Your Majesty, This Is a Slap in the Face!

Saxon Empire, Potsdam, Sanssouci Palace.

The Rococo palace, known as the "Versailles of Saxony," stood quiet and solemn beneath the night sky.

But hurried footsteps soon shattered the silence.

An encrypted telegram from the front in the Kingdom of Aragon finally reached the study of Albert II, emperor of the Saxon Empire, after two hours of transmission and decoding.

Arriving with it were the harried imperial chief of the General Staff, Helmuth Ludwig von Moltke, and the imperial chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg.

Helmuth von Moltke the Younger's uncle was none other than Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, Saxony's legendary military genius.

Though the younger Moltke had a relatively weak temperament, from the time he served as Albert II's aide-de-camp, he had outstripped many men more capable than himself and eventually risen to chief of the Saxon Imperial Army's General Staff.

Inside the study, flames burned quietly in the fireplace, lighting the emperor's weary face.

Albert II took the telegram from an attendant and skimmed it.

As he read the first half, his expression darkened. His grip tightened until his fingers whitened around the paper.

But as he read on, the tension in his face eased. The attendant standing beside him even heard his relieved murmur.

"Thank goodness they got him back... Thank goodness."

Albert II set the telegram on his desk, leaned back, and let out a long breath.

An imperial lieutenant general captured by hostile forces in a foreign land...

It would have been more than a military setback. It would have been a diplomatic disaster and a public uproar.

Fortunately, the worst had not happened.

"Your Majesty, the Britannians have openly trampled on the empire's dignity!"

Helmuth von Moltke the Younger broke the brief silence. He was not especially tall, but his crisp gray uniform gave him an imposing presence.

"Ambushing our military observer mission without a declaration of war insults not only the Saxon army, but also your authority as emperor!"

He stepped forward, his anger undisguised.

"We must make them pay! The Kingdom of Aragon is the key to extending our influence southward. We cannot let it fall into Britannian hands! If the Royal Army they support wins, Britannian influence will reach our very doorstep!"

Chancellor Hollweg, silent until now, spoke up. His tone was calmer, but his words carried no less weight.

"Your Majesty, the chief of the General Staff is right. Politically, Crown Prince Alfonso studied in the empire and advocates adopting our model of industrial development. He is already our ideal ally. More importantly..."

Hollweg paused before delivering the news.

"The latest survey report shows a Luminescence Crystal Ore vein in the mountains of southern Aragon that may be the largest on the entire continent of Europa. The nature of this civil war has changed completely."

Luminescence Crystal Ore!

Albert II's gaze sharpened. He knew exactly what that meant.

The Saxon Empire's luminescence-crystal technology was what allowed it to stand against Britannia and Gaul, and that ore was its lifeblood.

A vein larger than any other in Europa could overturn the balance of power across the continent.

He also knew that the vein was precisely why the Britannians had intervened in the Aragonese civil war.

If Gaul had not been busy suppressing a recent large-scale uprising in its colonies, that country, which also bordered Aragon, would certainly have intervened too!

Why had two nations built around magitech suddenly set their sights on Luminescence Crystal Ore?

The answer was simple.

Mines ran dry when their ore was extracted.

That was especially true of Magic Crystal Ore, which had come to this planet in meteorites.

Its reserves had always been far smaller than those of the planet's native ores.

After years of unrestricted mining by Britannia and Gaul, Magic Crystal Ore reserves had fallen close to a critical threshold.

The two great magitech nations had long wanted to change the course of their technological development. To them, the Aragonese vein was a godsend.

Albert II frowned, set those thoughts aside, and turned to his chief of the General Staff.

"Helmuth, if I give you a free hand, how confident are you? And one more thing... If we launch an attack, would that count as declaring war on Britannia?"

Helmuth von Moltke the Younger considered the question for a moment, then answered earnestly.

"Your Majesty, please have faith in the training, courage, and discipline of the empire's soldiers! As for a declaration of war... Since the Britannians chose to attack without one, why should we bother with the pretense?"

Albert II had little objection to that.

For years, conflicts with Britannia and Gaul over resources and territory in the empire's African colonies had never ceased. Armed clashes and bloodshed were routine.

If every clash required a declaration of war, all Europa would have become one sprawling battlefield long ago.

"Go on."

"Yes, Your Majesty. If we attack, the troops we send into the Kingdom of Aragon will operate alongside the National Army and the International Brigades!"

At the mention of the International Brigades, the younger Moltke's mouth twitched.

"The International Brigades..."

A complicated look crossed Albert II's eyes as he spoke of them.

"I recall you telling me recently that the eleventh contingent of International Brigades volunteers had assembled and entered the Kingdom of Aragon overland?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The International Brigades in Aragon now number seven brigades..."

The younger Moltke nodded. He felt as conflicted as Albert II did.

The volunteers had come from across the world in response to the call to "break the monopoly of hegemony and share the fruits of progress." They were not professional soldiers, but their fighting spirit and fearlessness had earned his respect... and a measure of fear.

The Saxon Empire had formed the International Brigades and supplied nearly all their basic arms, provisions, and transport.

In a sense, they were close allies.

Yet more than once, he had wondered whether those workers, farmers, teachers, and other so-called "progressives" might someday turn their guns on the Saxon Empire.

Chancellor Hollweg stepped forward too.

"Your Majesty, recent newspaper coverage of the International Brigades has made the Social Democratic Party members behind them increasingly... brazen. They've even organized several large marches in some cities! I must remind you that these leftists will always be a ticking time bomb for the empire."

"I know. But for now, we still need those international volunteers to keep the situation in Aragon from collapsing."

Albert II sighed. As heir to the House of Wettin of Saxony, he understood the threat posed by the left-wing movements at home.

"Let the Social Democratic Party have its moment. We must focus on the war in Aragon first."

With that, Albert II made up his mind. He rose from his chair and walked to the enormous map of Europa, fixing his gaze on the border between the Kingdom of Aragon and the Saxon Empire.

"I authorize our troops already in Aragon to work with our allies and undertake whatever military action is necessary! Show the Britannians we mean business!"

"As you command, Your Majesty!" Helmuth von Moltke the Younger snapped to attention, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"However..."

Albert II changed course, tapping Seville on the map.

"I regret sending General Mackensen to command the fighting in Aragon. Draft a joint order in my name and the General Staff's, recalling him home to recuperate."

The younger Moltke froze. He could not understand why the emperor would recall a commander as capable as Mackensen now.

Replacing a commander in the middle of a campaign was a serious military taboo.

Before he could ask why, Albert II continued.

"Lieutenant General Mackensen is more than an imperial general. He is one of the empire's most valuable living relics! We should reserve him for a full-scale war, not a limited conflict..."

The emperor's voice was calm and clear.

"Besides, we cannot afford to lose a general like him in Aragon. This is a small, limited war. It needs no reckless offensive. It needs someone steadier to keep the situation from deteriorating!"

Albert II turned to the younger Moltke. "My chief of the General Staff, whom would you recommend as the new commander of the Aragon expeditionary force?"

After a brief thought, the younger Moltke answered, "General Maximilian von Prittwitz, Your Majesty."

"Are you certain he is up to the task?"

"Yes. He is not as outstanding as General Mackensen, but his command style is steady and cautious, and he excels at defensive counterattacks. With him in charge of the fighting in Aragon, we should be in safe hands!"

"Prittwitz..."

Albert II repeated the name to himself, then nodded.

"He's the one. Issue his appointment at once and send him to the front in the Kingdom of Aragon to relieve General Mackensen!"