Chapter 20 - Chapter 20: The Falling Curtain and the Fried Commander

Chapter 20: The Falling Curtain and the Fried Commander

The sun was dipping low over the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows from the Old Stone Hold. Chapter 20: The Falling Curtain and the Fried Commander

The sun was dipping low over the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows from the Old Stone Hold. Below the hill, Julian stood at the head of a rather chaotic assembly. His 400 mercenaries were sharpening their blades with predatory grins, fueled by Julian's promise: "The Count's mansion belongs to the first unit through the door. Looting is permitted—just don't break the structural integrity of the walls."

Julian adjusted his collar, looking up at the battlements where Count Castell stood, his face a vibrant shade of purple that almost matched his outdated velvet doublet.

"Hey! You up there!" Julian shouted, cupping his hands.

"How dare you!" the Count bellowed back, his voice cracking. "You imbecile! I am a Reichsgraf! A Count of the Empire! How dare a low-born Baron's brat address me with such lack of ceremony?"

"Not for long," Julian replied, his voice carrying a dry, biting edge. "I'm going to be honest with you, Count. You're mismanaging this place. The roads are a mess, the iron pit is a puddle, and your river toll is basically highway robbery. I'm here to offer a graceful exit. Surrender, sign a confession of administrative incompetence, and you can retire with your head still attached to your neck. If not? Well, I hear the Imperial headsman is looking for overtime."

"I have done nothing!" the Count shrieked. "I paid my taxes! I am loyal to the Emperor! My house was once a pillar of this realm!"

"Key word: was," Julian countered. "Do you think the Emperor supports a loser? You're a Count who lost his entire county in 48 hours to a 'Baron's brat.' I have a Duke's backing and a winning streak. You have a drafty tower and a dwindling supply of wine. If you were the Emperor, which one of us would you pick to hold this territory?"

"Damn you! I will not surrender to a boy who looks smaller than a toothpick!" the Count roared.

Julian's eye twitched. "Smaller than a what? I'm five-eleven! I'm literally taller than you, you delusional midget! Shut your mouth and come down here so I can show you the difference between height and stature!"

The Culinary Scare Tactic

The comedic bickering was interrupted by the mercenary captain leaning in. "My Lord, we're out of arrows. This is the last batch."

Julian didn't blink. "Don't release them. Just aim. Perception is reality in this economy."

He turned back to the fortress. His 400 men moved forward, shields locked, a wall of steel creeping up the hill. To add the final touch of psychological trauma, Julian had his men hoist up the captured Commander of the River Fortress. The man was tied to a makeshift frame, hanging upside down and shivering.

Julian drew a small, ornate fruit knife and began sharpening it against a stone, his face twisting into a look of feigned, hungry madness.

"You know," Julian shouted loud enough for the garrison to hear, "I've been reading some... unconventional ancient texts. They say that if you fry a Commander's heart with a bit of butter and garlic, you inherit his martial prowess. And looking at my current mana exhaustion, I'm feeling quite peckish."

The captured Commander let out a wail of pure terror. On the battlements, the Count's remaining 200 troops turned pale. They looked at the massive mercenary force, the "cannibal" Baron, and their purple-faced Count.

"The Baron is going to eat us!" someone screamed.

The morale, which had been in the gutter, officially hit the bedrock. One by one, the garrison began dropping their spears. By the time Julian's boots hit the threshold of the main gate, the Count was being dragged out by his own servants, who were hoping for a reward or at least a reprieve from being "fried."

The Aftermath and the "Reward"

Julian sat in the Count's high chair, watching as the mercenaries began "clearing" the mansion of its valuables. The Count was hauled off to the dungeons—well-clothed and well-fed, as Julian wasn't actually a cannibal, but certainly humiliated.

[System Notification: Victory Achieved.]

[Territory Acquired: County of Castell (Occupied).]

[Favorability Check: Mathilde.]

The door slammed open. Mathilde entered, her riding habit dusty, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something far more dangerous. Behind her, the mercenary captains scrambled out of her way.

"Julian von Andechs-Merania," she purred, walking straight up to the high chair. She didn't stop until she was leaning over him, her hands on the armrests, trapping him. "I heard you were planning on eating commanders for 'prowess.' Is your Aunt's cooking no longer enough for you?"

"It was a tactic, Mathilde! A joke!" Julian squeaked, his back hitting the wood.

She leaned in closer, the scent of lavender and expensive mana-ink filling his senses. "You've conquered a county in three days. You've become a man of war." She ran a gloved finger along his jawline, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But don't think a Count's chair makes you too big for my lap. You still have a Diet to survive, and a wedding to... discuss."

Julian swallowed hard. The yandere flag wasn't just twitching; it was waving like a victory banner.

The Reaction: Frankfurt and Beyond

POV Shift: The Schwarzberg Manor

Duke Schwarzberg put down the report, a rare, genuine grin spreading across his face. "Three days? He took the Stone Hold in three days using a cannibalism rumor and a height dispute?" He laughed, a deep, booming sound. "The boy is a genius or a lunatic. Either way, he's exactly the son-in-law I need to rattle the Welfs."

Emilia, sitting across from him, hid her smile behind a teacup.

[Affection Spike: Emilia +5 (Total: 28/100)]

'A cannibal? Really, Julian? You're more interesting than the Hero could ever hope to be.'

POV Shift: The Electors' Chambers

The Duke of Saxony crushed the report in his fist. "He took Castell? Before the Diet? This wasn't supposed to happen! The boy has changed the map!"

"It doesn't matter," the King of Bohemia spat. "He's still on the list. If he wants to keep Castell, he'll have to defend it against the Spanish AND the Diet. Let him have his little victory. The meat-grinder is still waiting."

To be continued...

Next Step: Would you like to proceed to The Reconvening of the Diet, where Julian must present his conquest to the Emperor while dodging the Electors' traps?

Below the hill, Julian stood at the head of a rather chaotic assembly. His 400 mercenaries were sharpening their blades with predatory grins, fueled by Julian's promise: "The Count's mansion belongs to the first unit through the door. Looting is permitted—just don't break the structural integrity of the walls."

Julian adjusted his collar, looking up at the battlements where Count Castell stood, his face a vibrant shade of purple that almost matched his outdated velvet doublet.

"Hey! You up there!" Julian shouted, cupping his hands.

"How dare you!" the Count bellowed back, his voice cracking. "You imbecile! I am a Reichsgraf! A Count of the Empire! How dare a low-born Baron's brat address me with such lack of ceremony?"

"Not for long," Julian replied, his voice carrying a dry, biting edge. "I'm going to be honest with you, Count. You're mismanaging this place. The roads are a mess, the iron pit is a puddle, and your river toll is basically highway robbery. I'm here to offer a graceful exit. Surrender, sign a confession of administrative incompetence, and you can retire with your head still attached to your neck. If not? Well, I hear the Imperial headsman is looking for overtime."

"I have done nothing!" the Count shrieked. "I paid my taxes! I am loyal to the Emperor! My house was once a pillar of this realm!"

"Key word: was," Julian countered. "Do you think the Emperor supports a loser? You're a Count who lost his entire county in 48 hours to a 'Baron's brat.' I have a Duke's backing and a winning streak. You have a drafty tower and a dwindling supply of wine. If you were the Emperor, which one of us would you pick to hold this territory?"

"Damn you! I will not surrender to a boy who looks smaller than a toothpick!" the Count roared.

Julian's eye twitched. "Smaller than a what? I'm five-eleven! I'm literally taller than you, you delusional midget! Shut your mouth and come down here so I can show you the difference between height and stature!"

The Culinary Scare Tactic

The comedic bickering was interrupted by the mercenary captain leaning in. "My Lord, we're out of arrows. This is the last batch."

Julian didn't blink. "Don't release them. Just aim. Perception is reality in this economy."

He turned back to the fortress. His 400 men moved forward, shields locked, a wall of steel creeping up the hill. To add the final touch of psychological trauma, Julian had his men hoist up the captured Commander of the River Fortress. The man was tied to a makeshift frame, hanging upside down and shivering.

Julian drew a small, ornate fruit knife and began sharpening it against a stone, his face twisting into a look of feigned, hungry madness.

"You know," Julian shouted loud enough for the garrison to hear, "I've been reading some... unconventional ancient texts. They say that if you fry a Commander's heart with a bit of butter and garlic, you inherit his martial prowess. And looking at my current mana exhaustion, I'm feeling quite peckish."

The captured Commander let out a wail of pure terror. On the battlements, the Count's remaining 200 troops turned pale. They looked at the massive mercenary force, the "cannibal" Baron, and their purple-faced Count.

"The Baron is going to eat us!" someone screamed.

The morale, which had been in the gutter, officially hit the bedrock. One by one, the garrison began dropping their spears. By the time Julian's boots hit the threshold of the main gate, the Count was being dragged out by his own servants, who were hoping for a reward or at least a reprieve from being "fried."

The Aftermath and the "Reward"

Julian sat in the Count's high chair, watching as the mercenaries began "clearing" the mansion of its valuables. The Count was hauled off to the dungeons—well-clothed and well-fed, as Julian wasn't actually a cannibal, but certainly humiliated.

[System Notification: Victory Achieved.]

[Territory Acquired: County of Castell (Occupied).]

[Favorability Check: Mathilde.]

The door slammed open. Mathilde entered, her riding habit dusty, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something far more dangerous. Behind her, the mercenary captains scrambled out of her way.

"Julian von Andechs-Merania," she purred, walking straight up to the high chair. She didn't stop until she was leaning over him, her hands on the armrests, trapping him. "I heard you were planning on eating commanders for 'prowess.' Is your Aunt's cooking no longer enough for you?"

"It was a tactic, Mathilde! A joke!" Julian squeaked, his back hitting the wood.

She leaned in closer, the scent of lavender and expensive mana-ink filling his senses. "You've conquered a county in three days. You've become a man of war." She ran a gloved finger along his jawline, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But don't think a Count's chair makes you too big for my lap. You still have a Diet to survive, and a wedding to... discuss."

Julian swallowed hard. The yandere flag wasn't just twitching; it was waving like a victory banner.

The Reaction: Frankfurt and Beyond

POV Shift: The Schwarzberg Manor

Duke Schwarzberg put down the report, a rare, genuine grin spreading across his face. "Three days? He took the Stone Hold in three days using a cannibalism rumor and a height dispute?" He laughed, a deep, booming sound. "The boy is a genius or a lunatic. Either way, he's exactly the son-in-law I need to rattle the Welfs."

Emilia, sitting across from him, hid her smile behind a teacup.

[Affection Spike: Emilia +5 (Total: 28/100)]

'A cannibal? Really, Julian? You're more interesting than the Hero could ever hope to be.'

POV Shift: The Electors' Chambers

The Duke of Saxony crushed the report in his fist. "He took Castell? Before the Diet? This wasn't supposed to happen! The boy has changed the map!"

"It doesn't matter," the King of Bohemia spat. "He's still on the list. If he wants to keep Castell, he'll have to defend it against the Spanish AND the Diet. Let him have his little victory. The meat-grinder is still waiting."

To be continued...