"Prepare for battle! Prepare for battle!"
Raymond was the first to step forward, positioning himself between Ryan and Sulia and the advancing forces. The Old Guard commander loaded his pistol and barked out orders for the soldiers to form ranks. These battle-hardened veterans responded with practiced precision, forming two neat lines with movements that seemed almost artistic in their fluidity.
"Your Majesty, please! You and the Queen stay here while I and the men negotiate with them!" Raymond shouted, determination written across his face.
"With weapons in hand? That's your idea of negotiation, Raymond?" Ryan glanced at him, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he shook his head. "Soldiers, stand down and put away your weapons!"
The loyal Old Guard obeyed instantly. They sheathed their swords, shouldered their firearms, and stood silent and unmoving, forming an unbreakable wall of discipline. Even faced with a force of two to three thousand opponents, the Old Guard soldiers remained calm, their faces betraying no fear.
For these men, forged by countless battles under Ryan's leadership, defeat was not an option.
"Your Majesty, I assure you, you will never see our backs in retreat," declared the Old Guard sergeant-major, Losir, a grizzled veteran who had served Ryan for 23 years and achieved legendary status on the battlefield.
"Damn traitors, son of a b—" Raymond muttered under his breath, frustrated. His pistol was already loaded, and now he didn't know whether to aim it or holster it. Forced to comply with Ryan's orders to disarm, Raymond stood awkwardly, gritting his teeth.
"What did you say?" Ryan asked, still smiling.
"Nothing, nothing…" Raymond stammered, realizing that Sulia and the two women standing beside her had all turned their attention to him. Embarrassed, he quickly shook his head.
Sulia, exuding the poise and elegance of a queen, appeared not to have understood Raymond's grumbling. Behind her, Sylvia, the head maid, glared at him disapprovingly, clearly offended by such coarse language. Only Olica, with her sharp amber eyes darting mischievously, seemed entertained, as if already hatching another devious plan.
"I recognize those banners," Sulia said, holding Ryan's hand tightly. Her expression grew serious. "A yellow field with a white cross and a blue sea monster—those are the colors of the Clément family. The commander is Sir Baldwin, with Sir Reynard as his deputy."
"The old Baron Clément has mobilized his entire army, it seems," she added cautiously.
"Le-Angoulême and Couronne have always been bastions of the conservative faction," Ryan said, his calm demeanor unshaken. He scanned the massive force arrayed before them, knowing this was a significant escalation.
Ryan had anticipated resistance closer to the heart of Le-Angoulême but not on this scale so soon. Yet, as he recalled the feudal principle of "the vassal of my vassal is not my vassal," he understood. Baron Clément wasn't directly under his command—why would he simply obey?
The disadvantages of feudalism, long apparent, were now starkly evident:
Incredibly low administrative efficiency, as each layer of hierarchy separated the sovereign from his subjects. Terrible fiscal and mobilization capabilities, as resources were hoarded by individual lords. Increasing tendencies toward independence and separatism over time.
Ryan knew he had to strip these powers from the hands of the feudal lords and transition to a bureaucratic system. Despite its flaws, a centralized administration was undeniably more advanced than feudal governance. But to achieve this, he needed a cadre of educated, trained bureaucrats—something Bretonnia had sorely lacked when he first arrived.
For years, literacy and administrative skills were almost exclusively the domain of nobles, clergy, and wizards. Training an entire bureaucratic class was no overnight task.
Still, Ryan had made progress. With improved education and rising productivity, he had slowly begun replacing noble governance with bureaucracy. But external military pressures meant he had to maintain a strong military aristocracy. Thus, like the Empire across the Grey Mountains and even the Imperium of Man in the far future, Bretonnia remained reliant on a blend of noble and bureaucratic administration.
Ryan squinted at the advancing Clément army. With its thousands of troops, knights, cannons, and trebuchets, this was no minor skirmish. He raised his hand, signaling his forces to halt.
He stopped Sulia, Olica, and the rest of his entourage. Everyone came to a standstill.
Ryan understood the gravity of this moment. It was a test of everything he had worked for—twenty years of victories, reforms, and leadership. His reputation and vision for Bretonnia would be put to the ultimate trial.
Without hesitation, Ryan stepped forward alone, striding toward the opposing army.
Dressed in his red-and-blue royal attire, adorned with gold, and draped in a white cloak bearing the golden grail emblem, Ryan carried no weapon and wore no crown. Yet, as he walked steadily toward the enemy, his presence was enough to make soldiers waver.
From the opposing ranks, Sir Baldwin observed the scene, gripping his knightly sword tightly. His troops began to falter, their formations loosening as many soldiers instinctively stepped back or lowered their heads, unable to meet Ryan's gaze.
Those eyes burned with judgment and fire.
Before Baldwin could issue an order, the knights under his command took over, shouting commands to the soldiers.
"Advance! Raise your weapons! Drive these intruders from our land! Anyone who resists—kill them without mercy!"
"Forward!" their voices echoed across the fields.
Yet, the army stood frozen as if under a spell. All eyes were fixed on Ryan as he walked toward them. Not a single soldier moved.
Instead, confusion and hesitation spread through the ranks. Some veterans even lowered their weapons, glaring defiantly at the knights barking orders at them.
"Anyone who disobeys will be executed for treason!" the knights shouted, their desperation growing. "You filthy dogs will pay for your cowardice!"
But the soldiers refused to budge. Farmhands-turned-footmen, freemen militia, and even the cannon crews imported from the Empire ignored their commanders. Even the knightly squires looked on with defiance.
On Ryan's side of the field, the Old Guard, freemen, and Baron Ottero's retinue stood equally motionless.
The world seemed to freeze, the tension thick as fog. Only the sound of a waterwheel turning in the distance broke the silence.
Sylvia held her breath, clutching her hands nervously. Beside her, Olica watched Ryan intently, her expression unreadable.
Sulia, walking half a step behind her husband, tightened her grip on his hand.
"You can do this, Ryan," she thought, her heart racing. "My husband, my King—you can do this."
As his queen, she would stand by him no matter what, for they were in this together, bound as one.
With each step, Ryan moved closer to the enemy's cannons, closer to their muskets, closer to their arrows.
He looked at the soldiers' faces, reading the beads of sweat and the indecision in their eyes.
These were men bound to their lord.
They ate the baron's bread, received the baron's pay, and—if peasants—lived and died as the baron's property.
Ryan felt the weight of their hesitation. His actions threatened to shatter the foundation of their world.
But without such bold moves, how could a new era begin?
Drawing strength from Sulia's touch, Ryan raised his voice:
"Knights and soldiers of Le-Angoulême, subjects of Bretonnia! Do you recognize me? I am your King—your Knightly King, Ryan-Makado!"
The field fell silent, the very air seeming to thin.
Ryan gently pulled Sulia forward. "This is my queen, Sulia, your Knightly Queen."
Sulia stepped forward, her posture regal, her figure striking, her presence commanding.
"Who among you wishes to kill your King and Queen?" Ryan asked, spreading his arms. His tone was calm, almost mocking. "We're right here. Take your shot."
Faced with their sovereign's open gesture of trust, even the staunchest conservative knights felt their resolve waver. Heads bowed, swords lowered, and the weight of their guilt pressed heavily upon them.
The King had brought glory to Bretonnia, leading it to unimaginable victories and its greatest heights in centuries. How could they raise a blade against him?
The soldiers trembled. Weapons clattered to the ground.
At last, a veteran who had served in the Eight Peaks Expedition and the defense against Archaon stepped forward. Sir Floss, now the garrison commander of Clément Castle, threw down his sword and raised his arms.
"Soldiers! Our King is here! What are you waiting for? Long live the King!"
"Long live the King! Long live the King!"
The chant surged like a tidal wave, roaring across the fields.
The army dissolved, soldiers abandoning their ranks to swarm toward their King. Old Guard veterans embraced their former comrades. The fields of Clément were alight with the flames of human unity and hope.
"His Majesty entrusted us with his faith, and we shall never betray that trust!"
The soldiers' cries of allegiance echoed across the golden fields of Clément. Farmers, freemen, and even knights joined the growing tide of humanity surging toward Ryan. Old comrades from past campaigns embraced one another, veterans reunited in their shared loyalty to the King.
The banners of the Clément family were torn down, replaced with Bretonnia's red, blue, and gold lion flag and the Fleur-de-Lis of the Lady of the Lake.
Ryan smiled warmly as his people rallied to him, their spirits ignited by his unwavering presence. For a moment, he stood still, allowing the waves of jubilation to wash over him.
On the opposing side, the knights under Baron Clément looked around in confusion. Their soldiers had defected en masse, and even some of their own squires had abandoned them. The field that had once been theirs now belonged to Ryan and his people.
"What do we do now, my lord?" Sir Reynard asked anxiously, turning to Baldwin, who was still seated atop his warhorse.
Sir Baldwin looked across the field at the King, whose aura of majesty seemed almost divine. Ryan stood tall, his queen at his side, radiating authority and grace.
Baldwin sheathed his sword and dismounted. He handed the reins of his horse to a squire, turned to his deputy, and said simply, "We surrender."
The knights behind Baldwin looked at him with a mix of shock and understanding. Baldwin was no coward. He had fought valiantly in countless battles, earning the respect of friend and foe alike. If Baldwin believed surrender was the right course of action, then so be it.
One by one, the knights dismounted and removed their helmets, kneeling on the field in submission.
"Your Majesty, please forgive our misguided actions," Baldwin said, falling to one knee before Ryan. He held his sword horizontally in both hands, offering it to the King. "I, Baldwin of Clément, swear my allegiance to you. My sword and my life are yours to command."
Ryan stepped forward and placed his hand on the flat of Baldwin's blade. "Rise, Baldwin of Clément. I accept your loyalty."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Baldwin rose to his feet, his eyes filled with determination. "I will not fail you again."
"You never failed me," Ryan said with a smile. "You simply needed to be reminded of what we fight for."
Turning to the gathered soldiers, knights, and freemen, Ryan raised his voice so all could hear. "Knights of Bretonnia! You have witnessed the truth today. Our strength does not lie in our swords or our shields, but in our unity. Together, we are invincible!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising in unison: "Long live the King! Long live the Queen!"
Ryan turned to Baldwin once more. "Lead your men back to the Clément Castle. Raise my banners high. This land belongs to Bretonnia, not to those who cling to outdated traditions and selfish greed. Together, we will build a new future."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Baldwin said with a deep bow.
As the newly united army marched toward Clément Castle, Ryan and Sulia led the way, hand in hand. The golden fields glowed in the setting sun, a symbol of the hope and prosperity Ryan sought to bring to his people.
The next morning, Clément Castle—known as the Palace of Rouen—opened its gates without resistance. The elderly Baron Clément had fled during the night, abandoning his luxurious palace and most of his wealth.
As Ryan and Sulia entered the grand hall, they were greeted by a scene of opulence: golden chandeliers, tapestries depicting battles of old, and a throne carved from pure oak adorned with silver inlays. It was a monument to the excesses of the old guard.
"It's beautiful," Sulia remarked, her tone both admiring and critical. "But it's also a stark reminder of why we fight. This palace stands as a testament to greed and inequality."
Ryan nodded. "And now, it will serve as a symbol of change. A new beginning for this land and its people."
Baldwin knelt before Ryan and Sulia in the grand hall. "Your Majesty, Your Grace, the Clément Castle is yours. I await your orders."
"You've earned this," Ryan said, lifting Baldwin to his feet. "From this day forward, you are no longer Sir Baldwin of Clément. You are Baldwin, Baron of Clément and rightful lord of this castle."
Baldwin's eyes widened in shock. "Your Majesty, I… I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll serve the people of this land with honor and justice," Ryan replied.
"I will, Your Majesty," Baldwin said, his voice filled with emotion. "I swear it."
Sulia smiled warmly. "And remember, Baldwin, this title is not a reward for loyalty. It is a responsibility. One that I trust you will uphold."
"I will not let you down," Baldwin promised.
Ryan and Sulia spent the rest of the day meeting with the castle's remaining staff, listening to the concerns of the townspeople, and overseeing the transition of power. The old regime was gone, and in its place, a new order was taking shape.
Back in Le-Angoulême, news of Ryan's swift and bloodless victory spread like wildfire.
"What? Ryan-Makado has taken the Palace of Rouen? The army surrendered without a fight?"
Duke Talbot of Le-Angoulême slammed his fist on the table, his face pale with disbelief. "This cannot be! Say it again! What happened?"
Edward, his Minister of Internal Affairs, bowed low as he delivered the report. "It is as I said, my lord. The army at Clément turned to His Majesty's side without a single battle. The old Baron fled, and Baldwin has been installed as the new lord of Clément Castle."
"Damn it all! How dare she?!" Duke Talbot roared. "How dare that woman—Sulia—appoint a baron within my duchy without my consent?!"
"My lord, what are your orders?" Edward asked cautiously.
"Robert!" Talbot bellowed.
The Duke's military advisor, Robert, hurried into the room. "Yes, my lord?"
"Mobilize every soldier we have. We must expel Ryan and his forces from my lands immediately!"
"As you command, my lord!" Robert saluted and rushed off to gather the troops.
As Talbot paced the room, his face contorted with anger, he muttered to himself, "If Ryan thinks he can impose his will on my lands, he has another thing coming. This is far from over."
Little did Talbot know, Ryan was already planning his next move, his sights set firmly on the Duke's stronghold.
The battle for Le-Angoulême was just beginning.
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