"My most splendid campaign was that of March 20; not a single shot was fired."
Napoleon Bonaparte
...
…
In the main hall of the Tristanian palace, a group of about fifteen men were gathered. They were generals and dukes, the high military elite of Tristain, their fancy clothes covered in a red cloak which was a symbol of their great authority. Yet none of them, no matter how renowned they were either in combat or in their family histories, could compare to the Princess who sat on her throne, listening to them talk to one another without saying a word herself. The exiled Prince of Wales stood at attention to her left. While neither one said a word or even looked at one another, his right hand sometimes swayed slightly towards her cheek without actually touching. There was no one else in the room. Given how highly important these topics of discussions were, the servants had been escorted out and the doors barred to prevent even the slightest chance of Albion espionage in the room.
As the generals continued to talk to one another on a wide variety of subjects which did not necessarily have to deal with military affairs, Henrietta quietly signaled one of them to come by her side. De Poitiers strode over and bowed as the princess raised her head to his ear and whispered.
"Have you managed to secure news on releasing Louise and Napoleon?"
De Poitiers shook his head.
"I'm sure you know that they were taken by the eldest Valliere about twelve days ago. There is no doubt that they are at the Valliere estate. I have sent a messenger asking for their release."
It wasn't a lie, the general told himself. A proud nobleman like himself would never lie to his ruler, and he had sent two messages to the Valliere family. It was just that one message was sent upon a fine rider and horse who had been told to urgently deliver his message to the Duchess de Valliere, while the other was given to a drunken farmer atop his cart who promised that he would be in Valliere lands sometimes and would try to give the message at that point. It did not need to be said which one was the letter asking for Louise's release, and which one was the one pointing out that it was probably for the best that such a powerful Void mage should be locked up for the security of all of Tristain. Either way, so far it appeared that things were going smoothly for De Poitiers. The fact that Napoleon had made no move in the past few days and was most likely still stuck in the Valliere estate really was heartening news from his perspective. Now proper Tristain nobility could run war in the right way, without the interference of little captains who knew nothing about how one was supposed to conduct war with dignity and honor.
But he mentioned nothing of that to Henrietta and the princess took him at his word. De Poitiers left to join the other generals, and for a few more moments the scene continued as usual, with the princess in deep thought and her eyes closed. Eventually, she opened both of them and slowly rose out of her throne. Seeing their ruler's actions, every general instantly turned towards Henrietta and bowed. As she waved her hand and indicated them to stand up, she inwardly grimaced. She still couldn't like how they scraped and performed these little gestures in front of her all these years, though she then admonished herself by pointing out that it was what a sovereign had to expect. Not wanting to continue the inward conversation, she ended it by pointing at a map on a nearby table.
"So, my generals, will you kindly tell me what our future strategy against Albion is?"
A small, shriveled man saluted in response to the princess's question.
"We may have obtained a great victory against Albion at La Rochelle, but the fact is that Albion's fleet is still superior to ours. The enemy has been undergoing chaos in the region as there have been uprisings in the aftermath of such a stunning defeat on their part, and the resulting infighting has actually caused the destruction of a few more of their ships from rebel attacks and magic. However, while our Air Fleet actually slightly outnumbers that of Albion's, their more experienced and better equipped ships are more than capable of making up for that small deficit in numbers. We would need complete supremacy in the air to actually launch an invasion of the White Continent itself, which is something we simply do not possess and will likely not grasp in the near future.
Because an invasion is so unlikely, a blockade is the best course of action. We will avoid battle with the Albion fleet and attempt to pick off their ships one at a time if they embark on any raids of Tristain. But in the meantime, we will limit their trade and attempt to starve them to death. I know you've already told us about what happened with Germania."
"Thank you, General Wimpffen."
She nodded in acknowledgement about what he had said. She had received a report a couple days ago from Germania. Their Diet had finally come to the conclusion which everyone in Helgekinia knew they would take. They would not be helping Tristain in the war militarily, ostensibly out of concerns of support for the war within their country, but really because they did not believe that Tristain was in any actual threat of being conquered in light of their victory. However, to the surprise of the princess, they had promised to cease all trade with Albion for the duration of the conflict, which would be necessary for a blockade to occur.
The country of Gallia, on the other hand, was a very enigmatic story. Upon hearing about the Albion declaration of war, it had issued a strict proclamation of neutrality and had said nothing since then. Still, it was the only country in Helgekinia which had actually chosen to recognize the Reconquista government as the legitimate ruler of Albion. Tristain had at this point completely thrown its support behind the exiled Prince, while Germania in its deliberate slowness had said nothing on such an issue. Henrietta at this point really had no idea what the country was after at this point in time.
Because of the problems and the need to depend on other countries, Henrietta couldn't help but worry about such a plan. Consequently, she posed a question to her general.
"Can you be sure that a blockade will work?"
After several seconds, De Poitiers gave a long, slow nod.
"Well, there's the matter of Gallia. I'm afraid that is something that can't be left to us military officers. Princess, you'll probably have to talk to His Majesty Joseph of Gallia and see if he can't be persuaded to join in the blockade."
He gave an ear to ear grin to his ruler, but Henrietta had a far-away expression and was clearly thinking of something else. After looking at her face for a bit, De Poitiers turned to the other generals.
"Well, for now, make sure the soldiers are in tip-top shape. This will be a long campaign where we seek to wear down rather than invade Albion. We'll have to make sure the army really is ready for such a long campaign where there won't be a lot of fighting, so preparation will be necessary. I believe that will be all."
And with those words and a final gesture from the leading officer, the rest of the generals were dismissed. Clicking their heels together, these noblemen all saluted each other, and then turned to their princess. Henrietta gave no reaction to the gesture. She continued to gaze into space while looking at the map, acting as if no one else was in the room. After a few moments, the Prince of Wales gave a small cough, which caused Henrietta to start, then to hastily jump up and return the salute. With the gesture completed, the men made to leave for the double doors. Some of the generals couldn't help themselves, and whispered to one another about the state of the princess.
"Is she all right?"
"The city of La Rochelle was just destroyed, we should probably leave her be."
"It's her job to stop Gallia from trading with Albion."
"I'll admit I'm concerned about that prince."
"That's true."
The men continued their whispered conversation as they waited for the doors to be unbarred. De Poitiers stood at the head of the group as the doors swung forward, and gave a sigh of contentment as he saw sunlight streaming in. But after a moment, he realized that there was a group of people waiting outside the door.
"A pleasure to meet you, General De Poitiers. I'm as happy to see you as no doubt you are to see me."
Napoleon stood in front of De Poitiers and the rest of the noble officers. His hands were behind his back and his hat was on his head. His partner, the pink-haired Void mage, stood behind him with her arms crossed in front of her and a wand prominently sticking out.
But they weren't alone. There was a group of about 10 or so men behind him. One held a wand, but about five more carried what appeared to be muskets. What was noticeable was that the tips of the barrels gleamed with a shiny metal stick that was wrapped around the guns. The rest of the men behind Napoleon did not hold any weapons, but were instead holding various writing and drawing materials.
Napoleon tilted his head and gave off a friendly smile, yet the back of De Poitiers's head erupted in a cold sweat at the gesture. As the leading commander stammered, the other generals stared in confusion. Some of them seemed to recognize him, whether from De Poitier's reports or from those pamphlets from Giono which had been plastered throughout all of Tristania. But the rest gave a reaction of befuddlement to shock upon seeing a man in a military uniform standing in the doorway to the throne room, with soldiers and other men, not to mention a young girl, behind him.
De Poitiers was in fact just stunned. How had he and his partner escaped the Duchess? How did they expect to avoid her wrath? The girl, the Void mage, was clearly wearing a look of determination, but she wasn't looking at De Poitiers, or any of the generals. Her eyes were past them, at the other girl sitting in the end of the throne room, a young man standing beside her.
Then Napoleon moved forward and the Void mage followed him. The group of soldiers accompanied them, but as they moved forward, one of the other nobles finally shouted out.
"Oi, you! What do you think, letting armed soldiers into the main hall?"
The two at the front stopped. Napoleon turned and looked on the nobleman, who couldn't help but take a step back for some reason.
"You're carrying a wand. I have a sword at my side. What's the problem with letting weapons in?"
"Why you! Those are commoners! You can't allow commoners to carry weapons in!"
The general left it unsaid, but the fact that it was not mentioned made it all the more obvious. He had called the soldiers following the Louise and Napoleon commoners, but he had not called Napoleon himself a commoner. The Emperor's arrogant and regal air precluded such accusations. De Poitiers realized that he likely was the only one in the group of generals who actually knew that man's social status.
"These men are my military retinue. They accompany and guard my safety wherever they go. And they answer to only Henrietta and me. She has not voiced any objections to my bringing my men here, so I say that they will move forward."
"What?"
The general who had spoken flared up at Napoleon's declaration.
"Who do you think you are, you… you…"
The general hesitated as he realized that he didn't really know who the man in front of him was, and his lack of knowledge only served to increase his frustration and desire to lash out at Napoleon. As he continued the cycle of sputtering rage, De Poitiers took the moment to speak to Napoleon, his voice laced with false insincerity.
"Captain Napoleon. It is good to see that you have returned from your long and relaxing wartime vacation. However, there's really nothing more to discuss. We have already with Princess Henrietta decided what our basis of strategy here, so there's really nothing for you to do. Now why don't you go home like a good little soldier?"
"Don't talk to Napoleon like that!"
Louise this time was the one gave a shout at the disrespect towards her partner, but Napoleon's next words overrode her shrill scream.
"You're not planning to invade Albion. You're planning a military blockade, and are counting on Princess Henrietta to successfully negotiate with Germania and Gallia to implement this blockade. If I am not wrong, that is your strategy, correct?."
De Poitiers's face flushed with shock and rage at his words, as did most of the other generals.
"How did you know? You couldn't have overheard us through these thick doors!"
His next words were spluttered out, but Napoleon gave no surprise at their reaction.
"I didn't know for certain, but I had good reason to believe that would be the plan. It's the kind of strategy you would propose, De Poitiers. Conservative. Timid. Shifting responsibility on Her Majesty as she has to make the strategy work while you sit around."
The general's face flushed beet red at his words, and he lunged forward, only for one of the soldiers behind Napoleon to move forward and act as a shield between the Emperor and De Poitiers. He was a large man, with a great scar across his cheek, and he held his musket between the De Poitiers and himself.
"What the-!"
"Stand down, Foucard!"
Napoleon gave a shout, and the solder instantly gave way. De Poitiers moved forward, and the two physically confronted one another.
"So, tell me then, captain. What is the bold and brilliant strategy you would use to take out the Albion fleet?"
Napoleon disengaged himself without a word and turned his back to the general. He took a few steps back, away from De Poitiers and towards Henrietta. The princess had remained silent, but was looking at Napoleon with interest. Almost as if he was putting on some form of show, the Emperor turned back towards De Poitiers, giving a small smile.
"What fleet?"
…
Three Days Earlier
Captain Jennings fretted atop the one of the newly-designated command ships, the Yorktown. The disaster at La Rochelle and the death of so many Albion senior officers, most noticeably the commander Bowood, had meant that many of the junior officers had received rapid promotion. However, as many were them were just filling in for the roles of the senior officers, they weren't necessarily ready for the new responsibilities which were ladled on them, and Jennings was a prime example. He honestly at this point sincerely wished that the enemy fleet didn't make a move. They had been quiet since the beginning of the war due to Albion's vast superiority, but now with about two-thirds of the fleet annihilated at La Rochelle, who knew what could possibly change?
He gazed in the south-west direction, even as he knew that it was futile. The Albion government's initial response to the disaster at La Rochelle had been to ground all of the remaining ships, but it had finally changed. The initial deployment of the Tristanian navy at the beginning of the war had been to split their 180 ships into three groups of sixty, and then combine and overwhelm Tristain's navy if they ever came out of their ports. But with two of the groups completely annihilated at La Rochelle, the decision had been made to only split the remaining forces in two. Splitting up the fleet any further risked that they would be destroyed separately as they embarked upon their mission of destroying the Albion countryside, and while thirty Albion ships would likely be in serious trouble if it was confronted with the entire Tristain navy, it could probably hold long enough for the other group to arrive and help. They had moved as one force until they reached Tristain, and had then split up. Jennings knew that the other fleet was about 50 miles to the southwest, but that was a distance at which communication would become difficult.
To make things worse, the commander of the other fleet was a hot-headed rascal named Cotswold. While the two commanders were expected to be equals and work together, Cotswold had shown no inclination to do such a thing. He was fanatically devoted to the new regime, and when the two had been assigned command, he had cornered Jennings in a room and gave him a long interrogation about his loyalty. It had become a great nuisance. Honestly, Jennings just wanted to go back to Albion. To his nice cozy house and a spot of tea and his wife and-
"Captain?"
Jennings jumped slightly as his train of thought was interrupted. He looked behind him to see that a messenger was standing at attention behind him, clutching a sheaf of paper in one hand.
"Pardon me sir, but about half an hour ago, one of the ships received this message. Apparently a parrot flew up here screeching for the leader, so I believe this is for you."
The messenger held out the sheaf of paper and Jennings took it. He slowly began to read, and then as he looked over the contents, his eyes moved faster and faster as it went down the pages.
To the commander of the remaining Albion Fleet.
It would not do to begin without introducing myself, so I shall. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, a high-ranking military figure within the Tristanian Army. I serve only Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain and my partner Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere. I should also state before I say any more that I have been informed that your fleet has split in two, and thus you should know that the captain of the other fleet has also received this message.
I have come to deliver you a warning. The same Holy Light that destroyed the greater part of your Air Fleet will descend upon you within 30 minutes of you receiving this letter. As it has already destroyed over 100 Albion ships at La Rochelle, I'm sure you know what it will do to your group of approximately thirty ships.
I am not without mercy, and will brook surrender. If you choose that option, you are to descend from where you are, and you will be taken to custody by my soldiers and will be treated as honorable prisoners of war. I swear this upon my partner's honor as well as my own.
However, it should be noted that this offer will apply only to the group of ships which surrenders first. Upon receiving the surrender of one group of ships, the other portion of your fleet will immediately be destroyed by the Holy Light. 30 minutes is not enough time for you to properly communicate with the other group, so the decision will be left up to you, Captain, and you alone. Stay up here, and be destroyed by the same light which has already destroyed most of your fleet without any prospects of glory or honor. Or come down, and become honorable prisoners of war.
I leave the decision up to you.
Napoleon Bonaparte
P.S. Kill the bird and I will treat it as a refusal of the terms of surrender, with the aforementioned consequences
Jennings's hands shook as he finished reading the letter, but then he spoke to the messenger.
"The bird, where is it!"
"Sir, it's up at the top of the ship, watching us."
Jennings tensed upon hearing that. He had wondered how the writer of this letter, this Napoleon, would know that he had 30 minutes to begin with. No doubt the bird was watching and functioning as a timer. And if Jennings attempted to disrupt that timer…
It could be a bluff. As an officer, he had obviously heard about the Holy Light, but no explanation had ever been given to him about what it was exactly. Was it possible that it really was some new weapon, a new magic devised by Tristain? But how would they keep something so powerful so secret for such a long period of time? Such a powerful thing must have taken years to develop, and news should have leaked out about it eventually. It was impossible. But if it was impossible, then what was the Light?
And Cotswold? Could he really trust him? The man was a braggart, but wasn't it braggarts who are the first to flee in times of combat? Maybe he was already moving? What was he to do?
…
Napoleon sat on a plateau in northwest Tristain. It had been a strenuous seven days even for him. After getting out of the Duchess's castle, he had then made the decision to sneak back to Tristania and fetch his Guard. They had been busy training without his supervision, something which impressed him. Ever since the battle at La Rochelle, he had managed to obtain new muskets for each and every member of his soldiers, and had also commissioned a blacksmith with his own money to create bayonets for every one of the muskets. Tristain had yet to develop the simple yet highly effective weapon that made the pikes they depended on completely obsolete.
He had had only time to really fit them all out before he was distracted by the antics of his partner's family, but his soldiers took to the weapon willingly, even though most of them had carried melee weapons in the past. Why would anyone want to wield a long and clumsy pike as opposed to a shorter weapon which could fire bullets and function as a spear, after all? Consequently, they attempted to learn. Most of them had still not understood how to fire the weapon yet, but it would come down quickly, and using the bayonet was simple and second-nature for most of them.
Unfortunately, while he would have loved to finish his training with them, there was no time as his plan needed to be implemented quickly. After reuniting with them in Tristain, he had quickly moved them out, and he marched north with his men as well as his partner. His intention had been to find the Albion ships as quickly as possible and relay his ultimatum.
And now he had. Now all there was to do for his men was to wait as they lazily sat upon the grass. Some fiddled with their guns, some munched on some food which they had obtained from the peasantry, some just waited and chatted. Martin, who by this time had become the default second-in –command of the Guard, waited besides Napoleon at the front along with Louise. The wind mage couldn't help but ask upon hearing what Napoleon had done.
"Do you actually think this will work, captain?"
Napoleon was munching on an apple. He chewed thoughtfully before answering.
"I honestly don't know. Still, it can't hurt to try. If it works, we can knock Albion permanently out of the war after all, so it's worth a shot."
"But she can't use Explosion right now, can she?"
Louise shot daggers at those words. She still remained not completely friendly towards the mercenary mage, but the truth was the truth. Apparently she remained unable to cast a single Void spell. From what she had told Napoleon, spells ran basically on the willpower of the mage. It was possible that she had stored huge amounts of power as she had never casted a Void Spell before, and then used a large chunk or even all of it upon casting two Explosions over the course of the battle. And she had no idea when she would recover that willpower. Perhaps it could be a week, a year, maybe even fifteen years, as long as she had lived.
All the same, Napoleon finished the apple and tossed the core on the grass before he responded.
"It's for that reason that we had to hurry. The sooner I used this move, the better their memories and notes of the Holy Light will be. This means that there will be a greater chance they accept."
Martin still looked concerned, but then there was a sound of thunder behind the small group.
"What in Brimir's name?"
The three of them looked back, only for Martin to groan and Napoleon's expression to become even more impassive. One of the soldiers had apparently been fooling around with his musket, and had then dropped it. It had fired into the sky, though fortunately no one was injured.
"That's the fourth time now since they've received the guns," Martin mumbled. "Am I going to have to cast a levitation spell on a bunch of weapons?"
Napoleon didn't say a word, but then stood up.
"Attention!"
The soldiers looked up, but then moved to form the proper ranks. However, it was a disorderly and inefficient process. They bumped into one another, cursed each other out due to the jostling, but they eventually formed a closed-order formation. Napoleon clicked his tongue in irritation. It wasn't fast enough, but it would do for the moment.
"You will be staying in this formation until we have the first group of surrendering ships. Do you understand?"
There was no response, but the men kept their ranks. Good.
20 minutes later, the first group of ships touched down, and it was followed five minutes later by the second group. The first group of ships was led by a man named Cotswold, and the man had pointed at the second group of ships and wondered why Napoleon chose not to use the Holy Light upon them. The only response that the commander received was a slap from Martin, who sternly lectured Cotswold on the necessity to treat all who surrendered to Tristain and to their leader with the utmost dignity.
As Martin lectured and Napoleon watched the second group of men stream out of their ships, it took the utmost effort for him to suppress his cackle of glee. He had managed with one letter to take out the rest of the Albion Navy and give the go-ahead for the invasion of the country of Albion. This was something far greater than what had happened at La Rochelle. Unlike before, the credit could go to him alone. Oh, how he would rub it in De Poitiers's face.
…
And so he did. De Poitiers's face turned even redder upon hearing the tale Napoleon described, while even Henrietta and the Prince of Wales simply gaped in shock.
"S-so the rest of the Albion Navy…"
"They're marching to Tristania without their ships as they speak. About 7500 men, escorted by the approximately 50 men of my Guards. I do believe every single one of them will deserve a medal and a reward for their efforts in such a momentous victory."
De Poitiers said nothing to those words. Napoleon's story represented a massive shift in the power dynamics within the Tristanian military. Every one of the generals was a man of great power and lineage. But here before them all was someone who had outshone all of them combined, who had destroyed a fleet with a letter. He was someone to be respected, listened to, and perhaps even followed.
But the generals to a man inwardly refused to accept it. They barely knew him. How could this person, this foreigner do such a thing? Did he have no respect for the old, traditional authorities? What would become of the social order if a man like him could just cut through the traditions and laws like this captain had already done?
But not one member of the groups of officers said something to deny him. There was something which after what he had just done that compelled them not to do such a thing. Napoleon turned to the rest of his group, and signaled to all of them but Louise to stay behind. Saluting in response, the soldiers formed a rigid line as they stood at attention. Napoleon and Louise walked towards Princess Henrietta and then both bowed respectfully to her.
"Princess, there will be no need to negotiate with any state for Tristain to grasp its own future. Please give the command for the invasion of Albion."
…
In Albion, in the dungeons of the Howland Palace, Fouquet idly played with a mouse in the dungeon. By her count, it had been somewhat over a month since she had been thrown in the dungeon on suspicions of being a traitor. Cromwell hadn't done anything to her since then, but it looked like she would be held here for quite a while longer. And without her wand, she had no means of escaping from this prison anyways, especially since she had no idea what time it actually was due to the lack of windows in this cell.
Still, she thought, it's not like she had any reason to leave for a while. She had received the commission for stealing the now useless Staff of Destruction before Wardes had done whatever h had done with it, and had sent most of it to the orphanage and to her half-sister. The money would make sure that the orphanage could be kept running without problems for quite a few months at the least. That said, she would like to head down there just to check on their safety when she did leave.
Meanwhile, she held a small chunk of stale bread in front of the mouse, which sniffed and then slowly took it. As it devoured the food, Fouquet laid back on the straw which had been provided to her as a bed.
The window grate to the cell door slid open, and a guard looked in.
"So, you feeling any better these days, pretty?"
Fouquet pointedly looked away from the soldier in response to his flirtations. Him again. He never gave up, did he?
"I'm fine. I don't need anything until I get out."
"Well, you know, girl, I could put in a good word for you. Talk about what a good little prisoner you are. All you would have to do is give me something in exchange."
"Oh, get out of here!"
Fouquet continued to look away, but her eyes showed her utter contempt for the lecherous guard, who took a step back.
"Well, you should know I can do the exact opposite. I can keep you here forever. Heck, you know there's nothing stopping me from walking in your cell in the middle of the night, you know?"
No words came out of the cell, and Fouquet could hear the guard grumble.
"Fine, have it your way. But you won't be able to resist me forev – what?"
His tone abruptly changed into a shriek, and then a scream. Fouquet heard a whizzing sound, and then the sound of blood spraying out. The guard continued to scream for a bit longer, but it was promptly cut off by another whizz.
There was nothing then for a bit, and Fouquet didn't dare to look out. But then she heard the sounds of a set of key being jangled and slowly the cell door opened. Fouquet looked at who her rescuer was, and then laughed softly.
"Even after all that's happened to you, you still love to play the hero. Don't you, Wardes?"
The formerly ruggedly handsome Knight-Commander had lost all of that manly charm. The right side of his face was a scarred and burned wreck, and the lack of anything in the right sleeve of the uniform he was wearing was noticeable. But he grinned as well as he could with his ruined face.
"Of course I do. What kind of knight doesn't save the helpless princess trapped in the dungeon?"
"A knight who's a traitor? And one who chose to work for the side that's going to lose the war as well? You're not exactly the smartest traitor, either."
"I told you Fouquet. Who said I was allied with Albion?"
Fouquet stood up from her cell in response to his words and dusted herself off. Then she sarcastically curtsied before him.
"Very well, my knight. Which country will we be heading to then?"