Königsberg, under Britannia's spearhead.
The suffix "-berg" meant fortress—a garrisoned stronghold.
This ancient city, once a military bastion, had been founded in the 13th century by the Teutonic Knights during the Northern Crusades. Over time, it had served as capital or seat for the Teutonic Order State, the Duchy of Prussia, and East Prussia.
In the world of Code Geass, just as Britannia had lost its ancestral British Isles during the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars, the Hohenzollerns had lost their ancestral East Prussia.
Napoleon, that beast, had been too powerful.
But that was then. Now was now. The past glories of the Gallic rooster had long since faded into smoke.
Eroded by decades of parliamentary bureaucracy, poisoned by the disease of extreme liberalism, plagued by mob politics, entrenched by great financial and political clans—this former beacon of democracy, this once "light of the world," had withered.
Now was Britannia's age!
The sunset bled red.
Knightmare regiments pressed their pursuit, while the Princess's Royal Guard pulled back into the city, assuming control of its defenses. Garrisons streamed in, stationed throughout Altstadt, Kneiphof, and Löbenicht—including the Eleven Expeditionary Corps.
Many of them were filthy, covered in soot and dirt that spoke of the brutal battles they had endured. Among them were a few scarce [Sutherland]s, more mechanized infantry.
The ancient royal gates, the cathedral, the castle, the town hall—all now flew Britannia's flag of eagle and serpent beneath the crown. In the crimson twilight, it fluttered proudly.
The deep-blue banners of the E.U. fell, trampled beneath marching boots.
War correspondents and chroniclers recorded the moment in their own ways.
Suddenly, cheers swelled both inside and outside the city.
"All Hail Vela!"
One sharp-eyed journalist realized what it meant. Sprinting to an open view, he pulled out his camera, dove to the ground, and caught the angle. Click!
In the frozen instant, a picture was born.
With retaken Königsberg as backdrop—the Britannian flag rising, cheering veteran soldiers, the trampled E.U. banners, the proud Knightmares—and descending through the sunset's golden light, a steel giant.
Its proud, seraph-like form gleamed, clad in silver, gray, blue, and gold. Taller and larger than any Knightmare frame in service worldwide!
[Excalibur]—personal machine of the supreme commander of Euro Britannia's military and government, the Third Princess.
Vela guided her Knightmare to the city center—Kneiphof Island, also known as Kant Island.
More precisely, to the Cathedral of St. Mary and St. Adalbert.
Once the fortress-monastery of the Teutonic Knights.
A red-brick Gothic cathedral of austere beauty.
At least, the retreating E.U. garrison had not dared provoke her by enacting scorched-earth tactics here.
Vela narrowed her eyes.
Only after entering the cathedral, offering tribute and prayers to her ancestors, would this "special military operation" be half complete. The other half depended—on speculation, and on how well-preserved the cathedral was…
If some fool had truly hoped to weaken her political capital by destroying royal tombs, monuments, churches, or ancestral castles—then the game of knightly war was over.
She would show them what ruthless war meant.
Thump, thump.
After a brief flight, the ground quaked faintly as Vela landed [Excalibur] with her personal guard.
This guard was unlike the mixed-arms Royal Guard. They were professionals—bodyguards, few in number, whose sole duty was to protect and cover Vela's retreat should the battle collapse.
Whether or not they were ever needed, they had to exist.
Preparation was survival. On this matter, Vela never spared expense.
Thus, all of them were equipped with the newest seventh-generation prototype mass-production Knightmare, the [Vincent-α], waiting at ease.
Surrounded by her retinue, the Third Princess's majesty shone all the brighter.
The ground personnel had been awaiting her arrival for some time.
When Vela stepped out of [Excalibur]'s cockpit, using the machine's outstretched hand as a platform, she descended lightly and gracefully. A crisp chorus of metal rang out as lances crossed in salute. Officers stood tall, heels of their boots clicking sharply together as they saluted.
Vela returned the gesture.
As she walked inward, she asked, "Who was the first to ascend?"
"Lieutenant Brown of the Royal Guard."
No noble title, meaning not of aristocratic birth.
"Bestow the title of Knight-Banneret. Promote him three ranks. After the campaign, order him to attend the officer academy."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"How did the Elevens perform?"
"Very bravely. Had it not been a matter of assignment, the first to breach Königsberg might have been one of them. The Special Dispatch's prototype guided weapons proved effective. In my view, they are ready for greater responsibility."
"Arrange it. Tomorrow morning, before we return to St. Petersburg, I will hold a ceremony here in Königsberg to decorate the meritorious."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Inform the army: the campaign objectives are complete. East Prussia is our endpoint. Excess is as bad as deficiency. As for the Polish Corridor… it is not yet time."
...
Ascending the cathedral steps, Vela continued to speak with her advisors on political and military matters until the great bells tolled the hour, cutting short her discussion.
A retainer of Hohenzollern descent bowed and said: "Your Highness, the French at least had some honor. They did not desecrate the tombs."
"Lead the way."
Tap, tap.
With her closest attendants, Vela entered through the cathedral's main doors.
Compared to the ornate, extravagant Gothic cathedrals of Central and Western Europe, this one—resting place of many Grand Masters of the Teutonic Order—was unexpectedly austere, built of red brick.
The high windows on either side were plain, made of single-color or dual-color glass, far less dazzling than the stained glass of famous churches.
The passage to the underground crypt was narrow and dim.
By now the sun was nearly set. Torches flared, oil lamps lit. Guided by the presiding priest, they soon reached the burial site of Vela's maternal ancestors.
[Albrecht von Hohenzollern of Prussia]
So read the gravestone.
The last Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights—who had secularized the Order under Lutheranism, founding the Duchy of Prussia as its first duke.
The rituals of homage, the gestures of political legitimacy, were one side of the matter.
The other side—
While her companions bowed heads and placed hands to their chests, Vela's indigo eyes scanned the surroundings swiftly, almost imperceptibly.
Murals and frescoes, intact and preserved.
Mythic figures, praises, and saints were unimportant. The key was—
Geass.
Silent thought. In Vela's irises, a crimson avian sigil glimmered faintly.
It mirrored what was painted on the mural—a sudden, jarring red bird-mark, jewel-like, upon the forehead of a depicted figure.
...
Meanwhile, beneath the dusky sun, in a realm unknown—
"My, Charles, your child. Yet another has touched a fragment of Geass's power. Unlike that rebellious boy, she—she should become your ally."
"Yes, brother."
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven