Old World, March 2515, Empire, Wolfenburg.
The battle was over, the army needed rest, the city required rebuilding, and the leaders had to discuss their next steps.
Though some questioned how exactly Morkar the Ironclad had died, and why the Everchosen of Chaos had suddenly uttered a string of cryptic words before committing suicide, the facts remained: Morkar was dead, the Chaos army was broken, and the combined forces of the Empire and Bretonnia had saved the city and the Ostland people.
With peace tentatively restored, food supplies began to trickle in. Refugees finally emerged from the damp, cramped, and foul-smelling dwarven refuge mines to breathe fresh air. Most of the adult male population had died in the war, leaving behind mostly women and children. Some found scraps of shelter in the ruins, covering themselves with whatever blankets they could scavenge for a much-needed rest.
The city was unusually quiet, with soldiers patrolling every corner.
Ryan had ordered his men to collect and store all the money Leman Russ had brought in. After sorting it into several spatial rings for safekeeping, he found himself with a rare moment of leisure. "How about we take a stroll through the city? Bertrand? Morgiana?"
"Tomorrow is the Day of the Grail, Ryan. I need to prepare," Morgiana replied with a shake of her head. If it had just been her and Ryan, the Fay Enchantress might have considered it. But with an entire company of Old Guard soldiers, along with Bertrand, Davout, and Raymond trailing behind Ryan, she decided against it.
"Oh, tomorrow is the Day of the Grail! Right." Ryan paused, feeling a bit embarrassed. The relentless wars had left him frazzled, and it was inexcusable for the chosen champion of the Lady of the Lake to forget such an important day.
"Let's head back then," Ryan shrugged, signaling his men to return to camp.
Back in his opulent command tent, Ryan found himself alone. Aurora was bedridden, recovering from the strain of summoning the Supreme Lord of Ice Elements. She had claimed she needed at least two or three months of rest, and Ryan, understanding her condition, had asked Veronica to arrange for someone to care for her.
The Chairwoman herself was off scouting for young girls with magical talent, determined to find fresh recruits for her coven. Veronica knew that as the head of the Sorceress Assembly, this was her responsibility, and she could rely on no one else.
Morgiana, busy with preparations for the Day of the Grail, had her hands full, while Louen Leoncoeur was locked in discussions with Imperial officials over administrative minutiae. Emilia and Theresa were still en route from the rear lines, leaving Ryan with nothing to do.
He regretted not bringing Olyka along. In the downtime of military life, having no one to serve him felt inconvenient and a little lonely. Of course, he had no intention of asking for male attendants—that could lead to rumors of unsavory tales like Jungle Companions or Brokeback Mountain. The Old World, after all, was rife with such scandals, especially in places like Tilea.
The luxurious furnishings of his tent offered little comfort as snow fell outside. It was already March, and the persistent snowfall was a grim reminder of the Chaos incursion's impact on the northern Empire's climate.
"Servants! Heat some water. I want a bath!" Ryan called out.
"At once!" The Old Guard outside responded promptly.
After enjoying a soothing hot bath, Ryan donned a soft, comfortable bathrobe and reclined on his bed. A servant set up a low table, allowing him to review paperwork while lounging. A steaming cup of coffee was placed beside him.
"What about Berthold? And Bertrand? What are they doing?" Ryan asked, eyeing the stack of documents with dread.
"Berthold is wandering around the ruins. Most of the Grail Knights, Marshal Bertrand, and two companies of the Old Guard have been summoned by Lady Morgiana to assist with tomorrow's Grail Day rituals. She said every Bretonnian will receive the Lady's blessing, including jam-filled pastries, roast meat, and a cup of wine."
"Alright, I understand. You may leave now," Ryan dismissed the servant, reluctantly opening the first document. His head throbbed as he thought about the endless tasks awaiting his attention.
As he read, Ryan couldn't help but wonder why Berthold was strolling through the ruins.
Meanwhile, in the Ruins of Wolfenburg
A massive tent had been hastily erected amidst the rubble.
Berthold, Duke of Bastogne, entered the tent with a group of knightly retainers. Draped in his red dragon cloak, the Duke wore a luxurious red-and-yellow tabard adorned with fleur-de-lis over his masterfully reforged Grungni rune-forged armor. At his side hung the fabled Sword in the Stone. A gold dragon-topped great helm rested on his head. Approaching demigod status, the Duke exuded an aura of unyielding authority, and his equipment alone was worth more than ten noble estates combined.
Having little skill or interest in administration, the old Duke had left those duties to others and decided to explore the ruins instead.
Two things had caught Berthold's attention during his wanderings.
The first was the street vendors. With the refuges gradually reopening, many of the displaced began setting up makeshift stalls near the soup kitchens, selling whatever possessions they had left. From trinkets and handmade goods to vodka and even old icons of Ursun, the Bear God, everything was up for sale.
Berthold sighed as he saw relics of old Kislev and Ostland being sold for a pittance, powerless to do anything about it.
The second matter was unfolding in the tent before him.
Berthold's sudden entrance startled the occupants, causing a commotion. The noble overseeing the operation, Count Devon Hex, paled and hurriedly approached the Duke. "Your Grace! What brings you here?"
"What in the Lady's name is going on here?!" Berthold demanded, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room.
The tent was filled with women—mostly young and attractive. Some were from Ostland, others from Nordland, and even a few from Kislev. The Duke immediately suspected the worst.
"Your Grace, it's... just business!" Hex stammered, trying to placate the Duke.
"Business?! You're trafficking these women?!" Berthold's hand flew to his sword hilt, his voice thunderous. "Have you forgotten the Lady's teachings?!"
"They're willing participants, I swear!" Hex protested. "Your Grace, do you realize that 65% of Ostland's adult males died in this invasion? These women have no one to rely on. Count Vamir von Zhukov is providing food today, but what about tomorrow? The day after? Everyone knows Bretonnia is wealthy, and many of these women see this as their only chance to secure a future. Even King Ryan has turned a blind eye to this!"
"That doesn't mean—" Berthold growled but paused as Hex quickly interjected.
"Your Grace, the ruins are rife with such activities. Middlemen charge exorbitant fees, leaving these poor women with barely a silver coin. I simply cut out the middlemen. Buyers pay less, sellers earn more—everyone benefits. In just half a day, our transactions have surpassed anything those profiteers could achieve!"
Berthold reluctantly listened as Hex explained the situation.
The transactions were divided into two categories:
One-time agreements: These required a basic health check and certification. Permanent contracts: These were formalized master-servant agreements, often mediated by religious officials.
Most women preferred the latter, hoping for a stable arrangement. Many even offered to serve for free if their prospective master was a Grail Knight or a member of the Old Guard.
"And your standards?" Berthold asked, still skeptical.
"We only accept willing participants, Your Grace. And only the most beautiful, between the ages of 14 and 28," Hex replied confidently.
Berthold verified the women's claims of willingness and noted the tent provided food and blankets. While still uneasy, he couldn't find grounds to object. "A tent like this, in plain view, aren't you worried about drawing attention?"
"Language lessons," Hex said with a sly grin. "Bretonnians have diverse accents, and fostering communication is vital for cooperation and mutual understanding."
"Language lessons, you say?" Berthold's interest was piqued. "What's the price?"
"Very affordable! Most range from 50 to 100 gold crowns, with a notarized contract included. Perfect for hiring maids, Your Grace."
"Yes... learning a new language is always valuable," Berthold mused, finally smiling.
Just then, the tent flap opened, and a group of Reiksguard soldiers entered, their imposing presence met with immediate tension.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Berthold's retainers drew their swords, while the Reiksguard prepared to counter.
"Calm down, everyone," said Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg as he stepped inside. The old marshal's solemn expression softened as he surveyed the scene.
After a long sigh, Helborg finally spoke.
"Yes... learning a foreign language is indeed important, Count Hex. I'd like to learn too."
The atmosphere in the tent lightened, and laughter erupted
.
"Learn away, Marshal! Choose any lesson you like!"
Meanwhile, back in Ryan's tent, the King continued reviewing documents.
Among them was an official letter from Emperor Karl Franz. The public-facing letter was firm, congratulating Ryan and the allied forces on their victory at Wolfenburg while urging them to advance swiftly and conclude the campaign before spring planting began.
The letter's tone annoyed Ryan, but a private note from the Emperor softened his mood. In it, Karl Franz explained the urgency, citing strained finances and the risk of famine if spring planting was delayed.
The Emperor also requested that Emilia be granted a nominal joint command position to save face politically.
Ryan couldn't help but chuckle. "Ah, Karl, the burden you bear... even your complaints are endearing."
Just as he reached for his coffee, a radiant platinum light filled the tent. A familiar silhouette emerged from the glow.
"I'm here, Ryan!"
"Darling, I've come to see you and your knights!"
Before Ryan could react, something soft and heavy smothered his face.
"Mmmph~"
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.