WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 67: Handling the Aftermath (2)

Those captured as traitors were not limited to Prince Konrad and Duke Ernst Bachstein. Close relatives of the duke who had conspired with him in the rebellion, as well as knights of the Bachstein Duchy forces had been taken prisoner, and were also held in custody.

As for the soldiers of the ducal forces, they were effectively released without punishment.

In warfare, unless they committed particularly egregious atrocities, rank-and-file soldiers from the losing side are rarely held personally accountable. Being both soldiers and subjects of the duchy, they were pardoned on the grounds that they had simply obeyed their lord’s orders under coercion.

The knights, however, were a different matter. A knight is an officer, a sworn and commissioned professional soldier. Regardless of circumstances, they are never exempt from responsibility.

After arriving in the royal capital and spending some time imprisoned in the cells of the military headquarters, several dozen surviving knights of the ducal forces were transferred to the royal castle. They were told a judgment from the king would be passed.

They were assembled in the Audience Hall. The chamber, with its lofty ceiling, towering columns, and white walls adorned with murals of past monarchs, was usually reserved for noble ceremonies and royal audiences. Today, it surrounded them with a chilling grandeur. Only the carpet had been changed, replaced with something coarse and plain, likely to mark the presence of the condemned.

It was a setting meant to honor the living, now turned into a stage of quiet judgment.

Among the gathered knights, some wore expressions of resignation, others trembled with fear. Franziska was among them.

Though her father, who had already fallen in battle, was considered one of the leaders of the rebellion, she had known nothing of the plot before it began. Even so, she was treated the same as the rest. With her hands bound behind her back, she sat in silence, her face expressionless.

“His Majesty the King approaches. All present, bow your heads.”

It was the Minister of Ceremonial Affairs, overseeing the proceedings, who gave the order. The lined-up knights obeyed without resistance, lowering their heads in unison. None among them had the will to defy, nor any reason to resist.

Before long, Franziska heard the soft sound of footsteps and the tapping of a cane echo faintly across the spacious hall.

The sound came to a stop at the very center of the far end of the Audience Hall.

“…I am Sigismund Edelstein.”

A solemn voice rang out.

Franziska had heard it before, at past ceremonies and social gatherings. There was even one occasion when he had spoken to her directly. She recognized it without doubt as the voice of the reigning monarch, King Sigismund.

To think that the ailing king, long absent from public view, would appear in person, such a thing astonished her.

“Knights of the Bachstein Duchy forces. You stand as criminals. You bared your fangs at the royal house, raised your swords against the royal army, and threatened the very survival of this kingdom.”

The king’s words pressed down upon the knights bowed in submission like a crushing weight. He gave no command to raise their heads. None were permitted to lift their faces; all remained with heads lowered.

“Power bears responsibility. It is because you pledged loyalty to the kingdom and vowed to uphold your honor that you were granted strength as knights. Yet you have fallen into the depths of treachery. For your grave crimes, I shall now deliver judgment in the name of the king.”

A ripple of tension ran through the gathered knights. Franziska felt the atmosphere in the Audience Hall tighten in an instant.

“To determine the punishment for a crime, that is a power bestowed upon the king by the one true and absolute God. And to show mercy in that punishment is also a king’s prerogative… For instance, being burned at the stake. Or impalement. Perhaps it would be an act of mercy to grant you the freedom to choose which of the two you and your families shall receive.”

A sharp gasp came from someone. Another voice muttered, ‘No…’ A low, groaning whimper drifted through the hall.

Franziska felt the blood drain from her entire body as she stared at the floor, eyes wide with shock.

She had resigned herself to death. That, of course, she had accepted.

That her family might be sentenced alongside her, she had not been blind to the possibility.

But to have the sentence of collective execution declared outright struck with a force beyond imagining. And not just any execution, burned alive, or impaled from the base to the mouth while still conscious. Two of the most agonizing forms of death, and now they were being told to choose between them.

The faces of her beloved husband and still-young daughter surfaced in Franziska’s mind. Was she truly being asked to choose whether those two should be burned alive or impaled?

She couldn’t bear it. Her body trembled at the thought. No matter how much she tried to summon strength, the shaking wouldn’t stop.

“...No... ah, no... forgive me... please forgive me...”

She heard the hoarse murmur of the knight Roman seated beside her. He, too, had a partner, children, and aging parents.

Other voices could be heard as well, murmured regrets, whispered apologies to family. Some sobbed openly, unable to hold back. A few were even retching. Perhaps the reason the carpet in the throne room differed from the usual was precisely because of scenes like this.

“—However.”

Just as despair and sorrow filled the audience chamber to the brim, King Sigismund’s voice rang out again.

“Ernst, Duke of Bachstein, deceived you. He wielded the power of a noble lord for wicked ends. And if power demands responsibility, then the crime of abusing noble power falls squarely on him and his co-conspirators. You shall bear guilt only for the power you hold. The king holds the authority to judge. Therefore, I believe a king must be just. I now pronounce judgment. Raise your heads, all of you.”

Granted pardon, Franziska lifted her head.

Was it all right to feel hope? Was she allowed to believe there was still a sliver of light? She looked up at the king, torn by confusion. After being plunged into despair, then suddenly offered a suggestion of mercy, her thoughts were a whirl. Her heart pounded so hard she thought others might hear it; her breath came in ragged bursts. The tension made her feel faint.

“All knights of the former Bachstein ducal army are hereby stripped of their status. Furthermore, you are ordered to enlist as common soldiers in a newly formed Royal Army unit, stationed within the former Bachstein lands now annexed into the Crown’s domain. You are not permitted to leave this service unless granted explicit permission by the Sovereign. That is all.”

Sigismund declared the verdict. The judgment was final.

“…Ah.”

In the silence that followed, Franziska let out an odd, meaningless sound, unable to endure the tension.

The reactions varied. Like Franziska, some let slip small sounds. Others drew sharp breaths. Still others exhaled deeply. Roman who’s seated beside her swayed heavily, perhaps from the overwhelming relief, his consciousness on the verge of slipping.

“This is the one and only fortune that shall ever shine upon you. The one and only mercy the royal family will ever bestow upon your lives. There will be no second time. So mark it well upon your hearts. Repay this mercy, this grace that spared your lives and your families. Swear loyalty and devotion to my heir, Crown Princess Claudia. With the entirety of your lives.”

Gazing down upon Franziska and the others, Sigismund spoke.

Was it truly this great and magnanimous a king that they had once raised their blades against? A heavy sense of guilt and shame carved itself deep into Franziska’s heart.

“...Your Majesty. We are deeply grateful for your mercy. Never shall we forget this grace. I swear to repay it with my entire being, by devoting my life and soul to the service of the royal house and the kingdom.”

Someone had to speak. Thinking as much, Franziska opened her mouth. She could not kneel or salute with her hands bound behind her back, but at the very least, she bowed her head deeply once more as a gesture of respect.

Her voice trembled. Tears spilled freely from her eyes.

One by one, all the former knights followed her lead.

・・・・・・

"Your Majesty, you’ve done well."

After issuing the royal decree and leaving the hall, Sigismund sank into the cushioned chair that had been prepared for him, nodding at the Master of Ceremonies’ words.

“I stripped them of their status and power, broke their spirits, and pulled out their fangs. They never rose against the crown of their own will to begin with. They won’t dare oppose us again.”

“Indeed, just as you say, Your Majesty. To drive the criminals to the brink of despair and then leave them indebted with mercy, your conduct was masterful.”

The likes of Ernst, chief among the ringleaders, were beyond any defense. But for the remaining knights, there was still room for clemency. It would have been easy enough to pass collective judgment and have them all executed. Yet Sigismund saw value in them as tools yet to be used and chose instead to make full use of them.

First, he suggested punishments of utmost cruelty to cast them into the deepest despair and shatter their will.

Then he offered hope. Just a sliver, enough to let it pierce the darkness. Dangle it before them, shake their hearts, and after bringing them low, be the hand that lifts them up. Emphasize that the one who granted that mercy was none other than the king himself, none other than the royal house of Edelstein.

To hearts already cracked and broken, the king’s benevolence would seep in easily. Sigismund would no longer be the tyrant who nearly had them and their families executed, he would be their savior, the one who delivered them from ruin.

It was clear from their reactions that the desired outcome had been achieved.

With this, the royal family had gained dozens of former knights turned loyal dogs as combat forces. The new unit to be organized from the central command’s dispatched officers and survivors of the former ducal army now had candidates for squad leaders and platoon leaders.

Furthermore, by pardoning them and their families, they succeeded in planting the image of a “merciful and generous royal family” in the minds of the duke’s subjects who were their relatives, acquaintances, and friends. This would be advantageous when annexing the duchy into the royal territory and governing it going forward.

The decision made by Sigismund, in order to leave as little debt as possible for Claudia who would soon inherit the throne, was thus accomplished.

“Now, all that remains is to complete the execution of the rebels.”

“Yes, regarding that as well, preparations are proceeding flawlessly.”

When Sigismund muttered, the Minister of Ritual replied. The executions were scheduled for about a week later.

Footnotes: 

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