"Consul. Marquis Rodi is requesting an audience."
"Quite. Show him in."
Elizabeth, the Consul, swept aside the documents littering her desk. Military maps, reports, policy briefs—all manner of miscellaneous items had laid claim to the surface. Kurz Schleiermacher, who had come along in the role of aide, let out a faint chuckle.
"You could always wait until the cleaning is done."
"This isn't cleaning. It's a matter of security."
Elizabeth furrowed her brow.
"There are confidential documents here too."
"If Your Excellency says so, then so it is."
"...You don't trust my word?"
"I simply trust my own experience, Your Excellency."
Kurz had never seen a person as flawless as Elizabeth, but there were precisely two domains in which the Consul was utterly incompetent. Cleaning and cooking. Any place Elizabeth so much as spent a single night in was left looking like the aftermath of a typhoon, and any dish she had even the faintest hand in underwent a truly miraculous transformation—sweet becoming bitter, spicy turning sour, a feat worthy of the Creator herself.
"...Fine. Go receive the Marquis already."
Elizabeth spoke with a sour pout. She dusted off her hands, having apparently abandoned the cleaning.
In truth, Kurz Schleiermacher had not a single worry. Even a highly trained spy would find it impossible to extract anything of meaning from the Consul's desk. That was nothing short of pure, chaotic bedlam.
A short while later, Marquis Rodi entered the office. The marquis slowly bowed his head.
"May justice and honor be with the House of Habsburg."
"May the Goddess bless Sardinia for all eternity. A pleasure to meet you, Marquis."
Elizabeth rose and approached the marquis. The two exchanged a brief handshake.
"Your Excellency. I am truly grateful that you granted my sudden request."
"If it's a meeting with the Marquis, I'd gladly welcome you at three in the morning. I know that many lives rest upon your shoulders, Marquis. Such people are rare indeed."
Elizabeth offered a gentle smile.
Elizabeth stole a quick glance at the Marquis's forehead. With each passing day, his bald spot was receding further and further—and at a remarkably rapid pace. Every time they met, the Marquis's baldness had visibly spread, and thanks to that, Elizabeth could actually feel the passage of time.
"It is precisely because of those lives that I came in a hurry. …Consul, Your Excellency."
"Hmm."
Marquis Rodi cautiously glanced toward where Kurz was standing. Kurz stood at attention by the doorway like a bodyguard. Elizabeth nodded.
"Captain Schleiermacher. I'd like to speak with the Marquis alone for a moment."
"If you need anything, just call for me at any time."
"Go have a beer or something while you wait."
Kurz smiled brightly.
"As you command."
Kurz left the office. Thud—the door closed behind him.
"Rest easy, Marquis. There is no Memoria magic installed in this room."
Elizabeth looked at the Marquis.
"You may make your confession of faith to me as freely as you like."
"I had no idea that Your Excellency served a particular deity."
"I serve one and only one absolute god—and that is the god called the State. A god who is powerful, visible to the eye, and above all, one who can grant the wishes of most mortals."
Elizabeth settled into her chair. She folded her hands and rested them on the desk.
"And it is precisely the kind of god your country needs most desperately right now."
"…Your Excellency. I implore you. Please, no more troops."
Elizabeth gazed quietly into the Marquis's eyes.
"Is that the official position of the Sardinian royal court?"
"No. No… Your Excellency. It is merely a personal request."
Marquis Rodi's face twisted in utter misery. He looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. He seemed fully aware of just how desperate and unreasonable his plea was.
How peculiar.
Elizabeth found herself intrigued.
The Marquis was a sensible and rational man. He was somewhat slow on the uptake, but that was precisely what made him appealing — it meant he was an ideal partner to work with in diplomatic circles. And yet this Marquis was invoking a personal request… There was definitely something at play here.
"How interesting. I had always thought that 'personal' wasn't a particularly important value to you, Marquis."
"What matters to me, Your Excellency, has always been the people."
"Push this much further and it could amount to treason, Marquis."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly.
The Marquis had just said that this was not the kingdom's official proposal but a personal request. Yet he was now claiming that his personal request was made for the sake of the people. Which meant there was ample room to interpret that the kingdom's current official stance was *not* to look after its people.
"…I misspoke. I merely wish to serve His Majesty the King in whatever humble capacity I can."
"I understand."
*Too easy,* Elizabeth thought.
She had set but a single trap, and the Marquis had walked right into it. It had always been this way. As long as Elizabeth wished for it, she could manipulate and toy with anyone she pleased…
"I am the Court Count Dantalion of the Empire."
"Hmm."
Hearing that name, the corners of Elizabeth's eyes lifted slightly — ever so slightly.
"The Court Count warned me. He said that if the Consul's army so much as took a single step forward from Venice, they would indiscriminately plunder and slaughter the people…"
"Good God. Is that truly so?"
Elizabeth thought to herself. She needed to move quickly.
"Your Excellency. The Court Count is not in his right mind. No — he is of sound mind, yet he is mad. There is something missing in him as a human being... We cannot stand by and allow innocent people to be slaughtered by such a man!"
"Hmm. This is becoming rather troublesome."
Not quite. The Court Count was not a sane man who had gone mad — he was a madman who kept his wits. The two were fundamentally different. Elizabeth thought as much, all the while wearing a grave expression.
"This humble one implores you. Your Excellency, please — think of the people..."
"Marquess. You need not defend your feelings any further."
Elizabeth quietly raised her right hand to stop him.
"The people are the state. I am already in agreement with you, Marquess."
"Th-then..."
"The problem is always politics."
Elizabeth rested her chin on her clasped hands.
"As you are well aware, our Republic accepted your nation's request and came all this way. To now refuse to deploy our army would, in effect, mean breaking the promise we made to your country. Your nation is our Republic's one true ally and partner. Marquess, I have no wish to break a friend's promise."
"...I shall persuade His Majesty."
The Marquess spoke with unwavering resolve. His eyes held the look of a man who had steeled himself for death.
"His Majesty was never favorable toward war to begin with. If I plead with him in earnest, he will surely understand — what path truly serves the nation and its people..."
"Hmm."
"The Imperial Army's despicable stratagems have divided my country into three factions. How can we possibly defeat an enemy we could barely handle even when united, while we remain split apart? Now is the time to yield a single step and achieve peace. I am utterly convinced of this."
Elizabeth studied the Marquess's face for a long moment. She could feel the sincerity radiating from him.
"And yet, if we back down here, we would have to cede the Duchy of Milan. Would the Duke agree to that?"
"If cutting off the tail is the only way to survive, then some degree of sacrifice is necessary."
Elizabeth was somewhat impressed.
The Marquess had accurately assessed the situation. Whether by intuition or instinct, he had coolly grasped the fact that fighting the Imperial Army as things stood would offer no chance of victory. His judgment was far superior to that of the Grand Duke of Florence or the Duke of Milan.
Moreover, he had boldly declared that a figure as significant as the Duke of Milan was nothing more than the tail. He had nerve to spare.
Elizabeth nodded.
"Purging the Duke of Milan will not be easy."
"The Duke is already facing intense criticism. It is not politically impossible."
"I shall pray for the Marquess's success."
Elizabeth extended her right hand.
The Marquess was deeply moved, and his expression brightened.
"Your Excellency...!"
"Do not mistake this for anything more. The time we have been given is not long. Three days at most. Within that time, you must persuade your sovereign. If there is no word even after three days, I will not hesitate to move my army."
"That is more than enough. Please trust me."
The two clasped hands firmly.
The Marquess left the office with a noticeably lighter step, yet wearing an expression of grim resolve. Just as he opened the door to leave, Elizabeth called out to him.
"Marquess. Report that the food and war supplies being consumed by the Republican army are far more serious than anticipated."
"Your Excellency, the Consul...?"
"No sovereign enjoys spending vast sums to maintain a foreign army. I hope this will at least help somewhat in persuading your king."
"...Thank you. This kindness—I will repay it even in death."
The Marquess bowed deeply toward Elizabeth.
Not long after the Marquess left the office, Kurz Schleiermacher slipped in as though taking over a shift. Kurz was grinning like a street thug.
"Was the private chat enjoyable, Your Excellency? I never took you for a bald man enthusiast."
"Send the Memoria to the Sardinian royal court."
The corners of Kurz's mouth curled upward.
"Are you sure about this? The Marquess will most likely be executed."
"And Sardinia will be whole once more."
When Kurz received his dismissal order, Elizabeth had told him, "Go have a beer or something." Between the two of them, "beer" was a code word for Memoria magic. The conversation between the Consul and the Marquess had been recorded in its entirety by a Memoria artifact covertly installed in the office.
Elizabeth tapped the desk with her hand.
"Conducting a meeting with no authorization from the royal court. Implicitly criticizing his own country's policies as misguided, and even suggesting the Duke of Milan be purged. He won't face a simple execution—they'll subject him to the most extreme punishment."
"A gift for the Sardinian royal court?"
"No."
Elizabeth shook her head.
"What Sardinia needs right now is a scapegoat. Someone to take the blame for defeat. Someone to be singled out as the root cause of the failure."
"You mean Marquis Rodi."
"Yes. The Marquess deliberately bribed the Imperial forces' mercenary corps to sabotage the Duke of Milan's operations. He went so far as to betray the royal court and throw his support behind the Empire, even going to great lengths to keep our Republican forces out of the fight. There could be no better candidate for a scapegoat."
Elizabeth rose from her seat and walked to the window.
Her eyes had gone cold and distant.
"The Marquess will be branded a traitor and a traitor to his nation. With that, the royal court can sue for reconciliation with the Duke of Milan, and the Duke of Milan can save face as well. The Grand Duke of Florence's prestige will be restored, too. The defeat in battle was not because the kingdom was weak. It was because Marquis Rodi was a conspirator, they will say……"
Through the window, the Marquess could be seen walking out of the building.
His stride was hurried, as though trying to reach and persuade the king as quickly as humanly possible.
"Besides, once the Marquess meets with the king, he'll badmouth our republican forces to no end. He'll say we're burning through a fortune in war supplies, that we're running the food stores dry."
"The king will have already had a chance to view the Memoria we sent him, won't he, Your Excellency."
"Indeed. In the king's eyes, the Marquess will appear as nothing more than a traitor slandering the republic."
Kurz laughed heartily.
"Perfect, Your Excellency. I'll transmit the Memoria right away."
"See to it."
Even after Kurz left the office, Elisabeth stood silently by the window for a long while.
She stared out through the glass and clenched her fist tight.
"I won't go down easily. Dantalion…"
The next day.
Marquis Rodi, who had ascended to the royal palace to receive an audience with the king, was arrested by the royal guards. In the middle of a palace corridor, he was suddenly seized and restrained. The marquis's eyes went wide as he looked around him, and then—
"…So that's how it is. So this is how it ends."
He closed his eyes, as if resigning himself to everything.
Despite being a high-ranking noble, the charge of national treason was applied, and in an unprecedented move, he was executed that very same day without a formal trial. When asked whether he had any final words, the marquis simply remained silent.
August of year 1512 by the continental calendar.
Elisabeth's republican forces—thirteen thousand strong—marched.