The day after clashing in a battle of nerves with the marquis.
Lucian, once again wearing a mask as he stepped outside, clicked his tongue.
Even the few nobles who had still been around were almost all gone, and those who remained hurriedly fled the moment they saw Lucian.
"Tsk. Looks like the rumors spread far and wide in just one day."
"Do you think that fellow Nigel, who accompanied us yesterday, spread them?"
"Who knows."
It wasn't impossible, but Lucian didn't think that was the case.
Nigel had been famous in his previous life as a master tightrope-walker.
Would someone like him deliberately do something to get on Lucian's bad side?
Lucian had seen with his own eyes how carefully Nigel tried to hide his identity while they were together.
"It's more likely the marquis's doing. He was busy subtly revealing who he was and enjoying the treatment that came with it. If people saw me fighting with the marquis from afar, wouldn't they have roughly guessed my identity as well?"
"That does make sense. Still, with things like this, we won't be able to hear the lords' honest thoughts anymore."
"It can't be helped. We gained something in another area instead, so we'll just have to be satisfied with that."
"Another area?"
"There's no one left to enjoy the festivities, is there? Do you think His Highness the First Prince will really keep this party going when there's no one around?"
"Ah, I see."
Raymond nodded, as if he finally understood what Lucian meant.
This masked farce was entertainment arranged by the First Prince, meant to watch the nobles clash with one another.
But no matter how grand the stage, if there were no nobles left to collide, entertainment—let alone spectacle—could not exist.
As the host, he would lose interest, and there would be no reason to keep the farce going.
With nothing left to enjoy, the First Prince hiding in the shadows will show himself soon enough. At least I won't have to keep indulging in his childish games.
If this pointless entertainment had dragged on indecisively, dissatisfaction among the other clan lords would only have continued to build.
Setting Lucian's personal objective aside, from the standpoint of the allied army's morale alone, this outcome was preferable.
And sure enough, the very next day, a messenger from the First Prince arrived at Lucian's tent.
"His Highness the First Prince, Supreme Commander, has issued a summons."
"I'll go shortly."
So he couldn't even endure two days.
Lucian let out a bitter smile, but promptly finished preparing and headed for the First Prince's tent.
The tent—several times larger than the others—already held a considerable number of lords and their representatives.
As Lucian scanned the seats, his eyes suddenly met those of the marquis sitting in the place of highest honor.
For a brief moment, sharp gazes clashed between the two.
At the same time, the surrounding lords all swallowed hard.
But it lasted only an instant.
As soon as the marquis withdrew his gaze, Lucian also turned his head away.
Moments later, when Lucian took a seat to the right of the Supreme Commander's seat, a murmur rippled through the tent.
"Is that boy really His Highness the Grand Duke's representative?"
"No, at such a ridiculously young age, how could he possibly…?"
"Shh. Quiet. He'll hear."
The brief commotion quickly settled down, but the gazes pouring in from all sides remained.
Marquis Bernhardt, in particular, was frowning as if displeased.
Even if Lucian was only a representative, the fact remained that he had effectively been placed on equal footing with a Third Young Master of merely sixteen years.
Fortunately, the uncomfortable silence did not last long.
"His Highness the First Prince, Supreme Commander, is entering!"
At the attendant's shout, the entrance to the tent opened, and a nobleman with platinum-blond hair and green eyes stepped inside.
Judging by appearance alone, one might have believed him to be a legendary hero straight out of myth.
However, his sulky expression and irritated gaze dulled that radiant appearance by half.
The First Prince, Claude fin Bay Astria…?
The beloved eldest son of the current Emperor, and the Supreme Commander of this allied army.
Yet Lucian's gaze shifted past First Prince Claude to the person behind him.
A man taller than the First Prince, slightly stooping as if trying to conceal his presence.
He shared the same platinum-blond hair, but his cold aura and pale blue eyes gave him an even more sovereign, ruler-like presence.
Cedric fin Bay Astria…?
The Empire's Second Prince, the man once called the last hope of the imperial family.
"We greet His Highness the First Prince, Supreme Commander of the allied forces!"
"Mm."
At the First Prince's appearance, the lords lowered their heads and let out resounding greetings.
Yet despite their salutations, the First Prince merely inclined his head with an indifferent expression.
"Be seated."
"Yes!"
Once the First Prince took the seat of honor and spoke, the lords sat down again.
Leaning back as he settled into the Supreme Commander's seat, the First Prince swept his gaze around and spoke.
"First of all, thank you for gathering here. The Empire will not forget your loyalty."
"As those who have sworn loyalty to the Empire, it is only natural."
"That said, I went to the trouble of arranging some entertainment, yet it seems things did not go as intended. To think everyone would vanish in not even two days. It seems my goodwill only caused discomfort—my apologies."
Even as he said this, the First Prince's narrowed gaze passed over Marquis Bernhardt and Lucian.
It was an apology in form only—beneath it lay resentment toward the two who had ruined his stage.
Marquis Bernhardt quickly bowed his head toward the First Prince.
"My deepest apologies. I was careless and ended up revealing my identity. This is all my fault."
Careless, my foot—you never intended to hide it in the first place.
Lucian nearly let out a hollow laugh at the marquis's maneuvering, but slipping out alone would only make the situation look worse.
"How could all the blame lie with the marquis alone? I too cannot escape responsibility, so I can only beg Your Highness the First Prince's pardon."
"Hm, is that so?"
The First Prince looked back and forth between the bowing marquis and Lucian, then waved his hand dismissively.
He clearly wasn't fully appeased, but his attitude suggested that he would grant forgiveness this once.
"Well, people make mistakes—it's only human. Besides, it was nothing more than light entertainment anyway. Let's let it pass."
"Thank you for Your Highness's mercy."
"That aside, I would like to hear your opinions regarding this rebellion. What should we do about Krepfeld?"
Satisfied after receiving their apologies, the First Prince immediately moved on to the main topic.
His question ranged broadly, from methods of suppression to Krepfeld's treatment afterward.
The first to step forward was Marquis Bernhardt.
"We should end it as swiftly and decisively as possible, then show mercy."
"Show mercy? You're suggesting we forgive those who dared raise their hand against the Empire?"
The First Prince frowned, clearly displeased with the marquis's answer.
Yet the marquis nodded calmly, without batting an eye, and continued.
"Yes. Once the rebellion is suppressed, Krepfeld will claim it was never their intention and will put forward scapegoats as sacrifices for treason. We should execute those scapegoats and withdraw."
"And why exactly? Why should we forgive rebellious scum?"
"Because the Empire's magnanimity itself demonstrates the Empire's strength."
At the seemingly out-of-the-blue answer, the First Prince tapped the table lightly, signaling him to explain.
As if well prepared, the marquis laid out his reasoning without hesitation.
"Recently, the Empire has been troubled by repeated external invasions and internal unrest. However, it has not weakened to the point where the likes of Krepfeld could succeed in rebellion. They know this well."
"Yet the rebellion still occurred, did it not? Are you saying Krepfeld rebelled knowing full well they would fail?"
"Most likely, they treated this rebellion as a kind of testing ground—a rehearsal for the 'real rebellion' they intend to raise someday."
Whether the Empire still had the power to suppress rebellion, how long it would take if it did, and how much weaker it had become compared to its prime.
Once they grasped their opponent's limits, their true objectives would naturally come into focus—and that was likely Krepfeld's real aim.
"Of course, since a rebellion is no small matter, their excuses will be airtight. They will surely claim that the king was confined, that another royal wielded absolute authority, and so on."
"So you're saying we should fall for that perfect excuse?"
"Even if it's an excuse whose true intentions are painfully obvious, we must still accept it. Doing so itself shows that we have the leeway to suppress another rebellion whenever it arises."
Facing the First Prince, who looked unconvinced, the marquis calmly explained once more.
If the rebellion were crushed swiftly and decisively, the Empire's strength would be proven.
However, if excessive punishment followed immediately, others might think, 'They must fear they couldn't endure another rebellion—better to root everything out now.'
Measures meant to prevent rebellion could instead become a source of threat to the Empire itself.
"On the other hand, if we overlook such transparent excuses, it will appear as confidence—that the Empire can suppress the likes of Krepfeld at any time. Would rebels truly dare to rise again after witnessing the Empire's mercy?"
"Hm, that does sound reasonable."
At some point, the First Prince's eyes had begun to gleam as he listened.
Demonstrate both the Empire's power and its mercy, while flaunting the composure that says you are nothing to us.
Wasn't it a plan perfectly suited to his tastes?
Just as the First Prince, swayed by the marquis's eloquence, was about to adopt the proposed course—
"That is an excessively optimistic assessment. I can't help but wonder if the marquis is viewing the situation far too favorably."
Lucian's cold voice instantly doused the rising heat.
The air inside the tent froze solid.
No matter that Lucian was the representative of Duke Sigmund—he was still merely one of the duke's sons, not even the heir.
Whether in rank or in experience, he could not compare to Marquis Bernhardt.
And yet he openly voiced opposition?
It was tantamount to an insult, as if claiming that even the green, barely grown Lucian possessed greater insight.
"An excessively optimistic assessment, you say. It sounds very much as though you're accusing me of failing to see reality and offering nothing but pleasant words."
The marquis looked at Lucian with eyes gone cold as he spoke.
Unlike yesterday, when they had worn masks, their identities were now fully revealed.
There was no reason to bother with honorifics or courteous phrasing to elevate the other.
"If that's how it sounded, then I apologize. However, I cannot help but worry about a contingency."
"A contingency?"
"Crush the enemy swiftly, then show mercy to display magnanimity and composure. If everything goes according to plan, it would indeed be perfect. But where is the guarantee that it will go according to plan?"
"Are you insulting everyone present here? Are you suggesting that His Majesty's loyal servants might be defeated by the forces of a mere vassal state?"
"I'm not talking about morale or spirit. Please present realistic grounds."
At Lucian's words, the marquis's face twisted sharply.
A whelp with barely any real battlefield experience, daring to paint him as a dreamer detached from reality.
"Fine! You want realistic grounds? I'll give you as many as you like!"
The marquis raised three fingers, folding them down one by one as he spoke.
"First, we hold a clear numerical advantage. Krepfeld may be the largest vassal in the east, but it cannot compare to the forces gathered here from across the Empire.
Second, the quality of our troops is superior. Everyone present commands standing forces, and there are many knights among us.
And third—Krepfeld holds almost no geographical advantage. The Empire mapped its entire territory in meticulous detail long ago! Do you need any more reasons?"
As if ready to continue at length, the marquis looked down at Lucian condescendingly.
But Lucian shook his head and replied calmly.
"Everything you've said is correct. However, it seems to me that you are discussing victory while presupposing one crucial assumption."
"And what would that be?"
"The Grand Accord."
An unspoken rule of war upheld for centuries,
and the final bulwark meant to prevent the worst possible outcome,
"What will you do if the enemy has no intention of honoring the Grand Accord?"
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