[The Count's Son]

When we look back on history afterward, we often discover that beneath the rolling torrent of history, even the wisest leaders could not avoid moments of muddled judgment.

—<Imperial Chronicle, Volume 35, Record 7—A Few Retrospective Reflections on the Age of Roland>

#8226;

It was a summer afternoon. The blazing sun hanging overhead still poured down its merciless heat. To welcome the impending triumphal ceremony, countless Imperial Guards clad in bright scarlet armor had already packed the area before Pier Number One so tightly that not even water could pass through.

A hundred paces outside the pier, the harried soldiers of the Imperial Capital Public Order Office had squeezed out every last ounce of strength they had. Many of their uniforms had been torn, their once-shining epaulets ripped away, their proud hats snatched off, and countless boots had even been trampled clean off.

What left the thousand Public Order Office soldiers ordered to maintain order around the harbor utterly helpless was that they faced more than fifty thousand enthusiastic Imperial Capital citizens.

The excited spectators had prepared flowers, cheers, and applause—naturally, many young girls had even prepared to offer up their passionate kisses, even their chastity. Stirred by such fervor, the thousand Public Order Office soldiers felt like a broken boat in a vast ocean, liable to be overturned at any moment.

At that moment, they deeply envied the Imperial Guards standing inside the pier's security line. Those men could leisurely stand in neat formations, showing off their newly issued, gleaming armor and weapons, without having to worry about some fanatical citizen clawing their faces open the next second.

For this grand triumphal event, under the orders of His Majesty the Empire's great Emperor Augustine VI, the section of the Lancang Grand Canal leading to the Imperial Capital had been widened to twice its original breadth! The Empire had paid for it with half a year of labor from ten thousand canal workers, while the imperial treasury had spent nearly three million gold coins.

And the sole purpose of paying such a price was to allow the flagship of the Empire's "Xth Expeditionary Fleet," the Dandong, to pass smoothly through the canal and arrive directly at the harbor outside the Imperial Capital's eastern gate, where it could receive the cheers of the masses and display the Empire's formidable military might.

No one cared whether such a price was worth paying merely for a show of grandeur.

Because the Empire's former finance minister, who had first raised fierce objections, had already been sent directly back to his hometown to retire by the enraged Emperor. The new finance minister's only choice was to rack his brains, scraping together funds from every item of imperial expenditure to satisfy that "glory-hungry old man."

Naturally, the title "glory-hungry old man" could only be buried deep within the finance minister's heart—very deep, very deep...

When the afternoon sunlight shone upon the broad surface of the canal and the first hint of a sail appeared in the distance, the crowd could no longer restrain its cheers.

As the gigantic warship, a full two hundred paces long, slowly approached the harbor, its majestic and imposing silhouette stunned every Imperial Capital citizen who had come to watch.

The Dandong, flagship of the Empire's Sixth Expeditionary Fleet, pride of the Imperial Navy, and the largest warship in the navy's history. In preparation for this grand welcoming ceremony, the warship had been thoroughly repainted and refitted. Its hull had been painted a fearsome black, and amid wave after wave of cheers, the Dandong slowly approached the harbor like a colossal black beast, a huge thorn-flower banner fluttering in the wind from its mast.

When the anchor dropped, the tens of thousands of citizens at the harbor erupted. Countless hats were flung into the sky, countless people lost their shoes underfoot, and countless legs were crushed in the press. The pitiful Public Order Office soldiers could only shrink the security line as much as they could—then shrink it again...

Count Raymond, commander of the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet, stood on the deck at the bow, his face expressionless as he watched the cheering, jubilant crowd at the harbor.

This thirty-nine-year-old Imperial first-class general and Imperial count wore his most formal attire. A suit of light armor covered his entire body, a scarlet cloak snapped loudly in the wind behind him, and two medals hung upon his chest—awarded during his previous two expeditions. And without question, this triumph would earn him a third Imperial medal.

The count's gaze was somewhat unfocused. His eyes were not fixed on the cheering crowd at the harbor, and a closer look would reveal a faint furrow between his brows, as if he were somewhat impatient.

Damn it, this armor was too heavy—and utterly stupid!

The count did not believe that a soldier serving in a naval fleet needed to wear such heavy armor in battle at sea. That was something for the army. As for wearing these medals, it was an even more foolish matter in his eyes. It was like some newly rich upstart flaunting his wealth—true nobles disdained such things. He found the entire display beneath his station.

And the cheering crowd below was simply too noisy. Their cries crashed over him like giant waves in a tsunami, eroding what little patience the count had left, wave after wave.

Unconsciously, he glanced down at the deck beneath his feet.

To prepare for today's welcoming ceremony, the Dandong had been repainted three days ago, and all traces of blood had long since vanished from the deck. The sections damaged during the expeditionary war had already been relaid, and the ram at the bow had been replaced as well... Damn it, those people who loved currying favor with His Majesty had actually fashioned the bow ram into a statue of the Emperor himself. And supposedly, the statue had been hurriedly sculpted by a famous Imperial master just a few days ago.

For this, the Imperial Navy had paid an additional ten thousand gold coins.

It certainly looked imposing enough. But did those idiots not know that when warships collided in battle at sea, the first thing to be smashed was the ram at the bow?

In his opinion, those ten thousand gold coins had been utterly wasted. The sculptor's work was not even as practical as a randomly chosen sharpened wooden stake.

In truth, at a deeper level, Count Raymond believed from the bottom of his heart that organizing this so-called Xth Imperial Expeditionary Fleet had been an absurdly ridiculous mistake.

Beginning decades ago, the Empire had launched expedition after expedition into the Southern Seas.

There was no denying that the Southern Seas contained countless islands, scattered across the vast waters like pearls. There were strange forests, savage and foolish native tribes still lingering in the clan stage, gold, gemstones, spices, and marine goods.

But the count did not consider "taking more than ten massive warships to bully the natives' little canoes" to be any sort of "expedition."

It was pure plunder, slaughter, banditry, invasion—a naked robbery!

The count did not think there was anything wrong with that. The weak had always been bullied by the strong, and the weak needed to maintain an attitude of submission toward the strong. But he believed the flaw in the Empire's Southern Seas policy was this: these so-called expeditions had been carried out far too frequently, while the gains seemed to be dwindling more and more.

During the first two or three expeditions, the mighty Imperial Navy had swept through the Southern Seas without opposition. When ship after ship laden with gold, gemstones, marine goods, and spices returned, the entire Empire had been shaken.

But no matter how rich a granary was, it could not withstand such frequent harvesting. Excessive plunder had driven the native tribes in the nearer reaches of the Southern Seas to extinction one after another. Later expeditionary forces had no choice but to sail farther and farther afield, and the longer routes posed an enormous test to fleet supplies.

After all, the Southern Seas did not contain only easily bullied natives, nor only gold and gemstones. There was also sweltering weather, ever-changing climates, terrifying waves, and countless reefs, whirlpools, and storms...

Overharvesting had rapidly turned this fertile land, which could originally have become the Empire's granary, barren. The harvests of later expeditions grew smaller each time. Yet ironically, the triumphal ceremonies grew grander each time...

Count Raymond himself had led three expeditions in recent years, and those experiences had earned the count a resounding reputation in the Southern Seas. This Imperial Navy general, this count, had a string of nicknames in the Southern Seas:

Bandit! Butcher! Executioner!... His hands were stained with native blood. In the hearts of the native clan tribes, he was a notorious invader, a devil who burned their homes and enslaved them.

The count naturally did not care about such things, but the one thing that made him somewhat uneasy was that excessive wars of invasion had, in certain ways, grotesquely spurred the development of these Southern Seas natives—especially in military strength. Before returning this time, he had even heard that on some island nations in the farthest southern seas, natives had formed a so-called alliance to resist the Empire's endless plundering.

Fortunately, he no longer needed to think about such troublesome matters. Because he knew very well that this was his last expedition. Next, he would remain in the Imperial Capital. If all went smoothly, he would receive a prominent post in the Imperial General Staff. Then, after coasting along for seven or eight years, once the current Minister of Military Affairs retired, he would use his family's influence to become the new Minister of Military Affairs. And if his luck was just a little better, perhaps in the final years of his political career, he might even indulge his ambition to serve as chancellor.

As for expeditions, to hell with them. They were a headache for the next commander of the expeditionary fleet.

Even if those natives evolved to the point where they could build magic cannons, that would not be his damn concern.

Amid cheers that rolled like heatwaves, the count descended from the flagship's deck under countless gazes, and his feet finally touched the soil of the Imperial Capital! He waved at the cheering crowd... though the gesture looked more like he was shooing flies away.

First, a civil official dressed in court robes came aboard to read out His Majesty's decree of commendation. He also announced that the count was to enter the palace tomorrow morning to have an audience with His Majesty and receive his decoration.

Just as he had wished, his political future was bright.

But then a servant in gray clothing squeezed forward and whispered another piece of news into the count's ear. That news instantly sent Count Raymond's spirits plunging to the bottom!

The news had come from home.

He had been away on expedition for more than three years. The sea was vast, and messages were difficult to convey. Raymond had no idea what things were like at home now.

Most important of all was his wife. When he had set out on the campaign three years ago, she had been close to giving birth. And now, he did not even know whether she had borne a son or a daughter!

The news from home was: a son.

But the son she had borne seemed to be an idiot.

That news had come within a hair's breadth of knocking the Count from the pinnacle of his joy.

Within a hair's breadth!

Yet nearly every Imperial Capital dignitary who had come to welcome him could see that the returning commander of the expeditionary army wore a face so grim it stood on the brink of collapse.