After entering Saint-Toir, Gerhardt quickly resolved critical tasks such as organizing the prisoners and reorganizing the army. Then, he issued orders:

"Any other movements reported?"

"None, sir. The remaining enemy forces are minimal and lack the capacity to act."

"Good. The soldiers deserve to enjoy their victory. Suspend training for a week and reduce guard duties to the bare minimum."

"Understood!"

With that, he effectively declared an end to the state of war.

"Are we out of liquor? Wasn’t it all finished last time?"

"That’s correct, sir."

"That’s unfortunate. Allow the soldiers some freedom to enjoy themselves, provided they cause no harm to civilians. If they wish, they may also be given an advance on their pay."

"Yes, sir!"

Having annihilated the enemy’s main army and captured their leadership, the Imperial officers raised no objections to Gerhardt’s decisions.

-Thud!

"See? I told you I’m a master with a shield."

"Ha! If I hadn’t been there to back you up, you’d have been dead long ago."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that."

"Because it’s true."

"...Idiot."

Officers and soldiers celebrated in taverns and markets, basking in the afterglow of victory.

"Hey, weren’t you with the 1st Provisional Legion?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Your Deputy Commander—don’t they call him the Supreme Commander over there?"

"Come to think of it, yeah."

"Right?"

"So... how did you guys lose?"

"Seriously. How do you lose with a general like that?"

"Because everyone other than General Viktor is useless?"

"Oh."

"Well... yeah."

The soldiers of the 8th, 10th, and 1st Provisional Legions, having faced death together, bonded under the shared banner of the Empire.

While the Imperial forces enjoyed their time in Saint-Toir, the person most credited for the victory, Viktor, had other priorities.

"Guillaume Châtillon, King of the Kingdom of Brotan."

"...Who are you?"

Following Viktor’s request to delay any celebrations until Brotan was fully subdued, he went to see Guillaume, who was being held alone in a guest room.

The conversation with Anna had helped Viktor regain his composure. Her words—that those who had passed on and those who stood behind him might be smiling—had lightened his heart.

Coming from Anna, who rarely spoke in such a way, her words had a greater impact. For now, he felt he could manage.

As "Viktor," he would strive to do his best, for those who believed in him.

"You’re working hard."

Dressed in the ceremonial uniform of an Imperial officer, Viktor approached the room where Guillaume was being held.

"Ah, Deputy Commander Viktor."

The soldiers standing guard outside the room saluted him.

On his way back to Saint-Toir, Viktor had contemplated how to treat Guillaume. Should he extend the courtesy befitting a king, or should he confront him as the future puppet ruler of a client state?

After much deliberation with Gerhardt, they had chosen the latter. A man like Guillaume might interpret respectful treatment as a sign of lingering opportunity.

"I’ll have a private conversation with Guillaume. See to it that no one interrupts."

"Understood!"

After issuing his orders, Viktor pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, Guillaume sat dressed in clean clothes, likely provided by the Empire, though the battered crown atop his head stood in stark contrast. His posture and expression, oddly dignified, left an impression.

"Guillaume Châtillon, King of Brotan."

"...Who are you?"

"Deputy Commander of the Imperial Expeditionary Force to Brotan, Viktor."

"Deputy Commander? Hmm."

Guillaume leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on one hand, his indifference evident. The arrogance of his demeanor affirmed Viktor’s decision to break him further.

"I commanded the Imperial forces in what is now being called the Battle of Baldua a few days ago."

"Hah. With a commander in place, it’s laughable for a mere deputy to claim credit for leading the battle."

Guillaume sneered, maintaining his reclined position.

"Sending a greenhorn like you to provoke me? You’ll have to try harder than that."

Viktor shrugged at the derisive smirk.

"You’re free to think what you want."

"...Ridiculous. Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I am the ruler of Brotan, Guillaume Châtillon."

"Guillaume Châtillon."

Viktor interrupted, taking a slow step forward.

"Show some respect! You’ve taken me as your prisoner to negotiate—"

"Guillaume Châtillon."

Viktor’s voice dropped, his expression hardening as he loomed over the seated king.

"Let me make something clear. We don’t need you."

"You insolent—"

"Insolent? Perhaps. But listen well."

Guillaume pressed himself against the chair, his face flushed with anger. Yet he made no move to rise, his unease evident.

Still oblivious to the reality of his situation, Viktor decided to enlighten him further.

"Let me tell you a story. There was once a king who inherited his father’s power and ruled by crushing the nobility with force and authority. After silencing their concerns with a successful campaign, his dominance reached its peak."

"...What’s the point of this?"

"But then, disaster struck. Leading the kingdom’s entire army on another campaign, he suffered a catastrophic defeat."

Viktor adopted the tone of a storyteller addressing a child, his smile unyielding despite Guillaume’s increasingly agitated expression.

"Of the 70,000 men, 30,000 died. Another 30,000, including the king himself, were taken prisoner. A complete and undeniable disaster."

"Lies! Our Brotan warriors could never—"

"Let me finish. With the king gone and the remaining nobles reluctant to challenge the Empire’s terms, they began to notice something peculiar. The proposed terms were surprisingly lenient toward the nobility, ensuring their titles and lands remained largely intact."

"...!"

Guillaume’s eyes widened as if recalling something forgotten.

"Unpatriotic nobles realized they could scapegoat the king while maintaining their privileges under the Empire’s rule. Better to abandon the powerless monarch and secure their survival."

"You’re... you’re bluffing."

"Am I?" Viktor tilted his head, his expression calm but deliberate. "The captured king found himself with only two choices: live as a powerless figurehead or die to preserve his honor."

"That’s absurd!"

"And yet, that’s the fate of kings who lose everything."

Guillaume’s nervous laughter barely masked his fear.

"You think the nobility of Brotan are like your Empire’s schemers? Never!"

"Is that so?"

"You won’t break me! I will never yield!"

Guillaume raised his voice, pointing an accusatory finger at Viktor. His defiance, however fragile, would require more time to fully erode.

"If that’s the case, I’ll visit again later."

"Say what you will! I am the King of Brotan!"

Leaving Guillaume to stew in isolation, Viktor exited the room. Fear is a powerful weapon, and in solitude, it only grows stronger.

"Inform those serving Guillaume not to speak with him under any circumstances."

"Yes, sir!"

Separated from his nobles and allies, Guillaume’s resolve would inevitably crack. Time was on Viktor’s side.

"Let’s see how long he lasts."

And if it took longer than expected, they had plenty of time to spare.

***

For ten days, I repeated a cycle of one-sided conversations and leaving Guillaume to stew in isolation.

Recently, I had heard reports that Guillaume was struggling to sleep, his nights punctuated by screams echoing from his room. It was time to pay him another visit.

"How have you been? Holding up well?"

"Ugh... uh..."

"You seem to be having a hard time."

Guillaume was far more haggard than before. His previous air of authority had completely vanished. When I entered, he shrank into himself, trembling like a cornered animal.

The psychological pressure seemed to be working. Discussing the failures of the Battle of Baldua, emphasizing his tactical and strategic incompetence, and detailing the nobles’ reactions to his irrational retreat likely contributed to his decline. The suggestion that nobles were uniting around Antoine, the weakest claimant, to shift the blame onto him probably stoked his fears even further.

Whispers near his quarters about nobles considering alternative candidates for the throne may have been the final straw.

"I have good news for you today. It seems the kingdom’s nobles are prepared to negotiate. The war is effectively over."

"L-Look here, D-Deputy Commander Viktor!"

"Hmm?"

At last, Guillaume, who had desperately clung to his dignity until now, called out to me with urgency.

His trembling voice was barely coherent. I smiled faintly.

"This is the first time you’ve addressed me as Deputy Commander. Are you ready to negotiate?"

"Yes—no! I mean, yes! I, I apologize for my earlier disrespect..."

-Clang!

"F-Forgive me."

He didn’t bother to correct my own disrespectful tone. Instead, he immediately scrambled to pick up the fallen crown and place it back on his head. The pitiful display reminded me of how intoxicating and corrosive power could be.

I made a mental note to avoid becoming like this.

"Oh, excellent. You should wear your crown properly. Even if you die, you should do so as the King of Brotan."

"W-What? Die?!"

"Why not stand tall as the King of Brotan, taking responsibility for your nation’s defeat and protecting your people with dignity?"

"P-Please, I beg you..."

Guillaume, who had initially tried so hard to interrupt and assert his pride, now hesitated, his words cautious and deliberate.

It seemed I had sufficiently bent him to my will.

"Still, seeing you like this tugs at my heart," I said with a smile.

"Though I speak harshly, the truth is that having you remain in place benefits us. As the legitimately crowned king, your position raises fewer questions than installing a new leader would."

"...What?"

Now it was time to dangle a bit of hope.

"The Empire will limit and oversee Brotan’s military while stationing Imperial forces at key locations, including your capital, Levoir."

"T-That means..."

"If you cooperate fully in negotiations and continue to demonstrate good behavior, the Empire might even safeguard your crown."

"...!"

The sheer irony of it was laughable. Guillaume’s eyes lit up at the prospect of Imperial forces occupying Brotan.

"I swear it! Yes, I’ll swear! Whatever it takes!"

"Oh?"

"Gold? Jewels? Whatever you want, I can provide it! Please, help me return to my throne as king!"

"Hmm."

In the end, he was willing to sacrifice everything for the illusion of power.

I paused for effect, letting the silence stretch before replying.

"Let’s see what we can do."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Leaving Guillaume bowing profusely behind me, I exited the room.

With just another push or two, he’d become the perfect puppet ruler.