Free Web NovelChapter 422: Chapter 419: The King Must Die
Imperial war theory holds that victory often has a culminating point. Situations like "annihilating the enemy" or "being completely wiped out" are exceptionally rare. As a battle continues, it becomes increasingly difficult for the advantaged side to expand its gains, while the problems caused by its own casualties and logistical shortages escalate.
For a defeated army, whether they stabilized the situation or were utterly crushed after losing a battle depended on the quality of its commanders and the troops themselves. As a professional force, the Empire Army had to "retreat like lions" even in defeat. They did their utmost to pull out any remaining combat-effective units to harass and pin down the high ground controlled by the Valois people, covering the retreat of the others.
The clear victor of this battle was the National Guard.
Both sides were exhausted after the fighting. The Empire Army had defended its main camp, but its initial defeats and the subsequent defensive fighting resulted in massive casualties. The losses for the National Guard were also severe. As a result, the victor was in no position to pursue, and the vanquished was unable to mount a counterattack.
Although the main invading force of the Empire was not annihilated, the Empire’s plan to rapidly capture the Royal Capital was in ruins. The Empire Army would abandon its forward outposts and retreat to the Kongdi Region, establishing a defensive line using the fortresses it had captured and the eastern stretch of the Seine River.
The "turtle shells" that Major Turtle had built were, after all, only temporary measures. By the battle’s end, they were completely filled with rainwater, and the trench walls had collapsed from the prolonged soaking.
Holding the forward camp was therefore no longer a viable option. For the first time since entering the territory of the Valois Kingdom, the Empire Army was considering a strategic retreat... or rather, a "consolidation."
News of the Empire Army’s retreat reached Valuva, but it was not the only thing on the citizens’ minds. Valuva could no longer be called the Royal Capital. The motherland that the National Guard had defended was not crushed; instead, it had been transformed.
The Mountain Faction, now in control of the situation, pushed for a new charter. After it was approved by a majority vote, Valois would no longer be a monarchy, a "Holy Kingdom" with the Divine Teachings of Light and Order as its National Church. Instead, it would be a Republic that championed equality, fraternity, and liberty.
Under a republican system, Valois naturally no longer needed a King. Charles and his wife appeared before the National Assembly as citizens. He was not there as an honored representative of the people, however, but as the defendant in a special trial.
A public trial was now being held in the great hall of the National Assembly for the treason of Charles and his wife. The proceedings were open to all citizens of Valois. Every national representative would cast their vote openly, one by one, before the watchful eyes of the crowd, to decide the life or death of their former Monarch.
On the dais, the speaker of the Assembly, now acting as presiding judge, passionately read from the list of the former King’s crimes, enumerating one by one the treasonous acts he had committed to restore his royal authority after being stripped of his power.
Then, an aide delivered a message from the front. The presiding judge altered his closing remarks on the spot, announcing the good news to the entire hall: "I have just been informed that our army has achieved a glorious victory in the battle in the northern Valuva Region! We will soon liberate our entire land!
"Charles, the Empire Army you were counting on is in retreat! Your schemes and pleasant dreams will all come to nothing, and all that remains for you is the wrath of patriots!"
The representatives and the crowd erupted in cheers at the news of victory, a great wave of sound sweeping through the hall. Once the shouting and applause died down, Charles XVI, who had insisted on remaining silent, unexpectedly spoke.
"I wish to congratulate our soldiers. Regardless of my position, I am heartened by the enemy’s defeat. I maintain my innocence, but I will calmly accept the wrath of all. May the Lord of Order forgive you!"
Charles’s words, however, only enraged the crowd. A torrent of boos erupted, and people tried to throw shoes and stones at him. The Guard had to work hard to restore order.
The voting began. The club members, naturally, were firmly in favor of executing the former King. The members of the Royalist Faction had been trembling at the sight of the crowd acting as jury, especially the angry, poor folk blocking the entrances and exits of the chamber.
"I object to the execution of His Majesty the King! This trial is driven by too many ulterior motives, chief among them the Mountain Faction’s burning desire to dominate the Assembly and the nation. It has robbed this trial of all fairness!
"I am not trying to absolve the King of his crimes. I am appealing to you to consider whether our laws are still functioning. The legal rights of the accused should not be consumed by the blind hatred of the majority."
Yet, even under the immense pressure from the crowd, someone from the Royalist Faction had the courage to persist in his opposition. He fearlessly met the crowd’s jeers and scrutinizing glares. "Remember my face," he declared. "Even if I walk out of this hall today only to be lynched by the mob, I will defend civilization and justice."
With the first speaker breaking the silence, the members of the Royalist Faction were finally emboldened. They were not alone. For some time now, trial by public opinion and mob justice had been spiraling out of control. Most property owners feared that they, too, would one day be sent to the gallows. They sought protection while demanding that the assemblymen who represented them move quickly to bring down the Mountain Faction.
The King was the focal point of this "gallows panic." It was not hard for these respectable people to realize that if the King’s head could be sent to the block, what was to stop their own?
And so, the vote became tense and close. The watching crowd cheered at times and gnashed their teeth at others. Reporters darted in and out, rushing to report the latest tally to the outside world—who voted for, who voted against. The voting representatives all seized the opportunity to make speeches, trying to win over the undecided moderates who had yet to cast their ballots.
The deposed Queen had cried herself to the point of near-collapse, her tears carving paths through the makeup on her lead-white face. Charles remained calm. Even when his own cousin, "Mr. Equality"—who had renounced the glorious surname Melovinca—cast his vote in favor of execution, Charles XVI merely gave him a cold glance.
’What a clown. You cast off the honor of the Nobility, you cast off your King. Sooner or later, someone will come to take your head!’ It wasn’t a curse, just a silent prophecy Charles XVI made for "Mr. Equality."
Unexpectedly, the votes were tied!
As it happened, the final voter was a member of the clubs. He was a young man with curly blond hair and a handsome face that, in silence, held an air of androgynous melancholy. Dressed in simple, light-colored linen robes, his perfect features made one wonder if he were an Angel or a Holy Son stepped out from a cathedral painting. His melancholy could be mistaken for a look of profound pity for the world.
When the young man spoke, however, all trace of gentleness vanished. His voice, though pleasant, was ice-cold. "I vote for the death penalty for the traitor Charles and his wife!"
He paused. His was the deciding vote, and the moment it was cast, an uproar ensued. The cheers of the Mountain Faction and the crowd, and the furious, desperate howls of the Royalist Faction tore the hall asunder.
The "Holy Son" spoke again: "I support the execution of Charles. The King must die, so that the Republic may live!"
"Yes! Yes!" "Well said!" "Long live the Republic!"
On the way to the square, escorted by the throng, Charles XVI squinted in the sunlight. The crowds lining the path and the indistinct roar of voices seemed to transport him back to his coronation day, when the radiance of the Lord of Order and the adoration of the people had been bestowed upon him.
"May the Lord forgive..."
The blade fell. On the continent of Ferolun, the first crown had fallen.
