Chapter 261: Splitting Point
What if all the gunpowder had been stored in one place and the supply officers had pulled this kind of stunt? The Hoenir would have made off with all of it. In no time at all! My insistence on splitting up the storage had been a stroke of genius.
Should I call it a blessing in disguise?
Of the twenty barrels of gunpowder, only five had been lost.
Ha. Forget about twenty gold coins’ worth evaporating in an instant. We’d nearly been unable to even attempt the siege of Radensdorf. All of this was the price of the supply unit’s corruption and the failure of our defenses.
"Did I hear that right? What did you say?"
Given how grave the incident was, the crown prince and the princes were summoned in an emergency.
After hearing the whole story, the crown prince and the princes were appalled that the great fire in Rheinkalsen Castle’s brothel district had been the result of an unbelievable convergence of enemy machinations and allied corruption.
"An enemy covert unit infiltrated to assassinate Sir Streit, and the gunpowder they used came from the supply unit’s own gunpowder warehouse... Does this even make sense?! Smuggling in prostitutes?"
Bang!
The enraged crown prince slammed his fist down hard on the council table. Faced with the crown prince’s rarely seen, razor-sharp anger, the princes couldn’t bring themselves to comment on this preposterous turn of events.
Then the crown prince glared at Viscount Romberto, the supreme commander of the supply unit, who was squirming in his seat. The viscount, who had never in his wildest dreams imagined a disaster of this scale, shrank into himself under the crown prince’s gaze.
"Wasn’t it you, Viscount, who insisted that the expensive gunpowder shouldn’t be entrusted to the Royal Artillery Corps?"
"I-it’s my fault for failing to properly manage my subordinates!"
Before the forces joined at Rheinkalsen, the Royal Artillery Corps had managed all the supplies, but the viscount, as supreme commander of the supply unit, had argued that it was unthinkable to leave such matters to the corps and had taken the duty away from them.
If I hadn’t at least warned about the dangers of gunpowder and had it stored separately, things would have been far worse.
"Gunpowder aside, Sir Streit nearly died! This isn’t a matter that ends with you taking responsibility! As of this moment, you are stripped of all your posts! Haul him off to prison!"
"Have mercy! Your Highness, have mercy!"
The viscount’s screams as the guards dragged him away rang through the silence-soaked corridor, but no one objected. Under the crown prince’s fearsome ferocity, the princes exchanged wary glances.
Even though the princes had little fear of the royal family, no one wanted to provoke a truly furious royal and end up taking the fall, so they watched their words and held their tongues.
"To think an enemy covert unit was operating right under our noses. It seems our defenses failed us."
"Do you think it’s so easy to root out men who are determined to stay hidden?"
"And as a result, we nearly lost vital supplies and a critical figure."
The princes each cautiously offered their opinions, pointing out the lax defenses. After entering Rheinkalsen, discipline had grown somewhat slack. It must have been the perfect environment for the Hoenir to infiltrate.
Since I couldn’t figure out the Hoenir’s purpose, when I explained it to the crown prince and the princes, I downplayed it as simply the work of an enemy covert unit. The Hoenir were an intelligence force directly under the Grand Duke, and even the crown prince was unaware of their existence.
There were far too many questions. The former head of the Hoenir, Marquis Bertheim, and the current head, Clara, were both friendly toward me, and their master, the Grand Duke, trusted me enough to shield me.
And yet, all of a sudden, an assassination attempt?
Had the Grand Duke given the order to eliminate me?
There’s a saying about putting down the hound once the hunt is over—a loyal dog, once it’s outlived its usefulness, gets cast aside by its master. But right now there were still plenty of foxes left to chase.
If the Hoenir had made their attempt after the war ended, I could at least have understood it, but I was in a state of heightened confusion and couldn’t rush to judgment.
And before any of that, I’d run headlong into the biggest problem of all.
"Because of those damned bastards, our already short supply of gunpowder is even shorter."
"This is a serious problem. We can chip away at stones to make up the cannonballs, but there’s nowhere to get more gunpowder."
"Sir Streit, just how far will fifteen barrels of gunpowder go?"
A single barrel could fire up to ten cannonballs. Gunpowder was consumed at a fairly heavy rate, so we’d been managing it so strictly that we couldn’t allow even the slightest waste.
"To put it simply, it amounts to one hundred and fifty cannonballs."
"And the number of cannonballs we used taking Baschurten..."
"We used fifty-nine. We were lucky enough to destroy the gate."
For reference, Radensdorf is a border territory adjacent to the Duchy of Bavaria and the central city of the east, so it’s famous for its extremely thick, high walls. Would one hundred and fifty cannonballs be enough to take that place?
The princes’ expressions grew grave.
It was precisely because we had cannons that the Grand Duke had ordered the crown prince to march on Radensdorf. Taking all the circumstances into account, it was clear that the Royal Artillery Corps’ strength had been exposed to the enemy.
Count Essenbach spoke.
"It’s because the existence of the cannons was completely exposed that the rebels dispatched a covert unit."
"And the only commander who can properly operate that unit is Sir Streit."
"So they tried to destroy our critical supplies and assassinate the commander at once! What a despicable man!"
Assassination attempts drew intense condemnation in noble society. Yet in the shadows, such attempts happened ceaselessly. The princes didn’t hesitate to denounce the Duke of Radensdorf.
"A despicable man with no sense of honor! A royal who knows no shame!"
I read the crown prince’s mood.
The crown prince sighed quietly, almost to himself.
"Uncle, did you really have to go this far?"
The crown prince had apparently been close with the Duke of Radensdorf. He’d called him Uncle Johannes, respected and looked up to him, and had been deeply shaken by the man’s act of rebellion.
In the end, the council became a venue for condemning the duke, and the crown prince brought it to a weary close. The upshot was that they would strengthen defenses and patrols and send a man to Strasbourg to secure gunpowder.
The crown prince urged me, with particular emphasis, to be careful.
Meeting his earnest gaze, I told him I would.
And then I interrogated the lone Hoenir at the heart of this whole affair. This Hoenir’s disposition was fanatical (neutral). Men with a fanatical disposition were often out of their minds.
Rheinkalsen’s torture chamber, lined with countless instruments of torment, was a ghastly space that laid bare the count’s hobby. As it turned out, much like the Judicial Minister, the lord of Rheinkalsen was also a master torturer.
Torture? I don’t torment my opponents with such crude tools. The Manager Scouter could read a person’s psychology, and with it, I extracted information.
But then the master torturer suddenly thrust something at me. A branding iron and a poker, the kind used to brand or sear human flesh. The master torturer recommended these to me.
"Heh heh heh, use this. It’s perfect for roasting them up nice and golden."
"You’ve done a lot of torturing, have you?"
"Of course! The screams of a tender little child or a sultry woman are always a delight to hear! Kheh heh heh!"
"Hmm, is that so? Mind if I test it out on your body first?"
"Huh? Gyaaaaagh!"
What was that, you bastard? I’ll roast you first.
After searing him fiercely and mercilessly, I drove him out.
"I know you won’t open your mouth."
"..."
"Actually, you don’t need to. Because I’ll only be asking questions."
"..."
He had the resolute face of a man who wouldn’t talk no matter what torture was used. Anyone who’d served in an intelligence unit would have been trained to withstand torture. But this might be a little different.
I started with what I was most curious about.
In fact, this was the crux of the matter.
"Did the Grand Duke order you to assassinate me?"
"..."
Fortunately, a denial. What would I have done if it had been a yes? The truth was, if something happened that I couldn’t resist, I’d at least considered taking Hilda and my retainers and fleeing abroad.
"Then did Clara order the assassination?"
"..."
Hmm, not the Grand Duke, and not Clara, the head of the Hoenir, either. That meant these men had defected. And yet they were still listed as belonging to the Hoenir.
"Are you loyal to the Duke of Radensdorf?"
"..."
Affirmative. So they were a Hoenir faction that had turned to Radensdorf? Then it all made sense that they’d try to assassinate me. The Duke of Radensdorf’s biggest obstacle was probably me.
He’d likely thought of me as nothing more than a capable cavalry commander, but I’d introduced artillery and completely overturned Beren’s long-unchanged paradigm of siege warfare.
"Do you recognize Clara as your head?"
"..."
A denial. So these men were a faction that had raised the banner of rebellion against Clara.
Only now did I fully understand.
The Hoenir had split completely into two factions.
