Free Web NovelLouis sat behind the long table, reviewing a document titled “Alchemical Industrial Park Site Selection.”
The clinking of shackles dragging across the carpet broke the silence.
Weil led the man to the center of the study, stopping him by pressing on his shoulder.
The silk ceremonial robe, once a symbol of imperial authority, was torn beyond recognition, its edges blackened by seawater and mud.
His boots were split, and only half of their golden thread decoration remained.
The only thing he clutched tightly in his arms was a gold-inlaid mahogany box.
Even so, he still tried to straighten his back, chin slightly raised, gaze a little high—a posture he had been repeatedly trained to adopt.
"Louis Calvin," Lampard began, his voice hoarse and deliberately strained for authority, "in the name of the Emperor of the Empire, I demand to be treated in a manner befitting my status."
Louis turned a page of the document without looking at him. "You have two minutes. After that, I have another meeting."
Lampard's Adam's apple bobbed.
This sentence was more lethal than any insult, as if he were merely a pastime to fill time before a meeting, which was, in fact, the truth.
So he no longer beat around the bush, quickly placing the mahogany box on the table and opening it.
Inside was a well-preserved parchment scroll and a heavy imperial seal.
"The Imperial Power Cession Document," Lampard's voice quickened. "As long as I sign it, you will possess the Empire's legitimate authority. Those old nobles, Old Legions, and Local Councils only recognize this."
He stared at Louis's face, trying to find a trace of wavering in those calm eyes: "Without it, you will always just be a rebel who seized power by force."
Louis still did not look at the scroll.
He merely made a mark with his pen on the edge of the document in front of him, as if confirming the location of a certain factory area.
The silence made Lampard's breathing hasten; he knew this card was losing its effect.
"And this," he continued, almost gritting his teeth. "This is what your father owes me."
Louis's pen tip paused for a moment.
Lampard immediately seized on this, his voice becoming urgent:
"The Old Duke Calvin, in exchange for my political support, made a sacred covenant with me. I helped destabilize the Empire; without me, you couldn't have taken down the Church so quickly... He promised to designate a subsidiary island of the Avalonia Archipelago as my permanent fiefdom."
He took a deep breath, almost pleading, almost threatening:
"I no longer want the throne. ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Fulfill your father's promise. Give me that island, and I will take my retainers and treasures, and disappear completely from your world."
Upon hearing this, Louis finally put down his fountain pen.
The pen gently tapped the edge of the folder, making a crisp "snap."
He closed the "Alchemical Industrial Park Site Selection" document and massaged his brow, as if he had just finished listening to a report that was both lengthy and absurd.
"Your Highness Lampard, your way of thinking is still stuck in the last century."
Lampard subconsciously wanted to retort, but before the words could leave his mouth, Louis raised a hand to interrupt him.
Louis stood up, adjusted his cuffs, and finally, for the first time, truly looked at the Regent, with a hint of amusement.
"You seem to have misunderstood the source of power." Louis slowly walked to one side of the study, stopping before the full map of the Empire on the wall.
"My power is not granted by that parchment; it is granted by my knights, my heavy artillery, my fleet."
He turned around, as if stating a common fact, "When my army marched into the Imperial Palace, who dared to question its legitimacy?"
Lampard's lips trembled, and his face visibly paled.
"As for the covenant you mentioned..." Louis walked up to him, looking down at him from above, "You're asking me to fulfill the promise of a dead man.
And that dead man was pushed onto the altar by your own hands; you colluded with the Church to plant a curse in his body."
Louis tilted his head slightly, as if truly pondering the question: "Alright, go ask my father if he's willing to give you the island."
At that moment, all pretense on Lampard's face completely shattered.
"No... don't do this..." His voice completely lost its tone, replaced by a sob. He stumbled and knelt, his knees scraping against the carpet as he crawled forward miserably.
"Duke Calvin wasn't killed by me... I also have royal blood... I can work for you... I still have money, I still have connections..."
He tried to grab Louis's boot, as if grasping at a last straw.
Louis, however, stepped back, glanced down at Lampard, then turned to Weil, who had been standing by, and said, "Deal with him."
His tone was as flat as if he were assigning a routine cleaning task.
Weil stood at attention, responding briefly, "Yes, sir."
Lampard's scream exploded in the study, then quickly faded into the distance, becoming indistinct.
The door closed, and the study returned to silence.
"I thought there would be something amusing, but it turns out there was no preparation at all."
Louis walked back to his desk, sat down, picked up the now somewhat cool coffee, and took a sip.
He reopened the Alchemical Industrial Park Site Selection document: "Building the fertilizer plant downwind, a good plan."
...A few months ago, while the Holy Eastern Empire was still bleeding from civil strife and purges, the Emerald Federation's gold coins had already struck the border.
Large numbers of mercenaries, mercenary groups, and armed forces operating under the guise of merchant guilds crossed the border, like a venomous snake fed by money, attempting to tear off a piece of the Empire while it was weak.
Their plan was clear: the Empire was rotting, and while Louis went south to the Eastern Empire, they would seize Kalian's territory.
But they miscalculated one thing: Emperor Kalian's military strength.
In the initial weeks, the Imperial Army was forced to defend.
The Federation's mercenaries continuously probed, relying on their mobility and numerical superiority, even cutting off several supply lines at one point.
Just as the border nobles were preparing to compromise again, trading land for time, Kalian took over command.
Instead of rushing to counterattack, he first compressed the front lines, using the Imperial Legions' almost stubborn discipline to firmly pin each army in its designated position.
No matter how the Federation's mercenaries infiltrated or harassed, the legionnaires in their old-fashioned plate armor never retreated.
Then, in Sunset Canyon, Kalian completed his first perfect counterattack.
He deliberately showed weakness, luring the main Federation forces deep into the narrow terrain, and then cut off their retreat in the cover of night.
By the time the gold-hired soldiers realized something was wrong, the canyon exit had been sealed by Imperial heavy infantry.
From that moment, the tide of battle turned.
The Imperial Knight Legions began to advance. Step by step, like an old sword re-sharpened, slow but unstoppable.
The border was breached, supply lines were reversed, and the front line deeply wedged into the Emerald Federation's heartland, the Jewel Corridor.
The Federation began to panic, and large numbers of alchemical creatures were deployed to the battlefield.
Stitched beasts, forcibly sewn together from the limbs of various magic beasts, were pushed to the front lines as flesh tanks.
Slaves infused with unstable potions were transformed into self-detonating puppets capable only of charging forward.
The battlefield became filthy, chaotic, like a plague corrupted by gold coins.
But these things could not stop the Imperial Army.
Just the day before, the Emerald Federation finally played their immature trump card.
The Federation unleashed three "Prototype Alchemical Dragons" at once.
They were not true dragons, but monsters cobbled together from various things.
The first had the torso of a Mountain Giant Lizard, its chest cavity forcibly stuffed with a restless Alchemical Furnace.
The second retained the skull of a wyrm, but was sewn with composite wing membranes of bats and flying lizards; its wings, when spread, obscured half the sky.
The third was the most grotesque, with four hind limbs from different magic beasts, its gait chaotic, yet it maintained a berserk charging instinct thanks to forcibly injected potions.
Their scale suture lines were clearly visible, and green preservative fluid dripped from their bone seams, evaporating into a pungent alchemical stench in the air.
Their roars were not unified, but rather a crude mash-up of the wails of several different creatures, making one's scalp tingle.
The battlefield went utterly mad at that moment; many knights truly realized for the first time that the Federation had gone insane.
But Kalian did not retreat. He spurred his horse forward, drew his sword, and the blade glinted coldly in the torchlight.
"That's not a dragon." His voice wasn't loud, but it steadily overpowered the monster's roars. "Follow me and kill these blasphemous beasts."
The command was given swiftly.
The personal guard cavalry split into several groups, feigning an attack from the front to lure the giant dragons into a dive.
Ballistas and lasso-throwers acted simultaneously, their thick grappling hooks with iron barbs embedding into the wing roots and shoulder blades.
The first giant dragon lost its balance mid-air, its alchemy furnace vibrating out of order, and the flames it spewed instead burned through its own wing membranes.
Kalian personally led the charge, alchemy oil was splashed, and torches were thrown.
Flames erupted between the scales and the potions. The instinctual fear of fire overrode the alchemy control, and the giant dragons' movements became noticeably sluggish.
"Now!"
Spears were aimed at the joints, and the sound of breaking bones was clearly audible.
The second giant dragon broke its hind legs upon landing and rolled frantically. The third tried to ascend again but was forced down by Kalian, who rode close and pierced a nerve bundle in its neck with a spear.
What followed was no longer a battlefield, but a slaughterhouse.
The Aura Knights surrounded them, using axes, swords, and fire to dismantle these still struggling chimeras piece by piece.
The muffled explosions of alchemy furnaces echoed one after another in the night, green flames shot into the sky, then quickly extinguished.
When it was all over, only three huge, twitching remains were left on the battlefield.
Kalian dismounted, stepped onto the skull of one of the pseudo-dragons, and forcefully pulled out his longsword. Green viscous liquid dripped down the blade.
The surrounding Imperial Knights were silent for a moment, then erupted in almost wild cheers.
He pointed the tip of his sword towards Emerald Federation City in the distance: "Monsters built with money have no souls."
Victory brought fanaticism.
The Imperial Army occupied a prosperous mining town, and a celebration banquet was held that very night.
Torches illuminated the square, wine and spoils of war were continuously brought out, and young officers gathered around Kalian, their eyes burning with fervor.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the banquet, Duke Remont sat alone.
He held a glass of fine red wine produced by the Federation, but never took a sip.
He knew very well that some things had changed.
Previously, all military orders had to pass through his signature: logistics, provisions, bounties... the lifeblood of the Imperial Army was firmly in his grasp.
Now, Kalian was beginning to issue orders directly to the Legion Commander.
The young generals had no objections. They were more willing to follow the Imperial Prince who could lead them to victory, rather than a Duke who only existed in ledgers and gold coins.
Remont could clearly feel his money bag being emptied little by little.
He looked at the high-spirited Kalian, and a sense of unease coiled around his heart like a venomous snake.
"The wolf cub has grown up. Once he completely devours the wealth of the Emerald Federation, the first throat he'll bite through..." Remont gripped his wine glass, "...will probably be mine, his benefactor."
Just then, the tent flap was violently thrown open.
Cold wind rushed in, and the flames in the brazier flickered wildly.
A high-ranking Imperial Knight burst in.
He didn't even salute, stumbling two steps as if chased by something before collapsing to his knees.
"What's wrong?" Kalian looked up, frowning slightly. "Has the Federation sent some new monster? Even if they're two alchemy dragons, I can kill them."
The knight swallowed, as if forcing himself to speak.
He knelt on the ground, his voice hoarse: "Your Highness... it's not the Federation."
The tent fell silent for a moment.
"It's from the Southeast." The knight looked up, his eyes filled with pure terror.
"It's Louis Calvin."
The moment that name fell, something seemed to silently shatter within the military tent.
"Latest urgent report." His voice began to tremble, but he still gritted his teeth and finished.
"Louis has simultaneously captured the Avalonia Archipelago and the Holy Eastern Empire's mainland. The Golden Feather Flower Church... completely annihilated. The Eastern Empire's imperial power system has been thoroughly taken over." fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Everyone instinctively gasped.
The knight's voice lowered, as if stating a fact that shouldn't exist in reality.
"He killed that so-called god... burning it to ashes along with the entire island. Now that place is a dead land."
This shocking news created a brief blank, and everyone was at a loss for words.
"Clang."
Kalian's proud sword slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground, its sound exceptionally jarring in the military tent.
He had just been standing on the corpse of an alchemy pseudo-dragon, listening to the cheers of his soldiers, feeling that he stood at the pinnacle of this era.
And now, someone told him... Louis had, in a short time, slaughtered the 'god' of the Church.
And casually wiped out two countries.
This cliff-like disparity in power levels gave Kalian an extremely cruel realization in that instant.
He was like a child swinging a wooden sword in front of an adult.
He spoke softly, as if asking others, and as if asking himself: "Is he... truly human?"
No one answered, because no one knew the answer.
On the other side of the military tent, Duke Remont's reaction was faster than anyone else's.
His grip on the red wine glass loosened the moment the words "Church completely annihilated" fell. The wine spilled, the glass slipped, and shattered on the ground.
The crisp sound made many people look over.
Remont, however, didn't look. His mind was already racing frantically.
If Louis was strong enough to do something like that... then no matter whether the Empire won this war or the Emerald Federation won, there would only be one ultimate outcome.
Everyone on the chessboard would be cleared.
For the first time, Remont truly felt fear.
Not the fear of failure, but the fear of being directly erased from history.
His original plan was to bet on both sides between the Empire and the Federation, using logistics, gold coins, and connections to secure a safe distance regardless of who won.
But now, an entity that completely disregarded the rules had appeared outside the chessboard.
An entity that was consolidating the Southeast Province in the East.
Time, suddenly, was running out.
Kalian bent down to pick up his sword. The blade was cold, but it steadied his hand again.
Fear didn't crush him; instead, it forced him to make a clearer judgment.
"Continue the advance." He looked up, his gaze sweeping over all the generals, his tone colder and harder than ever before. "The Emerald Federation must be dealt with quickly.
I want their money, their mines, their ports, their Alchemists, and anyone useful."
If Louis had already reached that stage... his only option was to completely devour the Emerald Federation before the other party fully turned their attention to him.
Not for glory, but to survive, to gain even a single chance at negotiation in the future.
At the same time, Remont's gaze also fell on the battle line that deeply penetrated the Federation's heartland on the map.
His expression gradually returned to calm, even showing a hint of almost cold composure, but that was merely the outward appearance after emotions were forcibly suppressed.
Beneath this brief calm was a hatred that had long festered.
He remembered very clearly that when Louis went south to Greyrock, he left no retreat for the Remont Family.
The manor was taken over, the fiefdoms reclaimed, the family crest burned.
Those collateral branches and in-laws who had once depended on him and lived off him were also thoroughly purged.
That wasn't a political failure; it was being uprooted.
And Kalian?
This Imperial Prince, whom he had personally brought to the battlefield and nurtured with gold coins and logistics, was now, amidst the cheers of victory, beginning to issue orders around him, move troops around him, and even distribute spoils of war around him.
The wolf cub had learned to bite.
And the first thing it wanted to bite was the hand holding its leash.
Remont knew very well that once Kalian truly swallowed the Emerald Federation and seized its wealth, mines, and alchemy system, the next to be purged would certainly be him, the kingmaker.
So he was left with only one choice... Remont picked up another glass of wine, the blood-red offensive line on the map reflected in the cup.
