!"

  The reference to the False Emperor was obvious. Philip had not formed a precise idea of the new King, Barbro IV, having only been able to observe him from afar during the coronation ceremony. What stood out was certainly his remarkable stature, and the body of a man dedicated to the military arts.

  "Do you intend to put an end to the annual war once and for all?"

  "Much more," Boulloupe had approached him, using the noise of the dancing and music around them to cover what he was confiding. "I have had many private talks with our new monarch. The annual war is approaching, and this time there will be a mobilization of forces like never seen before. One decisive blow, and we will cut off the head of the Empire, returning to the Vaiself crown what rightfully belongs to it. For the new generations, it will be an excellent opportunity to prove themselves. There will be a lot of spoils to divide between those who will show their loyalty."

  It was commendable that the Marquis had immediately recognized his worth, or he would not have confided their plans to Philip. What he could not predict, however, was being a mere pawn among many.

  'One day I will take your place... Or even...' The crown of Re-Estize. And then the Baharuth Empire too, why not? Ambition rewarded boldness, and Philip did not lack in that. 'Accidents happen. Especially in war.'

  If the Marquis Boulloupe could be there with them that day, it was also thanks to Henri. Was it not natural then for the brother to redeem what he had offered? 'Fat man, your children will kiss my feet.'

  After taking his leave, the new Baron—future King and future Emperor—looked for something to amuse himself with. The wine was of poor quality, and the dancing interested him very little. Not without a suitable companion, at least.

  His father had begun making plans for his future bride, but they were insignificant names. Second or even third daughters of low-ranking families, but who entertained important relations with the Montserrats.

  Mostly they were mediocre women, with an education focused on servility. Good as a pastime, but nothing more. For his future position, he would need an exceptional mind by his side, which brought with her significant connections and wealth, other than a great devotion to her future husband. Like one of Margrave Urovana's daughters, or the niece of the Marquis Boulloupe himself.

  Or...

  The room suddenly fell silent.

  It could not be otherwise when a star made her entrance into a hall of men.

  The royal page announced the entrance of the Third Princess of the Kingdom of Re-Estize: Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself.

  The Golden Princess, as the people and nobility called her, almost as if for once they were happy to be aligned.

  And, it was undeniable, Princess Renner was truly a golden girl. Golden was her long, silky hair, every strand more precious than any jewel. Golden were her clothes, woven from the various furs of magical beasts. Golden was her smile, directed at all who saw her pass, undeniable proof that there was a supreme creator who had transmigrated an ideal of perfect beauty into that noble maiden.

  "They say that despite her age, she has not yet been promised in marriage to anyone."

  "The old king was too attached to her, and didn't want to part with his beloved daughter. But her brother certainly doesn't think so."

  Philip listened to the gossip around him, trying to glean as much information as possible about the princess. She was accompanied by her other brother, Prince Zanac, a toad devoid of any charm who appeared even more grotesque placed at her side; then there was the noble Aindra, also a breathtaking beauty, although not comparable to Renner.

  Renner. In his mind, the Baron of Montserrat already called her by name, completely spellbound by that example of nobility. She must have had divine blood flowing in her veins, an undeniable proof that the Vaiself lineage was the true royal house, despite every proclamation of the False Emperor.

  There was also a young man in armor following her, a few steps away. A personal guard? It wasn't something to take note of. For Philip, it was much more important to catch as much as possible by eavesdropping on the disjointed phrases of his peers.

  "Some had even proposed offering her in marriage to the Emperor, to seal an alliance and put an end to the war."

  "With a beauty like that by his side, who could ever leave the bedroom? The Emperor was a fool to decline. Or perhaps he has other inclinations..."

  The suppressed and disgusting laughter mixed with the slanders murmured by those gossips. No one could understand that the reason why the Golden Princess was still without a husband was simply because no one worthy enough had presented himself before her to ask for her hand.

  Princess Renner crossed the hall, gathering every gaze, every attention upon herself. She positioned herself a few steps away from the new King. Barbro, covered in precious ornaments, the royal crown proudly towering on his head, the scepter wielded like a sword, so opulent and flaunting wealth, was nothing more than a buffoon, a court jester, when compared to the blood of his kin.

  Adultery? Perhaps one of the gods had transformed into a man and, posing as the late Ramposa III, had conceived that jewel in a moment of humanity with Renner's mother.

  The only sensible explanation to explain that striking difference.

  "Dear brother," Princess Renner bowed with exquisite grace, causing more than one skip in Philip's heart, thanks to that graceful movement. "Re-Estize rejoices at your coronation."

  In response, the new King grabbed her chin, making her flinch. Everyone present, most likely, felt resentment towards the sovereign for that act whose intent was clear: 'you are now my property,' he was proclaiming.

  "Dear sister, watch as your brother conquers the world, and presents it to you as a gift. First the Empire. Then the Theocracy. Then all the rest..."

  The princess remained smiling, almost as if that proclamation had not disturbed her at all. "Certainly, dear brother."

  The other brother at her side, Prince Zanac, grimaced, but remained silent. The noble Aindra frowned, but said nothing, merely walking away with Renner when it was time for her to entertain the rest of the nobility.

  A man of his own age approached Philip. "So, Montserrat, what do you think of the princess?" He was a baron whose name he couldn't even remember, so insignificant he was. With perfume and makeup, he tried to mask his greasy, sagging skin. A pig dressed as a man.

  "She is divine..."

  "Heh heh, many think like you. If you hope to win her favor, you'll have a lot to prove. Who knows, maybe by bringing the head of the False Emperor to the King, you might have some chance of him granting her to you."

  He spoke of the princess as if she were a piece of meat displayed on a butcher's counter. Philip found that way of addressing her completely inappropriate and disgusting, but he couldn't deny the soundness of that reasoning.

  "You're not entirely wrong, Dasambert," he replied sharply, finally remembering the baron's family. He was one of his father's closest allies. "Fortunately, war is imminent."

  The man blinked rapidly, evidently struck by the audacity Philip demonstrated. It was natural for mediocrity to remain in subjection to those who dared. "Be careful. Not everyone agrees with the King's new war plans. Prince Zanac, who harbored serious aspirations for the throne, is not entirely convinced. Margrave Uronova, who is one of the most informed about our current military situation, has expressed more than one criticism. Even that snake, Marquis Raevan, while pretending otherwise in public, I'm sure wants to sell us out to save his own skin."

  A cadet prince and two of the Kingdom's great Six Nobles were against it. So what...? Philip was unconcerned by such sissy talks. 'Let them continue to bear grudges for not being able to proceed, trapped by their immobility and cowardice.'

  These were, by now, different times. Times of heroes. Like Philip.

  "I don't care what the fools plot. The second prince is just an envious person who didn't get what he wanted."

  A pathetic imitation. A sweaty ball of fat moving through those halls without a clear direction, secretly exchanging words with some confidant.

  "Didn't you know? Before the old King passed away, Prince Zanac also had an excellent prospect of ascending the throne," Dasambert said, happy to share those rumors. "Ramposa had a lot of love for the firstborn, but he didn't think he was suitable for governing a nation. Ah, if he hadn't passed away so quickly... Some even whisper that he was poisoned. Inconceivable, right?"

  "Hmph, who would be interested in poisoning an old man on the verge of death..."

  Philip no longer had any interest in continuing that foolish conversation. His gaze was fixed on Princess Renner, who was entertaining every guest who approached her.

  His moment had arrived.

  "Good luck, Montserrat..."

  Seeing him walk away, Baron Dasambert offered him his best wishes. Had he sensed Philip's inherent greatness and wanted to cultivate his favor? Soon the Montserrat name would be synonymous with greatness, and it would not be a stupid move to try to enter in his graces.

  'But it won't be that easy...'

  Philip approached the princess. Even seen from behind, she was a grand spectacle. To call her to him, he extended his arm to touch her shoulder.

  Someone stopped the baron before he could succeed. His wrist was locked in an impenetrable vice. The crunching of bones made Philip groan.

  "Who are you? What were you trying to do to Her Highness?"

  That young man he had glimpsed earlier was now glaring at him. How dare he, a mere soldier, address a noble that way? If he hadn't been caught by surprise, Philip would have taught him a lesson.

  "That's enough, Climb. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding."

  At the princess's command, that dog of a man finally released him. 'Good boy, listen to your superiors,' Philip thought, massaging his aching wrist.

  "Your Highness, I am Baron Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat, your faithful servant. It is a great honor for me to make your acquaintance."

  Renner smiled tenderly at him, radiating brilliant light. She had been struck by him in the same way he had been by her, Philip was sure of it.

  "My dear Baron Montserrat, it is an honor to meet you."

  Philip was speechless, not knowing what else to say. But it didn't matter. When two souls fated for each other met, words were almost superfluous.

  "I... I came here to pay homage to your brother. And to you. Allow me to say that never have I posed my eyes on such dazzling beauty as yours. I will be able to fight at my best knowing I have to defend you."

  "Oh, so you intend to go down to the battlefield. A lady like me is not very accustomed to matters of war, or of men. But I am so worried... I wouldn't want my beloved people to suffer."

  What selflessness! That was an exceptional woman, different from all the others. Philip had made his decision!

  "It won't happen! Not as long as I'm on the battlefield!" He almost shouted, boasting proudly.

  "That's truly magnificent!" Princess Renner applauded lightly, giving him a smile that Philip would carry with him forever, as a token of fidelity. "I can sleep soundly, knowing that you are there to protect me. I beg you, do your best, show no hesitation. And I am sure we will meet again, one day."

  Love. It could only be love.

  'She wants to see me again. She is also in love. How could it be otherwise?'

  By marrying a princess, the throne wouldn't be so far out of his reach. The picture was beginning to become clearer. It was obvious that Princess Renner had been deeply struck by him, and it was even more obvious that she reciprocated his feelings.

  That moment had been orchestrated by destiny, which whispered to Philip what his future would be.

  'Kill the Emperor. Orchestrate the King's death. Marry the Princess. And everything will be yours.'

  So simple, that he was almost impressed by his own genius.

  As he walked away, he noticed the princess exchanging a few words with her guard. That dog, most likely, harbored feelings of affection for his mistress. 'When I am King, I will let you stay by her side, just watching. Aren't I generous?'

  That evening, having returned to his room, Philip undressed completely. Naked, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, he thought of Princess Renner.

  "And you call this an army!?"

  What was presented before the Baron of Montserrat could barely be called a band of misfits. A few dozen peasants, many of them lacking spears or pikes, with only rakes and other farming tools converted into weapons.

  Even fewer knights. They didn't exceed thirty in total. Some of them were even without horses.

  The manor's butler, an old man loyal to his father named Victor, hastened to make excuses, mortified. "My lord, this is as much as we can muster in these circumstances. Some of the Montserrat personal guard knights must remain to defend the lands, in case of bandit or monster attacks. And I have to remind you that most of our loyal servants have already perished with your brother, and our resources are at their limit."

  His father, another fool. In war, even a small number could make a difference. 'He wants to clip my wings too.' Philip was aware that the old Baron was reluctant to send even a single soldier, in what he had called "a complete folly."

  Obviously, those grievances against the King and the Marquis Boulloupe could not be expressed in the open, not by a coward like him. And so he had limited himself to hobbling his son's future endeavor, his only heir.

  'What will become of the Montserrat name?' Adversity provided the opportunity to prove one's worth. 'I'll have to work with the little I've been given.' In a way, it made sense. Nature was bringing balance where it needed to be.

  With a large army, there would be no contest for the False Emperor. Now, at least, the game would become interesting.

  "We must at least make sure the peasants are well-equipped."

  "Buying equipment for all of them would bleed our coffers dry, my lord."

  "Are you saying my father wouldn't approve?"

  Victor remained impassive, but that stone face was enough to communicate what he was thinking. 'Stay in your place.' That servant was fortunate that, for some absurd reason, his father had a high opinion of him.

  The good butler could only hope that the old Baron Montserrat would remain healthy for a long time yet.

  "Alright, alright... What about my armor, then?"

  "There is your brother's. It is one of the Montserrat treasures."

  Philip found it inauspicious to have to wear what had once belonged to Henri. But it was also true that it was a jewel with some orichalcum trimmings, whose price was of great value on the market.

  "That will have to suffice... Hmm, if there's nothing else."

  Before he could leave to think about his preparations, one of the peasants in the front row raised his hand, heedless of his place.

  Victor gestured for him to proceed, after receiving assent from Philip.

  "May lord, if I may…"

  "Speak."

  With conviction, the man stepped forward, speaking clearly and precisely. "The fields are in disastrous condition. The recent wars have deprived us of precious manpower, and prolonged absence will certainly not help the situation. Our wives and children handle what they can, but if we don't return after the war, the entire barony risks ruin. We are aware that you cannot exempt yourself from sending support troops, but leave some of us behind, so that at least our families can help each other, and manage to survive the next winter."

  Compared to his skinny companions, there was a trace of musculature in him, and a fervent gaze, not yet overcome by despair. It was not strange that the peasants had chosen him as their temporary spokesperson.

  "What is your name?"

  "Pierre, my lord. Pierre Longard."

  "Pierre, I appreciate your courage. And you have shown much of it in addressing your superior... For this reason, I appoint you commander of the peasant troops. You will be one of my right-hand men. Serve me faithfully, and you shall be rewarded."

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  "Thank you, my lord."

  "I'm not finished..." Philip turned to Victor, who was watching from a distance. "Take that man, and have him punished with ten lashes. Five for having put forward a proposal dictated by cowardice. Another five to fortify him in spirit. Should he complain, add two for every groan he might emit."

  The butler hesitated. "My lord..."

  "Do you wish to suffer the same treatment?"

  No response. Finally, his orders were beginning to be obeyed.

  Two of his guards grabbed a reluctant Pierre. After a couple of well-aimed punches to the chest, the farmer fell into spasms and was forcibly dragged towards his fate.

  Those peasants he had represented until a moment ago remained with their heads bowed, pretending their friend didn't even exist, too scared to suffer the same punishment. Perhaps it would be appropriate to inflict that punishment upon them as well.

  After all, he couldn't afford weaklings in his army. He would turn those poor wretches into a squadron of death. Pierre would be the first. After breaking him, Philip would forge him anew, making him a first-rate soldier.

  One day, the same Pierre would thank him for that opportunity.

  "We leave in one week. I want everyone to be ready. Desertion will be punished by death, without appeal."

  The plains of Katze already rose before his eyes. Philip touched that dream made reality, the concretization of his ambition. He could already see himself, a golden charge kissed by the sun's rays straight to the heart of the Bharut Empire.

  His sword cutting down enemies, right to the heart of the Imperial camp. The legionary generals laying down their arms, and the King in person coming to congratulate him for his valor, offering him his sister's hand as a reward.

  The scene was so clear in Philip's mind that an uncontrollable surge of excitement swept over him.

  The first wedding night with his Princess Renner. The future coronation. The false Emperor serving as his page. The future was bright, and it was good to be him.

  He couldn't remember where he was.

  Everything in his head was confused. In the darkness, his eyes couldn't distinguish anything. His chin was itching, the unshaven beard prickling under his skin. Every limb struggled to move, forcing him to crawl on the dirty straw infested with rats and insects. Those small creatures bit him and touched him under his torn clothes crusted with manure.

  'Where is my armor?'

  Managing to regain a minimum of consciousness, he put together the confused pieces of his memories.

  The plains of Katze. Four hundred and forty thousand soldiers of Re-Estize, gathered against the legions of the Empire: sixty thousand men in total. An overwhelming difference, which would make an already written result even more evident.

  "It will be a massacre," Pierre had confided to him. "My lord, I've talked to other soldiers. The King has gathered an exorbitant number of men, but many are tired and hungry from the long march. Most of them haven't eaten anything for days, not even that unappetizing gruel created with magic. Not to mention that most are kids or old people who can barely hold a weapon straight, at the first sign of danger they will use the chaos to flee. Furthermore, that famous wizard from the Empire is here."

  "I don't care," Philip had replied. Philip. That was his name. Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat, Baron of Re-Estize. What was he doing in this dark place? "Even if some fool should abandon the battlefield, we are still at a ratio of six to one. What difference can a magician make in all this? Or do you perhaps want to flee like a coward?"

  "We can also take advantage of the noise and the mess that will arise to slip away. Or at least remain on the defensive until we have a complete picture of the situation."

  "And lose this great opportunity? Do your duty, before I have you taken away to be whipped."

  Yes. He had rejected those foolish counsels of that simple peasant and had spurred his horse to prepare for battle.

  Coughing, he stretched out his arm until he touched something cold and hard, metallic. 'Are these... bars? Cell bars?'

  Although blurred, some images crossed his eyes. King Barbro, clad from head to toe in the treasures of Re-Estize, invoking the death of the usurper.

  That sea of men moving. Philip's heart leaping out of his chest with excitement. The Imperial legions remaining, frightened, at a distance. A figure—an old man?—soaring in the sky along with a handful of other men.

  The sky obscured. Flames devouring everything. Philip's horse, frightened, changing direction, even though he kept spurring it on, pulling the reins with all his strength.

  Men running everywhere, but without a clear direction. Orders shouted into the void, left ignored. The desert filled up with fallen men, blood pouring onto the sand.

  Then, silence. The last thing Philip remembered was falling from his horse. 'Where were my men?' Was it possible they had abandoned him? Or were they dead too? In any case, an uncontrollable rage took possession of him.

  "Get up!"

  The doors of the cell where he had been locked up opened. At least three men, all wearing Imperial armor. Two lifted him by the arm, while the third ensured he couldn't react, frisking him for anything that could be considered dangerous.

  They surely had inspected him before bringing him to that place, but those additional precautions meant that someone extremely important wanted to see him.

  Philip set every wheel of his brain in motion, searching for a way to escape. He would have to make concessions, but it wouldn't be impossible to regain his freedom.

  It was enough for his future interlocutor to recognize his worth. Not despairing, the baron tried to maintain a certain dignity.

  "Worms. You sent all those men to the slaughterhouse. Nobles like you disgust me," the soldier didn't hold back his contempt. Once the job was done, he led Philip towards a corridor lit by some torches. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night, but in any case that sudden exposure to light, however faint, caused him a great headache.

  They walked for about five minutes, with Philip remaining silent, too exhausted even to speak. It would have been the perfect opportunity to glean some information, but a feeling told him that soon everything would become clear.

  "Go in. And remember to talk only when given permission."

  They had him sit in a small, sparsely furnished room. In front of him was only a small desk, where a man in simple robes sat, intent on compiling documents. Despite the modesty of his clothing, his appearance conveyed nobility and confidence.

  When he noticed Philip had sat down in front of him, he addressed the guards, of whom he was clearly the superior. "Wait for me outside. I want to speak with him in private."

  "General, are you sure?"

  "Look at him. He is no longer a man, but a wreck. I have my sword with me, while he has nothing. If he manages to eliminate me before you can rush in from out there, he will have earned his freedom, don't you think?"

  The soldier didn't seem convinced, but he couldn't contradict the General's orders. Along with his two companions, he settled at the exit, closing the door behind him.

  "So, you are of noble lineage, right? The armor you had was much more precious than the junk Re-Estize usually supplies its men with."

  Philip tried to open his mouth, but couldn't even utter a sound.

  "Ah, right. You must be thirsty."

  The General took a carafe of water from a nearby shelf and poured some of the contents into a glass, which he courteously offered to Philip.

  Sipping it calmly, the Baron realized he had never drunk anything so refreshing.

  "My… My name is Philip. Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat. My rank is baron."

  "A simple baron," the man was very disappointed. "I suppose better than nothing. I am the General of the Sixth Imperial Legion. You can call me Ray."

  He smiled at him, but that smile was anything but friendly. Ray, Philip immediately judged, was a dangerous man.

  "What... What happened? How did I end up here?" Speaking was still difficult.

  Ray spread his arms wide, laughing coarsely. "The war. What else?"

  "Did... Did we lose?"

  The General's laugh grew louder, more amused. Philip couldn't find anything to laugh about. "My friend, you are truly remarkable. Did you lose? You were... Disappointing. No, more than disappointing. Now I understand why the Emperor was reluctant to send the Imperial magician. But this time you truly teased his patience too much."

  "And what about... What about the King?"

  Ray's expression darkened, but certainly not out of grief. "A spectacle that left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had heard that Prince Barbro was a martial man. A soldier in spirit and body. And when I realized he was leading the royal guard's charge toward us, I was eager to see if those rumors were true. The Imperial Court Wizard got rid of him with a simple spell. 'A waste of time,' he called the whole affair. And how can I contradict him? Your new King became a flaming puppet that ran for a few meters before collapsing like a sack of steamed potatoes. An original way to grant us your treasures, I must admit. As for the rest... Bah. If you had come at us united, perhaps the battle wouldn't have been so one-sided. What's the point of all those formations if yours run away when they see the cavalry coming? What's the point of poorly nourished horses, whose hearts crumble when faced with true beasts nurtured for war? No countermeasures for fireballs or magic arrows, not even fortifications to try to shelter from our enchanted arrows rain."

  From all that report, Philip had understood a couple of things. First, that theirs had been an overwhelming defeat, mainly caused by the stupid peasants who failed to maintain courage in the face of the enemy. Second, that this man, Ray, was displeased for a simple reason: that war didn't interest him at all.

  "Now... What are you going to do with me?"

  Ray approached, observed him for a long moment, and then, with an unexpected strike, kicked the chair Philip was sitting on.

  Falling back to the ground, the Baron was forced to deal with the cold floor again. Spitting, he tried to get back on his feet, but a second kick from the Imperial General forced him back down.

  "Do you really want to know?" The way he smiled made it evident that those abuses amused him shamelessly.

  Only a depraved being could derive joy from violence. Philip considered it an excellent tool for enforcing discipline and clearly demarcating who was a superior and who was an inferior, but he didn't consider it anything more than that.

  As long as everyone stayed in their place, there would be no need to resort to such drastic methods.

  "Y... Yes," he managed to stammer, with the last of his remaining strength. If he wanted to save himself, he had to gain as much advantage as possible, even if it meant humiliating his dignified persona before someone who enjoyed his momentary weakness.

  One of the greatest crimes of the False Emperor had been subverting the natural order. His purges had exterminated the nobles of his lands, giving jackals like General Ray the opportunity to assume positions of command.

  If there were a noble like Philip in his place, it would have been simple to find a way to resolve the matter amicably.

  "We don't have precise estimates of your losses. We are sure that there were actually more deserters than casualties, luckily for you, but the bulk of the army is in disarray. Marquis Boulloupe has gathered what he could in the city of E-Rantel. Meanwhile, Prince Zanac, the future King, is trying to promote peace with our Emperor. He has the support of Margrave Urovana and Marquis Raevan, but most of the King's loyalists are pushing to continue fighting. With your reckless actions, you have presented our lord with quite a dilemma..."

  So not everything was lost. It had only been an unfortunate battle. If they could regroup, Philip could show them the key to victory. Prince Zanac was weak; presenting himself as a hero would make it simple to manipulate him in order to ascend to the throne.

  'Fortune favors the bold,' and at that moment, Philip only had to rediscover his courage.

  "In any case," Ray continued, oblivious to his prisoner's plans, "We could lay siege to E-Rantel, but the orders that arrived simply instructed us to process the rivers of prisoners we have on our hands. Those of noble origin like you will be used as ransom."

  "Treat me well, and you shall be rewarded..."

  At that point, the General landed a punch to his ribs, making Philip double over in pain.

  "I hate your kind... You think a title gives you something to boast about, but without it, you are nothing more than an insignificant worm. I am a baron too, just like you. But I don't believe that's what separates me from the other men I command..." In Ray's gaze, hatred and indifference mingled in a mess of contradictory emotions. "My family was on good terms with a certain count. Before the rise of El-Nix, he was one of the most respected members of the aristocracy. Never have I seen anyone have such a high opinion of himself, with nothing to justify it. After falling from grace following the purges, he could have used the opportunity to reinvent himself, as many others did. Instead, he remained attached to an unfounded idea. His daughters abandoned him, his wife left him for a respectable official, and overwhelmed by debts he had no choice but to try running away. I don't know what happened after all this, and I don't care. Do you understand why I am telling you such a tale?"

  No, he couldn't. For Philip, those were just the ravings of a madman out of touch with reality.

  "I..."

  Ray drew his sword from its sheath and handed it to him. "Take it. Kill me if you can. I have given precise instructions... You will be granted freedom."

  Was it a trap? Was he playing with him? But now that Philip wielded a blade, he was the one with the advantage.

  Once he eliminated the General, he could surprise the guards outside the door and escape unnoticed. It was a gamble... But Fortune favored the bold, didn't it?

  Philip charged with a lunge, but Ray dodged it effortlessly. The General grabbed his wrist and squeezed so hard that the Baron found himself groaning in pain.

  A familiar occurrence.

  A simple sweep of the leg was enough to make Philip drop his grip and return the sword to the hands of its rightful owner. Back on the ground, no longer a novelty, he had Ray's blade pointed at his neck.

  "Why shouldn't I get rid of worms like you? The Emperor wants to demand huge sums for you pathetic nobles. Your already miserable coffers will be bled dry, while insignificant insects like you will return to your lands, taking it out precisely on those who sacrificed their lives for your whims. El-Nix knows he cannot conquer the entirety of Re-Estize without putting it to fire and sword. He is a patient man; he will let you destroy yourselves, only to return as a savior to put an end to your troubles," the blade grazed his skin; small streams of blood began to flow, as Philip trembled from head to toe. "Are you wetting yourself? All this is the result of your actions. The death of your old and tired King. The rise of a spoiled child. Forcing us into a war of annihilation, and forcing our hand after years of careful preparations. It's almost as if someone wanted to speed up the inevitable process. It doesn't matter... I want to put everything to fire and sword. I want to demonstrate the overwhelming victory of the Empire! I want massacres on both sides, and a perpetual war that lasts for years! Tell me: Why should you be granted freedom? Why, after years of your people's suffering, if we can close the matter much more quickly? I am a humanist. Your death and that of your people will be beneficial to the new Empire that will be born from the ashes of Re-Estize!"

  He was insane! Ray didn't see war as a simple means to achieve his ambitions. War itself was his ambition!

  Philip knew he would die if he didn't find a way to save himself immediately. Faced with his own mortality, perhaps someone else might have reflected on their mistakes and the behaviors that had led them to that situation.

  But Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat was not a common man! His wit had already found a way to taste salvation.

  "Wait! Wait... I am not just any noble! I am the promised husband of Princess Renner!"

  His beloved would forgive him that innocent lie, once they met again. 'You did well to say so, if it allowed you to save yourself,' she would tell him with a smile.

  Ahhh, Princess Renner…

  For a moment, the blade seemed about to plunge into his neck. Then it withdrew, as Ray assumed a surprised expression.

  "What? The Golden Princess is your promised bride?"

  "Yes... Yes! We swore eternal love just before I left! If you let me go free... We could work together! I could help El-Nix to conquer the Kingdom more easily!"

  Obviously, Philip had no intention of collaborating with a fellow like that. The important thing was that Ray took the bait.

  The Imperial General backed away from him and stared at him for a few seconds, thoughtful. His eyelids opened and closed rapidly as he murmured something indistinct. "... Possible that... Really funny..."

  At the first opportunity, Philip would get rid of him. For the moment, he only had to appear compliant and make him believe he was in control.

  Ray adjusted his robe, which was slightly crumpled following their brief argument. His dark eyes fixed on the closed door. "Larcenè!" he called.

  Immediately after, the same guard who had led Philip into that room crossed the threshold, addressing his superior respectfully. "My lord." The disgraced Baron felt the contempt of that haughty and proud man as he tried to get back up.

  "Take this prisoner. He is a valued guest. Let him be treated as you see fit," was his order.

  Larcenè took Philip by the arm, with a simple 'received,' to indicate that there would be no more problems. Strangely, he wore a pleased expression.

  "Did you hear what your General told you?"

  "Certainly. Don't worry, I already know how to treat you."

  Finally, things were starting to go the right way. Philip could finally relax, thanking his own genius for saving him. As long as he had himself to rely on, nothing could go wrong.

  "Is this the same cell as before?"

  "What did you expect?"

  Larcenè raised his arms and slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. After opening the door, he threw Philip inside with a kick.

  His face kissed the floor again. Like new lovers, they were starting to get familiar.

  "Hey! Didn't you hear your commander!? I am a valued guest!"

  "Exactly. We certainly can't let someone so important slip right under our noses, don't you think? That's precisely why I'll take care of you," the guard moved away for a moment, only to return a handful of minutes later with a basin full of water. "For starters, we certainly can't let you be so dirty that you get sick."

  He threw the contents onto Philip through the bars, not even giving him a chance to take cover.

  "It's freezing!"

  "I left you something to cover and dry yourself with. A lot of drafts get into these walls at night. I advise you to take advantage of our generosity."

  There was a blanket in the cell. Philip grabbed it, but immediately realized, once he put it on his shoulders, that it was terribly itchy, and the stench it gave off was unbearable. "It's... It's intolerable," he complained.

  Larcenè took a small stick, a sort of blunt truncheon, and approached the door. After a couple of steps, the Baron feared he was about to use it to beat him bloody, but the guard only slammed it against the cell bars, producing a deafening sound.

  "My father was a laborer in a village on the border between the three human nations. He would have done anything for a blanket like that. Nobles like you took everything, leaving us nothing. The duty of a peasant is to work the land for his lord, and the duty of the lord is to protect the peasant. No one protected him when the monsters attacked us... My mother took me and decided to leave, eventually reaching the Empire. I enlisted in the legion for her. That woman's sacrifices were repaid with a small house in the Imperial hinterland. Three meals a day, a fireplace to warm up in winter, and no worry that someone would unjustly take what she worked for. And all this only because her son decided to serve Emperor El-Nix faithfully. Do you understand why I am telling you all this?"

  If they hoped to move him with those cheap stories, he was wrong. Philip listened in silence, not giving him any further consideration.

  "I guess not. That was the big difference in the last battle. Give a man something to defend, and he will die satisfied."

  Philip remained sitting on that straw, clutching the minimal protection he had been given. He could only remain still in the dark.

  The prison was harsh but not cruel. Larcenè and his subordinates did not inflict punishments on him, nor did they mock or prod him. It was as if he didn't exist. One existence among the many in that forgotten place.

  The gruel—barely edible—was enough to keep him from losing consciousness. Philip regretted his cadet days more than once, where at least fresh bread and cheese were never lacking with a good wine on his table.

  One day—it was difficult to determine how many weeks had passed—his jailer opened the door.

  "Come. The General wants to see you."

  Once again, he was dragged along, because it was difficult for him to move independently for what seemed like an interminable time. A sense of gratitude, for having managed to set foot outside the small space he had been relegated to, flared up in Philip. His beard had grown thick, and his body odor was something he no longer even noticed.

  If he looked in a mirror, would he be able to recognize himself?

  "Ah, I have no doubt. It's indeed Baron Montserrat."

  When he heard that friendly voice, his eyes became moist with tears fighting to flow.

  "Baron Dasambert..." That name was pronounced like the tenderest invocation.

  "Count Dasambert," the man corrected him, adjusting his monocle. "Oh my, dear Montserrat, a few things have happened since we last saw each other. At the first opportune moment, I will bring you up to date."

  The last time they met they were on the same level. Now Philip was a shadow of himself, while the other wore clothes of the finest silk and had grown even fatter since last time.

  'Yet, I'm happy to see a friendly face.'

  It was a dining hall, the place where they had taken him. Compared to his first outing, this time he must be in a part of the fortress intended for the highest-ranking officers.

  Now, he had to try to understand why a noble from Re-Estize was there. If only he wasn't so tired...

  "So, Count Dasambert, this is our valued guest I was telling you about," General Ray approached Philip, stroking his head, as if he were a display pet. And in a way, he was. "The future groom of the Golden Princess."

  "Oh dear. I believe there has been a great misunderstanding."

  "Are you saying he tried to deceive me?" Ray feigned astonishment, but he wouldn't have managed to fool even the most naive of idiots.

  Dasambert assumed a serene expression. "No. I believe the poor Baron Montserrat simply found an original way to escape his imprisonment. The shock of the war, the trauma suffered... It's just a hypothesis, of course. But the Golden Princess has stolen more than one heart, and it seems obvious to me that the poor fellow sought refuge in a fantasy more comfortable than reality."

  Ray was satisfied with the explanation. He took Philip by the chin and forced him to keep his head up, although the prisoner struggled not to faint. "It's... All... Lies..." But no one listened to what he was saying. He was an awkward phantom wandering among them; the love between him and Renner just a subject of mockery for the two men.

  "I see. It makes sense. But this doesn't change the reason why you are here now, Count."

  Dasambert coughed to clear his throat. The new count was starting to show a minimal hesitation. Did he realize that his falsehoods wouldn't get him anywhere? "You know why I'm here. Prince Zanac asked me to negotiate with the Imperial legions for the release of the prisoners."

  "Prince? Isn't he your King, now? Anyway, I haven't received any declaration of surrender yet."

  "The last battle was a victory for you. But that doesn't mean that relations between the Empire and Re-Estize are smoothed out. Our losses were not as heavy as you might think. A few tens of thousands, out of an army that numbered hundreds of thousands."

  Ray was so amused by that statement that he couldn't help but laugh in his face, throwing any pretense of respect to the wind. "Do you think I haven't been informed of what happened at E-Rantel? Your supreme General met quite a bad end... Trying to threaten the adventurers... Well, after the Imperial Wizard wiped out his so-called chosen guard... I imagine he had no alternative but to try to replenish the ranks..."

  "Margrave Unovana has been reinstated in his position as royal commander. Now that Marquis Raevan is prime minister, things will take a different turn..."

  Philip tried to put the pieces together, but only a confused picture emerged. Something had happened to Marquis Boulloupe, which might mean that the Re-Estize Kingdom had suffered harder blows than he believed.

  "Perfect. Magnificent! We'll meet on the battlefield again, then? We don't need to continue this conversation. You yourselves will take back your prisoners."

  So there were other high-ranking detainees in that small fortress.

  "Are you trying to threaten me, General?" Dasambert had not, of course, come alone. The count had with him, besides a couple of secretaries, about ten knights as escort. And these were not inexperienced peasants, but well-equipped veterans.

  Prince—or King?—Zanac had wanted his emissary to be well-guarded.

  "I don't need to. If I wanted to threaten you, I would have already had you eliminated, but my orders are different."

  Ray, on the other hand, was surrounded by far fewer men. Besides Larcené, there were four members of his legion. Right by his side, stood tall and in a battle stance, an imposing man, clad in shining golden armor.

  For Philip, who had gazed upon Renner's beauty, that was nothing more than a false reflection; mere pyrite to throw in one's eyes.

  'But he is strong... Stronger than everyone present...'

  The mere presence of that man put the Count on edge. And the General himself was a formidable fighter. The slightest hint of physical violence would cause a tremendous reaction, and Ray would not have been at all opposed to such a turn of events. It was undoubted that the numerical superiority was only a pretense; the fortress was teeming with Imperial soldiers.

  Dasambert could only bow his head, accepting his position. "I am aware of this. My delegation is here only to ascertain that each of the prisoners is in good condition. To draw up a list of your demands and initiate negotiations that could be favorable to both parties."

  Ray agreed with his guest. "Yes, certainly." All his interest had waned. For Philip, that man was always a closed book, whose content he could only hypothesize from the cover. Constantly looking for conflict, he couldn't explain if that was truly what the general desired.

  In any case, the baron was not allowed to continue attending the discussion. Led back into the darkness of his cell, Philip returned to being alone with his thoughts, spending days between boredom and memories.

  More than once he went back to that cadet life he had so despised. To the days when his brothers mocked him, to the times his father complained about his incompetence. Now they seemed like such foolish things.

  The land of his ancestors was green and flourishing, and the people who lived there were honest and hardworking. Monster infestations were rare, and life was peaceful. The shade of the large apple trees he rested under as a child, fantasizing about heroic futures, was refreshing on the hottest days. The bed in his house was much more comfortable than the straw mat on which he now closed his eyes, rarely managing to fall asleep.

  The few times he succeeded, he dreamed of the Montserrat Barony, Princess Renner, and another Philip, surrounded by people who loved him for who he was.

  He was rarely allowed to leave that hovel. Mostly, it was for the discussions between Dasambert and General Ray. Philip had put together the scant information to coordinate his current position: they were right on the border between the Baharuth Empire and the Katze Plains, in an area where a fort had been erected to allow knights to be quickly dispatched wherever they were needed, now converted into a prison.

  In addition to him, others in the same situation were brought in chains: barons and minor nobles whom the count quickly glanced at, to ensure they were still alive and well.

  The conversations that followed usually concerned ransoms.

  "The weight in gold per prisoner is a ridiculous sum! Many minor houses will face ruin!"

  Certainly, the Montserrat house did not possess such wealth. Would his father go into debt? Philip wondered, powerless. He hated all this, but the more days passed, the more he felt distant from everything.

  "These are the orders of Emperor El-Nix. We are willing to negotiate. Families can offer valuable magical items as an alternative."

  "You want to seize all the heirlooms of the houses of Re-Estize, just as you seized the four great treasures!" Dasambert accused.

  "Razor Edge and the Scarlet Armor were delivered to us by your imprudence. We gave you back the remains of your deceased King. Isn't that enough?"

  "Indicating the place on the Katze Plains where King Barbro's ashes were scattered isn't enough!" Dasambert maintained control, but the more his anger came out, the more it aroused Ray's hilarity.

  Many of those discussions concluded in nothing. And meanwhile, weeks passed.

  Philip had become thin and haggard. He was grateful that he had no way of seeing his own reflection, or he was sure he would have been horrified.

  That day, it was snowing. He was now accustomed to the meetings between Dasambert and Ray, and he didn't even try to approach the new Count to ask him questions about what was happening in Re-Estize. Most of the time, he said nothing. When he spoke, he completely diverted the topic.

  "And who are they?" But this time was different. Philip dared to ask Larcené who the three men sitting at the table were, exactly between the two delegations, represented by Re-Estize and Baharut.

  "Can't you tell from the robes? They are members of the Theocracy's embassy," his jailer explained to him, pointing out the symbols that adorned the strangers' garments.

  Philip's knowledge of religion was superficial. He had a slight smattering of the Four Gods' beliefs, but almost no information about the worship of the Six Gods, professed in the Theocracy. Not that he had ever cared too much.

  The Theocracy was a nation that held little importance for him; they were more interested in dealing with non-humans than in minding truly important matters. Who could give importance to insignificant creatures like goblins and ogres if not fools?

  He watched that small delegation carefully, mostly because he didn't have much else to do. Two of them were women; white caps covered their hair, but their faces were healthy and their eyes bright and attentive. They continuously whispered into the ears of the third member, a friendly-faced man who smiled gently towards the prisoners. He had short, bob-cut blonde hair and red eyes that shone like rubies.

  He was handsome... Extremely handsome. Perhaps the most handsome man Philip had ever seen. When their eyes met, he found himself blushing. 'I have Renner,' he repeated to himself, before wandering too far into uncomfortable thoughts.

  The Theocracy's delegate was the first to speak. His voice was persuasive and firm. "I am pleased to be present at this meeting. The country I represent desires nothing more than to cool your conflicts, so that we may all collaborate together for the service of humanity."

  His speech, however, was inconclusive. He offered no concrete advantages, but only sought to direct them toward something abstract.

  "We are pleased to have you with us, Lord Quintia," said Dasambert.

  "Please. There is no need for any lord. Such titles have been abolished in the Theocracy for some time. I am merely a humble official, here to offer a hand. Address me as a friend."

  No titles? How did they establish who was worthy of command then? The more Philip learned about the Theocracy, the more he considered it a barbaric place.

  "Why not address you by your true title, Scripture?" Asked Ray. The General showed something Philip had thought was far from him... Reverence.

  "Please, General. You are an intelligent man. Do not give credence to certain unfounded rumors. As I said, I am merely a humble official. I hold a minor position in the Theocracy, and I am simply here to ensure that your negotiations proceed smoothly."

  Every word was carefully enunciated. The tone was unaltered, but a strange chill descended upon the room. It was as if it were a warning that invited caution. Both the Empire's and Re-Estize's parties had to restrain themselves from trembling.

  Even the golden guard accompanying the Imperial General lost his composure. At first glance, Quintia and the two women carried no weapons, nor any other escort to protect them. They were utterly civilians in a lion's den, yet they exerted a control that made them the masters.

  Was that power? 'Overpowering others with kindness?' Philip couldn't give himself a real answer.

  Ray smiled. A strained, yet amiable smile. He felt sympathy for the members of the Theocracy. "Well then, I'd say we can begin."

  The following discussion was not very interesting. For the most part, it dealt with figures and concessions from both sides. The members of the Theocracy barely spoke a word. Rather than interested parties, they gave the impression of spectators who directed everything from above, guiding the result with their mere presence.

  "So, we agree. You will begin releasing five prisoners per month. I will send you the agreed sums."

  Dasambert had lost a lot of weight in those days. His new assignment must have stressed him much more than he wanted to admit. Everything had a price, and the mediocre did not always manage to pay it without consequences.

  "The Emperor will first have to give his consent, but I believe these conditions are advantageous for both," Ray explained seriously. "Although I believe your Government will regret its choice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing. I was just wondering who I will face in the next battle. Perhaps you, Count?"

  "General, you should be satisfied," Quintia intervened. On his fingers, Philip noticed shone rings that emanated a mysterious power. "Soon you will resume a military role befitting your rank. And many families will be able to embrace their beloved scions again. As an external spectator, this fills me with joy. Too much human blood has been shed lately..."

  Dasambert did not reply to those insinuations. "Be happy, you will soon return home," he addressed the prisoners instead. "You too, Montserrat. You will be one of the first."

  Upon receiving that news, Philip didn't know how to react. What intimidated him was discovering that, in a certain sense, leaving his cell left him exhausted, without much ado.

  'What awaits me upon my return?' A woman who loved him? A caring father? A welcoming land?

  That evening, Ray wanted him to attend his table. If they hadn't washed and dressed him decently, Philip would have felt even more like a worm.

  "So, Baron Montserrat, are you happy to be returning home?"

  A set table, and so many dishes that brought the prisoner to the brink of breaking down. Even simple stuffed bread was an ecstasy for his now unaccustomed mouth.

  "I just want to... Rest."

  A brief period to return to who he really was, that's what he needed. Fortune had smiled upon him until that moment, and he would not let slip this second chance granted to him.

  The first thing he would do was ask his Renner to marry him. Then he would train and gather a true elite force, one that wouldn't abandon him in his time of need.

  "You should be grateful. I doubt your new monarch is very interested in taking back incapables like you."

  Ray cut a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth, the gravy greasing his lips.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Oh, don't play the fool. After the last battle, thousands of your soldiers found themselves in disarray. Some simply returned home to their families. But others... Many others... asked themselves a simple question: 'why continue to suffer abuses from people who send us against such monsters?' The western part of your kingdom is in complete chaos. Revolts against the lords who failed to protect them, bandits who proclaim themselves new lords, and the crown's total inability to pacify the situation. Your new King is not a fool like the previous one; he knows that suppressing everything with blood will only worsen the situation. He is looking for stability and allies, and hopes you will be grateful for the dedication shown to you in arduous times."

  Ray cut in half what remained of the piece of meat on his plate and placed it on Philip's plate. "Take this, it's meat from a type of sheep that grows in the nearby mountains. A real delicacy."

  Philip served himself. Indeed, the flavor was intoxicating. "Once in my fiefdom, I will restore order."

  "I'm sure you will. How do you think that Dasambert became count? Perhaps there will be a new title for you too... Or maybe not. The wind of change blows in both directions. Take our guest from a little while ago, for example..."

  "The Theocracy delegate?"

  The General nodded. "He was a member of the Scriptures. Do you know what the Scriptures are?"

  Philip shook his head, provoking Ray's surprise. "Really? That explains a lot. In short, the Scriptures are the monsters of the Theocracy. That man, and the two women who accompanied him, could have wiped out all of those present, had they wanted to, and none of us could have done anything to stop it." Yet, in saying something so extreme, there was nothing but admiration in him. A sentiment so intense that it couldn't be explained by mere respect.

  "It's hard to believe such a thing." In the end, men remained men. It didn't matter how strong one was; they could never overcome numerical advantage.

  "In this world there are things difficult to explain, but no less true for it. I saw her, you know? The Elf Queen. The woman from the Theocracy. A while ago... At a ball organized by Emperor El-Nix. No one knows how strong she is. Our Imperial Magician, who completely outclassed your four hundred thousand soldiers, called her a monster that defies reason."

  'A woman cannot be that strong,' Philip thought. "A lady's duty is to be pleasing to her husband's eyes, and to support her man with devotion, showing the shrewdness required for her role."

  On this point, no one could equal his Renner.

  Ray, however, did not think so. "They say the Golden Princess is the most beautiful maiden of all time. And her intellect is a work of art in itself. But what that woman wielded was different... Perhaps you cannot understand."

  No, Philip couldn't. And he wasn't interested. Without any other topic, the dinner concluded shortly after.

  "I hope we meet again someday, Montserrat. You've been a pleasant distraction from the boredom of these days."

  Ray had him dismissed and returned to his cell.

  The exchange took place a few days later. Philip never saw Ray again. A carriage took him and other prisoners straight to the city of E-Rantel.

  A crossroads between the three nations of Re-Estize, Baharuth, and Slaine, it hadn't changed much since the last time he had visited it, shortly before the battle of Katze.

  "Marquis Boulloupe, immediately after the defeat, tried to recruit the adventurers present here into his army, despite being aware of the Guild's strict rules," Dasambert explained, once they had settled down. "He took the leaders of the Adventurers' Guild and the Mages' Guild prisoner to force them to his will... It was not a wise choice."

  The Count's head lowered, in a moment of regret. Philip could not find an ounce of compassion in him. Boulloupe had accumulated failure after failure and had reaped what he sowed.

  Now one of the Great Six Nobles lay in some lost grave, already on the verge of being forgotten.

  The streets of E-Rantel, however, were bustling with life. The consequences of the conflict had not affected its vivacity.

  "What will happen to the Marquis's territories?" Philip had been the only one of the prisoners to maintain his self-sufficiency. His companions in misfortune, for the most part, were only interested in gorging themselves and wandering as far away as possible from that terrible experience.

  "For now, his lands will pass to his eldest son. In confidence, Prince Zanac would like him to first swear allegiance to the crown. Compared to his father, the new Marquis harbors no great aspirations. He is an indolent man who only thinks of the feasting at his table and the warmth of his bed."

  'Another idiot, then.'

  Philip had only one thing that interested him. "What about the Golden Princess?" In those hard months of separation, his beloved must have been mortified with worry. Remorse for having made her live in such a state of anxiety devoured him from within.

  "Baron Montserrat, these are things that do not concern you... In any case, they are preparing a list of possible candidates for her wedding. Among the eligible bachelors are the son of Marquis Raevan, and even Emperor El-Nix himself."

  They wanted to give her to such a snake? Anger prompted Philip to grab that pompous Dasambert by the collar. "Give me a horse! I must stop this madness as soon as possible..." Surely, his Renner would want him to rush to save her from such indecent proposals.

  The Count pushed his hand away, with a decisive gesture that left Baron Montserrat stunned by the promptness shown. "I highly advise against leaving this city. Things outside... are still confused... Many small fiefdoms like yours, Baron Montserrat, are still infested with bandits and rebels."

  "I don't care. A horse! You cannot keep me here."

  A harsh expression spread across Dasambert's face. "Arrogant little brat..." He slapped Philip. Then he grabbed him by the arm. "An incompetent like you should be grateful to Prince Zanac for going to the trouble of paying the ransom. I pushed for your release only out of the great respect I have for your poor father. You want to return to your lands? Go there! When I receive news of your demise, I will pour myself a glass of red wine and toast to your health!"

  The Count's mask shattered, revealing what he painstakingly concealed inside. Very well. Philip would pay the debt at the appropriate time. For now, he needed his help. An insult left unpunished today would not remain so tomorrow, he promised himself.

  Baron Montserrat gathered his few belongings and took a horse from the stables. They saddled him with a malnourished, old nag. Halfway there, the animal was already on the verge of collapsing.

  "Damn Dasambert!" He complained on the deserted roads. As evening fell, the danger became evident. The first two days of travel passed without particular incidents. On the third, however, the supplies were already gone, and his mount had collapsed dead on the ground.

  "At least I can get some meat from it to consume. In any case, even proceeding on foot, it shouldn't be much longer."

  If he remembered the way correctly, he had now arrived at the thresholds of the Montserrat fiefdom. It would be simple for Philip to assert his authority once he found any inhabitant within.

  He walked for hours, until the moon was high in the sky. The paths continued to be completely deserted. There wasn't the slightest human trace.

  "Wasn't it supposed to be infested with bandits? That incompetent Dasambert just wanted to keep us on a leash like dogs."

  It made sense. As long as Barons like Philip remained under his control, the new count could use them to blackmail their families and increase his personal power. Or that of the Prince he was acting for.

  "I must form a small elite squad and head to the capital as soon as possible. I will use the pretext of swearing allegiance to the new King to infiltrate the royal palace and take that fat toad hostage. My Renner will be ecstatic to see me again. We will celebrate a quick wedding, and for the moment I will limit myself to watching things from afar."

  His imprisonment had taught him patience and the importance of surrounding himself with trusted allies. Speaking aloud helped Philip reflect better, and he realized he had very few people to rely on.

  Things would change.

  "Who goes there?"

  Suddenly, when he was close to the Montserrat town, someone stopped him.

  "I am Baron Philip Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat," he replied. They were an armed gang, with only pieces of armor and some battered weapons. Only one carried a sword; many had only farming tools, which betrayed their peasant origins. "I am the rightful owner of these lands."

  "Baron Montserrat?"

  The man with the sword stepped forward, and Philip could see him better under the moonlight.

  "Pierre?" He recognized the peasant he had promoted to commander. For a moment, Philip had actually been worried: a long time had passed since his last stay at home, and it was possible that things had changed more than he would have liked to admit.

  But seeing someone now who was faithful and grateful to him lifted the burden of worry from his heart. I was even ready to forgive him for his mutiny during the Katze battle.

  After a harsh punishment, of course…

  "Stop!" At the first step, however, the peasant drew his sword and pointed it at him, astonishing the baron.

  "Don't you recognize me? I am your lord! I demand that you escort me to my residence as soon as possible!" Philip shouted.

  "I recognize you very well, baron..." Pierre emphasized that last word particularly. Then he gave an order to two of his followers. "Tie him up. We'll take him to the boss."

  "What? Let me go!" Those roughnecks held him still, and tied his hands with rope. The mere thought of being chained again made him vomit. "No! Please! I beg you! Anything but this!"

  He had returned to the dark cell again, and he just wanted to cry again. Philip did not wonder why they were doing this to him, nor was he overwhelmed with rage by that lack of respect. He simply felt the world spinning, and his pleas going unheard.

  "Where is my father?" He asked, but received no answer.

  "What's happening?" He asked, but received no answer.

  Pierre led him to the family mansion. The old house was just as he remembered it, and a surge of emotions brought him to tears upon seeing it again.

  "Oh, so it was true. The young master has returned home."

  At the entrance, a familiar face was waiting for him. Upon seeing the old servant, Philip ran towards him. "Victor! Thank goodness you're here. What happened to my father?"

  The butler wore finer clothes than usual. "I regret being the bearer of such news. The old Baron Montserrat passed away shortly after receiving news of your disappearance. His poor heart could not bear the loss of another son."

  His father? Dead? But then that meant that... "I am the new Baron Montserrat then. Order Pierre to release me immediately! And have them receive an adequate punishment for this folly!"

  The old butler adjusted the buttons of his jacket. Strangely, it was very similar to one of his father's. "I'm afraid that's not possible," he said, with an amiable smile. "Pierre is the new head of the town guard. He was just doing his job in making sure that any intruders couldn't sneak into your lands."

  "I don't care. I just want..." Philip couldn't finish. Pierre had approached and landed a kick to his shin, forcing him to the ground.

  Then the peasant addressed the butler. "What do we do with the baron? Do we eliminate him?"

  "Someone must be aware that he headed towards his lands. We could spread the word that he was eliminated by bandits, but I have a better idea."

  Victor grabbed Philip by the head, forcing him to look him in the eyes. In his gaze, there was only contempt. "I am your lord," the Baron spat.

  "It's a very tragic story," the butler said, wiping his face. "Baron Montserrat's body returned from the war, but his mind remained in some distant place. I raised this boy since he was a child, and I will be happy to take care of him even in these harsh times. The Montserrat name will die with him, unfortunately."

  "They say the new King loves talent and loyalty. You have proven yourself capable of maintaining peace in the fiefdom, and you have shown your gratitude to the family you served," Pierre said.

  "A title, perhaps, my friend? That would be splendid indeed."

  "So… What do we do with him?"

  Victor looked at Philip for a long moment. "Ten lashes, to start. Five more for every complaint."

  A devilish expression curved the peasant's lips. "You are generous. Your lord will be grateful to you!"

  Philip tried to wriggle free, but other peasants blocked him and prevented him from moving. He was dragged away, while screaming for help. "No! Let me go! Let me go!"

  The only thing he could hear was Victor's voice, consoling him from afar. "Don't be afraid, Baron! You are finally home!"