Re: Steel and Gunpowder

Chapter 131: A Foreign Intrusion

The fat Bavarian lord forced another loud laugh from his chest.

"There is no need for such dark accusations, Konrad!" the Duke boomed.

He wiped a fresh layer of sweat from his forehead. "A grand wedding like this... it is a massive event. I must be alive for my daughter today, and I must be alive to secure my lands. My boy, I wasn’t wearing any armors before because the keep was closed. I trust you, and I trust your Swabian guards. But now?"

The Duke gestured toward the wide stairs leading down to the Great Hall.

"But now the gates are wide open!" Wilhelm continued. "There are thousands of local peasants, wandering musicians, and foreign merchants pouring into the courtyard. There are unknown guests drinking at my tables. Any crazy rogue could slip through the crowd with a dagger... It is just simple, practical caution!"

However, Konrad kept his eyes locked onto the sweating Duke’s face.

Lady Katarina stood still beside her father.

She offered a single, imperceptible shake of her head.

It was a silent, incredibly urgent plea. ’Do not kill him right now.’

Konrad slowly let out a breath. His hand gracefully fell away from the Duke’s chest, dropping naturally to his side, resting just inches away from the wheellock pistol tucked into his leather belt.

"Of course, Wilhelm," Konrad finally said, dropping the interrogation. "A father must always protect his bloodline. Shall we go down to the feast?"

The Duke let out a sigh. "Yes! Yes, exactly! To the feast! The priest is waiting!"

Wilhelm quickly turned on his heel, eager to escape the presence of his future son-in-law.

Katarina fell into step right beside her father, gathering the velvet skirts of her dress, her posture rigid.

Konrad followed them down the wide staircase, his five elite Swabian guards falling into a disciplined formation right behind him.

As they descended toward the deafening noise of the Great Hall, Konrad was telling himself, rationally, that there was no need to do this right now.

He couldn’t just pull his pistol and blow a hole straight through Duke Wilhelm’s hidden breastplate on the stairs.

First, there was Katarina.

She had explicitly asked him not to murder her father in cold blood like a common cutthroat.

She was willing to turn a blind eye to his industrial war machine, but butchering her own flesh and blood in a unprovoked hallway assassination would shatter any chance of actual trust between them.

Even so, there was a much larger, undeniable ledger keeping Konrad’s trigger finger still.

The Duke hadn’t attacked him yet.

If Konrad simply shot Wilhelm dead in the back right now, without a single drawn sword or public threat, the Swabian warlord would be branded a rogue murderer.

If Wilhelm was simply found dead on the stairs, there would be no clean transfer of power.

There would be absolutely no peace.

The Fugger banking network would instantly freeze Swabia’s silver accounts out of sheer panic.

The Imperial Diet would declare a holy crusade against his valley.

The fifteen thousand Bavarian landsknechts currently waiting in the northern pine forests wouldn’t bow to him; they would riot, tearing the continent apart in an endless civil war.

Thus, an unprovoked assassination was out of the question.

But honestly? Konrad wanted to kill him.

He wanted the fat, treacherous bastard dead...

But he needed to do it the right way. He needed a legally binding excuse to end the Wittelsbach line right in front of a thousand screaming witnesses.

He needed Wilhelm to make the first move.

He was going to push the Duke today. He was going to back the Bavarian lord into a corner until Wilhelm’s patience finally shattered.

If the Duke panicked... if Wilhelm suddenly drew his broadsword in the middle of the Great Hall... or better yet, if the fat lord pointed a wheellock pistol right at Konrad’s chest in front of the local priest and the entire crowd... then it was absolute self-defense.

If Wilhelm attacked first, Konrad would draw his own steel and kill him right there on the wooden stage.

He would step right over the fat Duke’s bleeding, twitching corpse, take Katarina by the hand, and finish the wedding ceremony while the blood was still warm on the floorboards.

By the strict noble ledgers of 1526 AD, if he acted in self-defense and legally married the sole heir immediately after, the Duchy of Bavaria would his.

He would be the new Duke of Bavaria, uniting the incredibly wealthy salt mines of Munich with his own heavily industrialized Swabian forges, plus the newly annexed western border of Savoy.

"Ah, look at the magnificent crowd!" Duke Wilhelm cheered.

They finally stepped through the archway and into the Great Hall.

Hundreds of local Swabian peasants, off-duty halberdiers, and wealthy trade merchants from the eastern guilds were crammed around the long tables.

Massive silver platters loaded with heavily roasted pork, spiced venison, and loaves of bread sat untouched, waiting for the noble vows to be spoken.

At the far end of the hall, the local Swabian priest stood nervously on the raised stage, dwarfed by the black and blue banners hanging from the high rafters.

"Make way! Make way for the bride and groom!" the Swabian quartermasters shouted, pushing the cheering peasants back to create a clear path down the center aisle.

The local musicians plucked their lutes and blew their brass horns, drowning out the lingering tension.

Konrad walked down the aisle, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Though the hall was guarded by his best veterans, Konrad knew that an infiltration unit wouldn’t strike from the front row.

They reached the stage. Duke Wilhelm turned, offering a dramatic bow to the cheering crowd, eating up the attention.

He then gently took Katarina’s hand and placed it into Konrad’s palm.

"I give you my precious daughter, Viscount," Wilhelm announced loudly, ensuring the entire hall heard his blessing.

"May your union bind our lands in iron and blood!"

"In iron and blood, Wilhelm." Konrad repeated.

The priest cleared his throat, raising his holy ledger to begin the traditional Latin vows.

But before the priest could even speak a single holy word, a crash shattered the festive atmosphere.

The doors at the very back entrance of the Great Hall were kicked open.

The five elite Swabian guards standing near the stage drew their broadswords, the schwing of Swabian steel ringing in the sudden silence.

Standing still in the archway, silhouetted by the bright mid-day sun from the courtyard, was a single figure.

The man stepped forward into the light of the Great Hall. He was wearing an incredibly rich, foreign cloak of deep, blood-red velvet, embroidered with complex, gold religious crests that blinded the eye.

He moved with a arrogant, undeniable grace, completely ignoring the drawn Swabian steel pointing directly at his chest.

"Who is that?" Katarina whispered urgently.

Konrad narrowed his eyes. "I don’t know."