Episode 143 Limits - The Saga of Lioncourt

A month and a half passed swiftly. The Lioncourt army quickly subdued the Balkashik territory. Naturally, the local knights and landowners resisted against the invaders, but they were swiftly subdued. The difference in military strength was so vast that a fair fight was out of the question. I suggested to my retainers that I would grant the confiscated Balkashik lands as a reward, but the response was underwhelming. Only Daumier and Baron Cocteau, who lacked decent territories, were pleased, while everyone else shied away from the remote properties. It would take years for the occupied land to stabilize and generate sufficient tax revenue. Even if one were to become a lord, it would result in short-term losses and challenging governance due to the remoteness, leading to understandable reluctance from everyone. I offered Roger and Maurice half of the Balkashik territory in exchange for their current lands, but they flatly refused. Such is the strong bond between knights and their lands. It seems they plan to divide the new Balkashik territories among their family, a strategy to strengthen their 'clan.' Even among the nobility, it's unlikely anyone would agree to transfer domains. I had an image that Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu could freely relocate their subordinate daimyo, thinking they would happily move for a large fief, but it appears it's not that simple. The King of Lioncourt is merely someone who operates on a feudal contract with his vassals and is by no means an absolute ruler. Their influence cannot be compared to the rulers of those days. For now, the distribution of Balkashik will be postponed... basically a case of kicking the can down the road. If need be, I might forcibly transfer Andre or Joze. Regarding my health—it's relatively good. It seems being away from the military campaigns, which caused significant mental and physical stress, and recuperating at Balka Castle has had a positive effect on my condition. Afterward, although I experienced several bouts of vomiting blood, they have subsided and I find myself in a stable condition. However, the discomfort in my chest has not diminished and has spread to my back. When the pain strikes, it's merciless—I often find myself wanting to cry out in agony, but I know that causing a scene isn't an option, so I fight to endure it. The rumors of my illness have spread among the troops, but I deliberately chose not to deny it, instead claiming it as a "toothache." Though it may be thought of as just a toothache, in this era, a toothache in Amoros is considered an incurable ailment, with the only treatment being extraction, and is perceived as a 'luxury disease' of those who can afford sugar. In Lioncourt, we haven't seen it, but in the capital, there are idiots who would hang pliers for extraction around their necks flaunting, “I’m rich enough to eat sugar,” and proudly showing off their toothaches. With this background, when soldiers hear "toothache," they find it amusing but don't pay excessive attention to it. "The king has a toothache," "nice status" is about the extent of the interest. I believe this was a pretty good tactic. Even as I sip porridge, they seem to think, "Ah, it must be because his teeth hurt." However, there are some who cannot be completely deceived. One of them is Jiro. While Jiro is overseeing military commands at Balka Castle, he has noticed the changes in me and occasionally checks in on me. "You look unwell today, young master," Jiro addresses me, full of concern. Having been under his care since I was seven, there's no lying to him. "Is it that obvious?" "Yeah, your complexion is poor, you've lost weight, and your voice is hoarse—definitely seems like you’re sick," Jiro observes. Hearing Jiro’s words, I let out a long sigh. "So, I've lost weight... It's not like I can't eat, but I really have no appetite." Even now, by my side, there is a bowl of barley porridge with beef stewed until it's tender, but I find little inclination to eat it. "You've got to eat. People are starting to notice," Jiro insists. "Yeah, you’re right, I can't keep fooling them forever." I slurp my porridge slowly and quietly, trying not to gag. "This seems tastier than the beef back in Lioncourt." "Oh, really? That’s good to hear," Jiro responds. The cattle in Lioncourt are small and shaggy. They don’t look much like cattle, and the meat is sinewy... probably because we were eating old cattle unfit for work rather than young cattle. "Never thought I’d die before you, Jiro," I jest, mixing truth with humor. Jiro grimaces, lamenting, "I don’t want to hear that kind of talk." "Don’t be mad, it’s how it is." "Don’t want to hear it, don’t want to hear it," Jiro retorts, displaying a mix of anger and sorrow. Apart from me and Jiro, there are guards present, but recently, I've only surrounded myself with veteran comrades, so we openly discuss my illness. Incidentally, Rolo is off duty today. Just as the atmosphere’s mood began to darken, Maurice intruded, saying, "Excuse me." "Your Majesty, we have received a report from the separate detachment. They are expected to arrive at Balka Castle by the end of today," Maurice informed me. "Understood, I’ll be there to welcome them, so let me know," I instructed Maurice, who swiftly exited after acknowledging my words. As someone serving close as a steward, Maurice must surely be aware of my condition, yet his sincerity prevents him from mentioning it. His demeanor impresses me greatly. "Young master, Maurice really is a treasure of Lioncourt," Jiro noted, echoing my sentiments. "I agree. You wouldn’t think he’s Albert’s grandson, right?" "No doubt about it!" Jiro and I laughed heartily. Maurice's grandfather, Albert, and Jiro's father, Yannick, were rivals, with Jiro and Albert having a history of brawling (refer to Chapter 15). "Ah, those were the days. You and Albert brawling..." "Yeah, and the 'Go have fun with your mom' line was hilarious! Albert’s face turned beet red with eyes wide open then!! Bwahaha!" As memories flowed over us, our guards, who didn’t know the story, joined in our laughter. Dwelling too much on dark thoughts is pointless. For now, let’s enjoy this moment. ……………………… At dusk, the separate detachment from the north arrived. During their advance, they were intercepted by the combined forces of Viscount Gouvrier, located to the northwest of Old Canales, and Knight Cluje, positioned to the north, but they managed to defeat these forces. The detachment subsequently occupied Knight Cluje’s castle, which is now held by a force of 1,400 led by Count Darmont. With this, the lands north of the River Clisque have been subdued, except for Viscount Gouvrier’s territory. The detachment, numbering 4,200 in total, made a grand entrance. The commanding officer is Viscount Arbo. This time, the Count's heir, Claude, led the Count Delaine’s forces. The Viscount Beniulo’s forces were led by the Viscount’s grandson, young Albert himself. I greeted them with a smile, appearing lively before everyone. "Your Majesty, I am honored," Viscount Arbo dismounted and bowed his head. "The faces are getting younger now, aren't they? It's reassuring to have an experienced viscount like yourself," I praised Viscount Arbo in front of everyone. "Oh no, with Baron Groot (Jean) and Lord Coke (Andre) here, I'm merely a figurehead commander," Viscount Arbo humbly replied, continuing the traditional exchange. It may be formulaic, but it's an important ritual. "Claude and young Albert, you've both done well. The real test against Amoros is yet to come," I encouraged the two young ones promptly. Since Jean and Andre are my kin, I'll address them last. It's likely impossible to completely conceal my poor health from them... I'll make some time later to explain. Once the separate detachment arrived, we quickly gathered everyone for a banquet. Naturally, the food and drink for this celebration were sourced from the Balkashik territory. Maintaining an army of up to ten thousand is no simple feat. Given current roads and carts for transport, the number of soldiers such an army can sustain is probably close to its limit. I kept Claude by my side during the banquet and listened to various things he had to say. It seemed Count Delaine wasn't ill but was considering generational change. At nearly fifty, the Count's age makes retirement unsurprising. "Speaking of which, how is Roland Cauchy doing since my great-aunt passed away? Cauchy served our family for a long time and my father worries," Claude inquired. Roland Cauchy was the lover of my now-deceased mother, Lucienne, who hailed from the Delaine family, making her Claude's great-aunt. "Ha, Cauchy is busy with a new job," I replied, causing a look of genuine surprise to appear on Claude’s face. At over sixty, starting a new job is unusual for Cauchy. "A job...?" he asked. "Yes, copying manuscripts. I turned my mother's teachings into a book and Cauchy has been transcribing it... keeping her memory alive," I elaborated. When I mentioned that a few copies should be made by now, Claude seemed moved. "That's wonderful. He's still living with the love he shared with my great-aunt," Claude remarked, revealing a romantic side. "Ha, Claude, you're quite the romantic. If you'd like, I could gift you a copy of his work," I offered. Claude welcomed this gesture with enthusiasm, despite being past his mid-twenties, showing a refreshing openness. While Claude and I quietly chatted, the Lioncourt feast was bustling around us. The alcohol was circulating, and the noise of merriment was rising from various corners. "Tell him, Albert! We must advance the army!" shouted someone, the loud voice belonging to my son, Simon. Simon, displeased with me staying at Balka Castle, constantly argued we should advance the troops westward. His statements could undermine military cohesion and, under normal circumstances, would be unacceptable. Yet, as I occupy the castle under the guise of 'convalescing from illness,' I find it hard to chastise a boisterous eldest son. Today, Simon, already drunk, was pestering young Albert. A troublesome drinker, indeed. "Hey, don't be a troublemaker for Albert. Albert is our cherished son-in-law," I cautioned. "What? If Albert is your son-in-law, then I'm your son! Give me half the army! I'll conquer the capital for you!" Simon bellowed, hanging onto me and making rash demands. As his father, I can brush it off as a 'family quarrel,' but such remarks demand retribution if not for filial relations. "Ah, talking to a drunk is pointless... First, drink some water," I advised, handing Simon some water, and gave young Albert an apologetic nod. Albert shyly responded, "No, it's quite all right," gracing us with that charming smile that had even Emma swooning. "No need to conquer the capital. Even if mountain-folk like us from Lioncourt capture it, we'd only oppose its citizens and be painted villains. See the examples of Dong Zhuo and Yoshinaka Minamoto," I counseled. "Who are they?! I don't know them!" Simon shouted, leaving me momentarily stunned. ...Ah, Dong Zhuo and Minamoto Yoshinaka aren't from this world... I had let it slip, but naturally, Simon wouldn't know. Surveying the surrounding guests, none seemed inquisitive, fortunately. "My mistake. You wouldn't know... they're people from ancient times," I explained. "Don't mock me, Father! Just because you know more stuff..." Simon mumbled, feeling somewhat patronized by my previous tone. "Don't pout. I'll be counting on you in the Amoros campaign; this aging father of yours depends on you," I assured him. "Fine, fine," Simon reluctantly agreed, finally mollified. Young Simon yearns for adventure... he wants to test his own limits. I fully understand and admire such sentiments. Despite his size, he’s still my lovable son. And it seems his desire for action was answered by fate, as an opportunity soon presented itself. The next day brought an emissary from Amoros. 'There's no point in conquering the capital' In the late era of the Grand Amoros Kingdom, continual uprisings plagued it due to its unmanageable expanse. Varian, learning from its mistakes, consistently aimed to build a kingdom within a governable range. By establishing a new economic sphere centered on Lioncourt, people's lives grew prosperous—a goal Varian successfully began to achieve. However, any further territorial expansion met with his strong reluctance; he never relocated the base away from Lioncourt. These were strengths and limitations rooted in Varian’s 'memories of a past life,' preemptive awareness of 'precedents' yet to occur, that stripped him of any 'imagination of success.' Moreover, remnants of his commoner past had solidified into his self-perception, "I am not destined for greatness." This belief reinforced his consistent focus on 'enriching those close to him.' Pragmatically, because the Lioncourt people—supporters of a minority—were so crucial, relocating his base was unfeasible... and the chance for ailing Varian to soar away was now lost. Subsequent historians would acknowledge Varian I as an 'extraordinarily wise ruler, yet one devoid of grand ambitions.' While deemed incorrect by some, such summaries aptly surmise, to an extent, the perspective Varian maintained. Varian lacked the aspirations to rule the world, as his priorities lay with 'people close by,' up until his last breath, never expanding his vision any grander. Thus stood the constraints Varian faced, carrying the memories of an earlier existence.