Chapter 35: The Architecture of the Soul and the Smoke of War
The transition from a "cold-calculating strategist" back to Kaito Arisawa wasn't a smooth shift; it was a violent reconstruction. All night, the candles in Julian's study burned to the wick. He didn't trust the previous "optimization" that had muted his heart, so he did what any hardcore strategy gamer would do: he rebuilt the build from scratch.
He sat amidst a mountain of scrolls, relearning logistics not as a cold algorithm, but as a human responsibility. He corrected supply line maps, calculated the caloric needs of the Neapolitan refugees, and meticulously planned how to move 220 Royal Guards without leaving a trail for Spanish scouts.
"I'm still the same brain," he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. "I haven't regressed. I just... I want a win-win this time. No more using people until they break."
[System Notification: Historical Reconstruction Initiated.]
[Status: High-Efficiency Mode (Human-Filtered). You're actually doing better this time, Julian. Turns out, empathy prevents the kind of oversight that leads to mutinies. Who knew?]
Kaito leaned back, stretching until his spine popped. He had spent hours re-reading the lineage of the HRE and the secret history of the Papacy. He even took a moment to look in a bronze mirror and realized, with a start, that he was actually quite handsome.
"Damn, I had killer looks and I spent months acting like a gloomy accountant," he hissed. "Valeris was right. I could've been charming information out of people instead of threatening them."
He went to the washroom, stripping off the travel-stained clothes. As he scrubbed his hair, months of battlefield dust and magical soot washed away, leaving his silver-blonde locks sparkling and soft. He dressed in a high-collared, deep navy noble attire, combing his hair back into a stylish, sharp look. He even practiced his water magic, feeling the mana flow more fluidly now that his mind wasn't a locked box.
The Domestic Inquisition
Julian walked into Emilia's chambers, intending to bid her farewell. He was exhausted but looked like a walking masterpiece. Emilia was there, looking through correspondence from her father. When she saw him, she stopped mid-sentence.
"Julian?" she whispered, her red eyes tracing the new, clear light in his gaze. "You look... different. Clearer."
Julian leaned his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him.
[Affection Update: Emilia von Schwarzberg: 59/100.]
She sniffed his neck, her grip suddenly tightening. "Why do you smell like honey buns and lavender? And why are you wearing a high-collar shirt? You only wear high collars when you're hiding something from your neck."
"I... I was with my PA, Isabella! Ask her!" Julian stammered, his "Humanity" making him a terrible liar compared to his old self. "We were deciding the relocation of the Naples guards!"
"Is that so?" Emilia's smile didn't reach her eyes. She pushed him back onto the bed with surprising strength, her fingers reaching for the collar. "Isabella doesn't use lavender oil. My Aunt Mathilde does."
Rip.
The collar was pulled back, revealing the faint, reddened marks left by Mathilde's "doting" session.
"So," Emilia whispered, her voice like a freezing lake. "You went to her, but you didn't come to me? You think you'll 'disturb' me, yet you were so arrogant in the carriage?"
Julian gulped. "Emilia, wait—"
"I'm not waiting."
What followed was a session of "domestic violation" that left Julian staring at the ceiling, his hair a mess once more, and his neck sporting a fresh set of marks to match the old ones. Emilia sat up, calmly smoothing her dress and began brushing his hair back into place.
"You return to the border tomorrow," she said, her tone now soft and protective. "Spain is harrassing merchant ships in the Tyrrhenian Sea. The Emperor is losing his patience with the Pope's delay. I will stay here to manage the fortress, but I'm sending your 'PA' with you."
"Why?"
"Because if you're going to have a lover's list, I want someone there to keep the other vultures away," she warned. "And Julian? If I don't get the treatment I deserve when you return... the next marks won't be on your neck. They'll be on your soul."
The Shadow of the Cross
While Julian was being "refined" by his wife, the rest of the world was screaming toward a climax.
In the Mediterranean, the Spanish Armada had begun a brutal blockade. They weren't just attacking warships; they were sinking merchant vessels carrying grain to Rome and Milan, claiming they were "contraband of war." Small pockets of Neapolitan resistance in the countryside were being hunted down by Spanish fire-mages, their villages turned to ash as "examples."
In the Vatican, the pressure had reached a boiling point. Pope Innocent IV sat in his private chambers, surrounded by maps and holy relics. The Spanish King, Alfonso VIII, was pressing for a full mandate to "purify" the south. But the HRE was pushing back.
Arch-Marshal Conrad and Prince Albrecht were already drafting the mobilization orders. Albrecht's plan was simple: a "Hammer and Anvil" strike. He would lead the heavy Bohemian cavalry through the center, while Julian's detachment was expected to secure the mountain passes and manage the human tide.
"Albrecht's plan is a meat-grinder," Julian muttered as he read the secret dispatches the next morning. "He wants to play 'Hero' while the commoners die in the mud."
The Queen's Promise
Before leaving, Julian met Queen Eleonora in the garden. She was dressed in mourning black, looking frail but composed. Beside her, the young Prince Matteo stood silently, clutching a wooden sword.
"Your Highness," Julian said, bowing. "I must return to the frontier. Spain is moving, and the Pope is close to a decision."
"Will we stay here?" the Queen asked.
"For now, yes. But the System—I mean, the Imperial archives—suggest you will eventually be moved to a neutral Papal city for your safety. I will have the right to visit you without permission, but others will be barred."
He knelt down to Matteo's level. "Do you want something to eat, young Prince? You haven't had an appetite."
"I want my uncle," the boy whispered. "When is he coming back?"
Julian felt a genuine, sharp pang in his chest. No cold calculation this time. "Your uncle is a brave man, Matteo. He's making sure the path is safe for you. When the time comes, you'll understand what he did."
He looked back at Eleonora. "I haven't forgotten my promise. I will push for the King's burial in the Royal Tombs. Even if I have to embarrass the Pope to do it."
[Queen Eleonora Favorability: 28/100 (Hidden Anchor Active).]
Julian turned and walked toward the gates where Valerius and his men were waiting. The "Cool Protagonist" was gone, replaced by a man who was tired, slightly bruised by his wife, and carrying the weight of a fallen kingdom on his back.
"Alright, boys!" Julian shouted as he mounted his horse. "We've got a war to start and a King to bury! Move out!"
[System: You know, for a guy who just got 'violated' by his wife and threatened by a Hero, you're looking remarkably motivated. Maybe 'Humanity' isn't a debuff after all.]
"Shut up, System. Just keep the maps updated."
To be continued...