The stalemate at Abbeville continued. Charles sent men to destroy all bridges downstream of the Somme River that could be used for crossing and arranged for personnel to strictly monitor every ferry point.
Although the Duke of Bourbon intended to force a crossing to break the enemy, he ultimately returned empty-handed.
Undoubtedly, both sides were anxious.
The Duke of Bourbon was eager to deal with the enemy from the direction of Burgundy, as he feared the Emperor's army would strike from another direction. At that time, his force would have to deal with two enemy armies of comparable strength and might even have to carry out a long-distance forced march; the pressure was unimaginable.
Charles was also anxious. Although he really wanted to try to engage the French Army in a decisive battle, now that he knew the Emperor's grand army was on its way, his primary goal became meeting with the Emperor and then jointly defeating the main French forces.
If the intelligence from his spies in Paris was correct, Louis XI had thrown out almost all his hole cards to deal with the war situations in Orléans and Rouen.
Now, the defenders of Paris consisted of only nearly five thousand guards spontaneously formed by citizens, less than five ordonnance companies, and a few hundred members of the Scottish Guard.
If the main French force could be annihilated or routed in a field battle, the defenders of Paris would no longer have the capacity to counterattack, and they could completely trap Louis XI in Paris until he died.
If the French Army retreated into the city to hold out, although things would become tricky, victory could still be achieved through a siege. After all, besides the troops in his hands, Louis XI had no other available armies or support forces.
Of course, all of this was predicated on being able to successfully meet with the Emperor's army, which was precisely the greatest difficulty Charles faced now.
The Duke of Bourbon wouldn't leave, and Charles couldn't leave either. Everyone stayed at Abbeville, crouching on both banks of the Somme River every day looking at the sea, not knowing if the other side of the sea held their enemies or allies.
During the period of confrontation between Charles and the Duke of Bourbon, Edward IV's army had set out from York and crossed more than half of England at an extremely fast speed.
When passing near Oxford, the Earl of Warwick and his allies organized an army twice the size of Edward IV's, intending to intercept him.
However, Edward IV commanded his troops to skillfully bypass them.
When the Earl of Warwick discovered the York army had appeared in his rear, he hurriedly led his grand army to break camp and pursue, but unfortunately, it was all too late.
The citizens of London had always loved Edward IV rather than Henry VI, so the House of York's army took the capital without shedding a drop of blood.
After the Duke of Clarence and Lord Hastings arrived with their armies to join him, Edward IV's army barely reached ten thousand men, while the allied forces of the House of Lancaster and the Earl of Warwick, who had followed him all the way, numbered fifteen thousand.
The two sides then engaged in a decisive battle outside London. The House of Lancaster's army was exceptionally brave but lacked unity; they achieved a difficult victory after a fierce battle.
Henry VI, who was held hostage, and the Earl of Warwick, who was not trusted by his allies, both died unexpectedly in this battle. Edward IV was also seriously wounded and escaped the battlefield protected by his knights.
The three brothers of the House of York soon gathered their defeated soldiers and fled north, intending to return to York to regroup. Meanwhile, the House of Lancaster, having regained control of the situation, decided to send an invitation to the English Queen, Margaret of Anjou, who was still staying at the French King's court, asking her to bring her son, Prince Edward, back to London to be crowned king.
This chess game controlled by Charles and Louis XI seemed to finally end with the victory of King Louis XI.
Regardless of the outcome of this war, it was unlikely for the English to intervene in continental struggles for the time being; however, in the foreseeable future, the formation of an Anglo-French alliance seemed destined.
Laszlo remained completely ignorant of this; he was currently feeling delighted by a piece of good news.
After an election lasting several days, his advisor Bernhard was finally elected as the new Pope, taking the regnal name Benedict, known as Benedict XIII.
This name was not chosen at random, but was the result of an early agreement between Laszlo and Bernhard.
Since the beginning of the 15th century, a total of four antipopes had appeared in all of Europe. Excluding the farce where a certain Duke of Savoy with nothing better to do was elected as an antipope, the remaining three antipopes all came from Avignon.
Their names were also very distinctive: Benedict XIII, Benedict XIV, and Benedict XV. Among them, Benedict XV was the one currently in Avignon controlling the rival Curia, the former Archbishop of Lyon from the Bourbon family.
However, for the Holy See in Rome, these three Benedicts were all illegal and heretical. Therefore, in the records of the Holy See, there had only ever been twelve Popes with the regnal name Benedict.
To remind people of this fact and prevent the confused lambs from being deceived by the ambitious French, Laszlo and Bernhard finally came up with this idea.
In this way, Rome had a Benedict XIII, while Avignon still had a Benedict XV. This directly negated the French resistance to the Holy See over the past few decades and brought great shock to all believers.
And this result was exactly what Laszlo expected.
As the new Pope took office, he would inevitably need some time to adapt in Rome, but Bernhard promised he would soon find a way to secure more funding for the Emperor.
With Bernhard's election, the position of Archbishop of Salzburg was left vacant.
Under Laszlo's nomination, Sixtus von Tanberg, who was originally the Bishop of Gurk in Styria, was successfully elected as the new Archbishop of Salzburg. His other identity was as the beloved nephew of Bernhard.
For Bernhard, who had already been elected Pope, Laszlo naturally didn't mind doing him a favor. Moreover, this Sixtus was also one of his many court advisors.
The vacant position of Bishop of Gurk was granted by Laszlo to another court cleric and civil servant, Lorenz von Freiburg, who came from a prominent family in Outer Austria.
This was a means of gathering people's hearts, not only allowing the court attendants to serve him more wholeheartedly but also winning over local noble forces.
Furthermore, he had already taken a fancy to one of Lorenz's brothers, the leader of the Freiburg family, intending for him to succeed Matthias as the Governor of Outer Austria.
As for his direct granting of the title of Bishop to his trusted attendants, no one could raise questions or accusations.
According to the contents confirmed in the bull issued by Paul II in 1469, all bishops within the entire Austrian Archdiocese should be nominated, recommended, and selected by the Archduke of Austria. This was a privilege exclusive to the Habsburg Family, confirmed by Holy See documents.
From obtaining permission to establish new dioceses from Pius II and escaping the interference of the Bishop of Passau, to gaining absolute control of the dioceses under Paul II, Laszlo had achieved all this through only two generations of Popes. He was very much looking forward to what a new Pope from Austria could bring him.
However, those were problems to be considered later. Right now, he was facing a difficult choice.
Outside the city of Nemours, within the camp of the Imperial army, Laszlo convened an emergency military meeting.
"Everyone, through this period of reconnaissance and communication, we have roughly grasped the enemy's movements."
Laszlo pointed at the map, and the generals' attention was immediately drawn to it.
"In Chartres, there is a French Army of less than five thousand men; their goal is to relieve Orléans.
The army besieging Orléans is another French rebel army, led by Louis XI's brother, the Duke of Berry. It is slightly larger in scale, but its advantage is also very limited."
"Your Majesty, we probably shouldn't pay too much attention to this direction. Or do you intend to strike this secondary force first?"
Laszlo turned his gaze to Jacques, the Duke of Nemours, who quickly explained, "This is intelligence I obtained from the Duke of Berry. He is confident in dealing with this makeshift enemy force."
"I hope you can have a comprehensive understanding of the enemy's strength and troop deployments. This will significantly increase our chances of victory."
Laszlo's words gained the unanimous approval of the generals, and the tension in their hearts eased slightly.
"Not far ahead of us is Fontainebleau, a suburban town of Paris. There is a royal hunting palace and a solid fortress there. It is said that Louis XI has strengthened the local defenses in hopes of delaying our progress.
There are also two hundred thousand citizens in Paris who can easily organize a massive guard to protect the capital. This means there are still many obstacles ahead of us."
Many generals showed solemn expressions upon hearing this, and pressure began to spread among the participants.
Besieging a city was the topic everyone was most reluctant to touch upon, especially since they weren't attacking some ordinary town this time.
A town with a royal palace and the capital of the Kingdom of France—it didn't sound like a place that could be easily captured.
Marshal Albrecht, however, noticed a blind spot at this moment and asked, "Your Majesty, where is the main French force?"
"Abbeville. This is the news the messenger brought me, though some time has passed, and I cannot be certain if the French Army has moved.
At least ten days ago, they were still confronting the Burgundian army led by Charles across the Somme River at Abbeville."
Hearing Laszlo's answer, the Marshal showed a look of realization. "No wonder we fought our way from the Burgundian heartland to the vicinity of Paris without encountering any powerful resistance. It turns out the Burgundians helped us hold back the enemy."
"In other words, the Burgundian army is also currently tied down by the main French force, making it difficult for them to meet with us." The usually calm Laszlo also showed a look of difficulty now, and the generals quickly understood the key issue this military council was to discuss.
"Do you have any plans?"
"Waiting here forever is not a solution. Therefore, I intend to stop approaching Paris and not cross the river from Fontainebleau. We will head north directly from Nemours, find a ferry to cross the Seine River, and then advance along the road toward the Somme River."
The generals in the tent looked at each other, and there were even some whispers. Even the Duke of Saxony couldn't help but give a bitter smile. "Your Majesty, you are bolder than us."
Although they knew the location of the main French force, that was intelligence from many days ago. They didn't know where the French Army was now, and the risk of striking north under such circumstances was not small.
"I admit there is an element of gambling in this, but we are not without advantages." Laszlo traced several routes on the map. "We have already bypassed Troyes and Reims. If we bypass Paris and go from Nemours to Péronne, the only relatively important town in between is Soissons. Once we reach Péronne, meeting with the Burgundian army will be much simpler."
"What should we do if we encounter an interception by the main French force?"
"Leverage our reconnaissance advantage. It would be best if we can avoid an encounter. If we do run into them, then we will inevitably have to fight a hard battle."
Laszlo had actually performed a thorough calculation.
Given the efficiency of information transmission, if the French Army had previously received news of his advance on Paris, they might be returning to reinforce Paris now, or they might continue to confront Charles. In any case, if the French Army wanted to intercept him before he reached Picardy in the north, they would have to approach with a high-speed forced march, which was actually very difficult.
Because before that, the news brought back by the messenger to Burgundy was that the French Army had just rushed from Paris to Normandy and followed the Burgundian army all the way to the banks of the Somme. At this time, they were likely still staying in Normandy. To rush over, they would have to cross at least one or two hundred kilometers, which gave Laszlo enough room to operate—Charles didn't dare move, but he did.
"Your Majesty, perhaps you should pay attention to logistics issues," Jacques suddenly spoke up, drawing everyone's attention. "As far as I know, the French King has already ordered the villages and towns around Paris and in the Champagne region to implement scorched earth tactics. Some villages and towns have underground shelters, and suburban citizens will transport supplies into the cities and reinforce the walls to deal with attacks.
This was the method used by Marshal Du Guesclin when he broke the English back then, and it is now widely used."
Laszlo's expression darkened as he remembered such a figure.
Du Guesclin was the commander of the French Army during the second phase of the Hundred Years' War and the general most valued by King Charles V. He played the Fabian strategy to perfection. Although he never fought any stunning large-scale battles, he recovered almost all the territory France had previously lost, literally driving the English to the brink of madness with delays, irregular raids, and scorched earth tactics.
If it weren't for the later accession of Charles VI, the 'Mad King,' the Hundred Years' War might not have lasted over a hundred years.
"From here to Péronne, it is estimated to take thirteen days. Our supplies are still very sufficient, so there is no need to worry about this."
Laszlo had previously extorted the towns and villages of the Duchy of Nemours one by one, and combined with the materials raised from Burgundy and the Empire, they were relatively well-supplied.
With the last bit of doubt resolved, the generals also felt the Emperor's determination and returned to their camps to reorganize their troops, preparing to break camp and head north.
In the end, they didn't want to waste away here under the walls of Paris either. Relying only on their current forces was not enough to take the city by storm; the best way was still to defeat the enemy army in a field battle.
In any case, they didn't believe the French were all iron men who could still perform miraculously in battle to repel them after repeated long-distance forced marches.
Moving the enemy seemed to be one of the Emperor's goals as well; the key would be to see how the French would choose to respond next.
In Paris, on a square near the royal palace, squads of citizens wearing their own armor and holding spears, bows, and arrows gathered under their respective banners.
These banners belonged to the seventy-seven guilds of Paris and various departments of the royal government; whenever Paris was under siege, they would be called upon to defend the city and their property.
News of the Imperial Army's approach had previously sent waves of panic through the city, but the citizens quickly began war preparations under the command of royal officials.
On a high platform erected in the center of the grand square, Minister Cardinal La Balue was delivering an inspiring speech, though to little effect. The huddled citizens whispered among themselves, discussing various matters and paying little heed to the Cardinal's empty words.
"The enemy has reached the walls of Paris again. What's the point of paying so many taxes to support His Majesty's army?"
"Exactly. Paris was besieged twice by the Burgundians in recent years, and now that Emperor is attacking again. I heard he's coming for our King."
"Even at a time like this, His Majesty still stays cooped up in the palace like always, refusing to even show his face, let alone lead an army to protect France."
"You lot, shut your mouths! If the King's spies hear you, you'll be sent to the Bastille!"
Hearing the whispers of several citizen soldiers under his command, the squad leader immediately frowned and interrupted them.
The Bastille—that specific name immediately struck fear into the citizens. They fell silent at once, as quiet as cicadas in winter, glancing around nervously.
The King's barber, formerly a street thug, had eyes and ears all over Paris. Once anyone was caught slandering His Majesty, they would be thrown into the Bastille to be tortured and then executed.
Thinking of how those caught would eventually be tortured beyond recognition, the men wisely chose to stop discussing any topics regarding the King.
But besides that, what else could they talk about?
The Gendarmes who broke into private homes to seize supplies?
Or the Taille, which was levied four or five times a year?
Needless to say, these were also forbidden topics.
"Citizens, our motherland has reached its most critical moment. France needs your strength."
"His Majesty will be with you. Paris shall never fall!"
Bishop La Balue's impassioned speech finally stirred some emotion, and the citizens began to shout in unison, "Defend Paris to the death!"
This was not just for their King, but for their own families, property, and even their lives.
Charles of Burgundy had long been infamous. Even John 'the Fearless'—Charles's grandfather, who orchestrated the Great Purge in Paris years ago—was not half as brutal as Charles.
As for the Emperor, they had heard many legends about him and knew of his illustrious military achievements against heathens and heretics.
However, it seemed that these Parisians had now become the new heretics due to the emergence of the Avignon Papacy. From this perspective, the Emperor's terror reached a new level.
Due to various factors, including religious beliefs, the citizens' determination to defend the city and fight was not very firm.
For the most part, they were not fighting for the King who constantly bled them dry, but for themselves and their families.
Inside the French King's palace, Louis XI, much maligned by his subjects, was discussing strategies with his ministers and advisors in the court.
"The worst-case scenario has occurred. The Emperor's army has reached Nemours. That traitor from Armagnac has brought the enemy to Paris."
The King's face remained grim. Ever since Charles inherited Burgundy, his mood had never been good.
He couldn't understand it. They were all among the three great 'Princes of the Lilies,' yet he had easily handled the Duke of Anjou and the Duke of Orléans. Only the House of Burgundy caused him endless trouble and grief.
They were all branches of the royal family. Wouldn't it be better if they simply died out without heirs and returned those vast fiefs to the King? This was originally the intention when the House of Valois granted these lands to its branches.
Louis swore that if anyone dared to mention granting fiefs to royal bloodlines again, he would absolutely torture them to death with the harshest punishments.
First, there were the three great dukes vying for power and suppressing royal authority, causing the national strength to decline and allowing England to take advantage. Later, his father Charles VII granted the duchies of Berry and Normandy to his younger brother. If he hadn't acted quickly, the royal domain would have been significantly reduced again.
Even though he now held Normandy firmly in his grasp, his brother, who only had the Berry fief left, still caused him no small amount of trouble.
Now was not the time for brotherly affection. If given the chance, he would definitely strike at his brother without hesitation, showing him what it meant by 'the most heartless is the royal family.'
"Your Majesty, how about recalling the Duke of Bourbon to deal with the Emperor's army first?" someone suggested.
"Not a good idea," Louis XI snapped, shaking his head in rejection. "Paris won't have any problems for the time being. Right now, I'd rather see the Burgundians crushed."
This time, he had given the Duke of Bourbon full trust, placing a large number of elite troops under his command. Unfortunately, Charles seemed to have suddenly become smarter and fled back to the north bank of the Somme River ahead of time.
The Duke of Bourbon... should be able to find an opportunity to annihilate the Burgundian army, right? Louis XI could only hope so in his heart.
"Then... how about trying to resolve the enemy situation in Orléans first? That way, the Count of Maine's troops could return to reinforce Paris, strengthening the city's defenses and keeping the enemy out."
"The Count of Maine reported that his vanguard was wiped out in an encounter, and he is now seeking more help to lift the siege of Orléans. Tell me, what ideas do you have?" Louis XI asked with a headache.
"Your Majesty, do you remember the tactic you used during the first War of the Public Weal?" a minister reminded him.
Louis XI narrowed his eyes, immediately thinking of the method he was once best at.
"But they've been deceived several times already. How could they fall for it again?" Louis XI was self-aware regarding his own integrity, so he wasn't very interested in this proposal.
"Your Majesty, as long as you are willing to increase the stakes to show your sincerity, I believe your brother will be willing to return to the embrace of France."
"Be specific."
"If you can promise to grant the Duke of Berry the title of Duke of Aquitaine and order him to suppress the rebellion south of the Loire River, we can solve two troublesome problems at once."
"You want to die..."
Halfway through his sentence, Louis XI suppressed his anger and spared the minister's life amidst the man's terrified gaze.
He had just said he didn't want to hear about granting royal lands, and immediately someone suggested it. Yet, this was the only feasible way at the moment.
The Duchy of Aquitaine, located on the southwestern coast of the Kingdom of France, was already under weak royal control. Local affairs were almost entirely controlled by the Albret and Foix families. After the Armagnac rebellion broke out, the crown had directly lost control over large territories south of the Loire River.
Giving this land to his foolish brother would not only win over some people's hearts but also allow him to use his brother to deal with the rebellious Armagnacs in the south.
Furthermore, once his assassination plan was successfully carried out, no matter how much territory the childless Duke of Berry held, it would eventually return to the King.
This way, he could use the Duke of Berry to clean up the southern rebels and strengthen royal control over the southern domains. Once the Duke of Berry outlived his usefulness, he would find a way to take his life, and the territory would naturally return to the King. Everything would be so convenient.
"This is indeed a good plan. Since you proposed it, you shall go as an envoy to the rebel camp in Orléans to negotiate with my brother.
I will prepare a precious gift for you to bring to him. Remember to give him my regards."
"Ah? Your Majesty, this..."
"Do you have any complaints?"
"I wouldn't dare."
"Then go and do it well. Once it's done, you will receive a generous reward."
"Yes."
After the discussion, the minister who received the order soon set off for Orléans with Louis XI's personal letter, attempting to persuade the Duke of Berry to change his mind and leave the rebels.
As for the Emperor's army on the other side, Louis XI wasn't too worried for the time being. After all, Fontainebleau had not yet fallen, and the situation wasn't as critical as imagined.
However, for some reason, he had a nagging bad feeling in his heart.
The Paris Basin was flat and open, with fertile land. Even in summer, the temperature was not too hot.
Under the guidance of the Duke of Nemours, Laszlo was leading the Imperial Army across this land.
It was now late July. The Paris Basin, famous for its richness, should have been in the harvest season with waving wheat and the sound of sickles. Instead, the vast wheat fields by the roadside were a mess.
Residents of nearby villages had rushed to harvest the crops, and some wheat fields that couldn't be harvested in time were set on fire, burned to ashes like clearing land, turning the area into a grainless wasteland.
Laszlo and Marshal Albrecht walked to the edge of the fields, seeing only scattered grains of wheat mixed with mud and dry grass; even the stalks were few and far between.
In the distant furrows, a few ragged farmers who had been bent over picking up remaining wheat ears immediately scattered and fled upon seeing the fierce Imperial Army and the fluttering Eagle Banner.
The wind swept across the wilderness, carrying not the fragrance of a bountiful harvest, but ashes and dust.
"These Frenchmen are certainly ruthless, treating us like the English."
Laszlo sighed helplessly.
"Fortunately, we were well-prepared. Otherwise, even in this harvest season, we might not have been able to supply the army's provisions."
The Marshal's mood was also heavy. Seeing the firm resistance of the French people inevitably affected their state of mind.
"Let's go. Let's see if we can find a town along the way that can provide us with some supplies."
Laszlo mounted his horse and soon followed the road into a nearby village.
The door panels of these farmhouses had long been removed, and some houses had even collapsed. The exposed mud walls were blackened by smoke, and several unburied animal carcasses lay by the foundations. The air was thick with a suffocating stench of rot, attracting swarms of flies.
The village was eerily quiet, with no one in sight. Only a crude village fort stood on a nearby small hill, where guards with crossbows stared in terror at the massive army passing slowly under their noses.
The sound of horse hooves, chaotic footsteps, and the creaking of wheels approached and then faded away, returning the land to silence.
Laszlo didn't even have the interest to glance at such a small earthen fort. He had just led his army quietly across the Seine River and now only wanted to rush toward the Somme River to the north.
The light cavalry from the Balkans were sent far out as scouts to ensure no movement was missed.
To Laszlo's relief, after marching for several days, they hadn't seen a single sign of the enemy except for the guards in the villages and towns they passed.
Clearly, the main French force previously stationed in Abbeville had not yet discovered Laszlo's true intentions, and the army in Paris was completely unable to pursue or delay him.
Thus, Laszlo and his army remained mysterious and moved forward without hindrance.
Whether there were Frenchmen secretly observing their movements, Laszlo didn't know, but he was well aware that the French only had one field army available.
On the contrary, he was now somewhat looking forward to the Duke of Bourbon leading the main French force across hundreds of kilometers to intercept them. Facing an exhausted army attacked from both sides, he was confident he could win.
As for the risk of making such a choice... it was a risk worth taking.
He had started the war against France shortly after ending his eastern campaign. Even though Austria's financial situation had greatly improved, simultaneously funding a war and the construction of main roads—two extremely costly endeavors—left the Austrian treasury with little silver.
Fortunately, with the support of many vassal states and economic backing from the Empire, Laszlo could still hold on, but he didn't want the war to last too long.
Striking France, besides preserving Burgundy, had another more important purpose: to weaken French power to prevent the Habsburg Family's hegemony from being threatened.
He couldn't destroy such a large country in a single war, but he had ways to throw it into chaos, weakening the French King's power so that local forces would grow and centrifugal forces would increase. That would be enough for him.
Historically, Louis XI was known as the 'patcher of French territory.' He indeed managed to piece together an almost complete map of France through various means, laying the groundwork for the later struggles for supremacy between France and Spain, and France and Austria.
Laszlo would not let him achieve his goal. Since Louis XI wanted to piece it together, he would tear it apart.
Now, Laszlo only hoped to quickly end this war triggered by Charles's coronation as King.
Rome, Vatican Palace.
Bernhard tightly gripped the scepter in his hand, surveying his surroundings with pleasure. This treasury belonging to Pope Paul II was filled with precious artworks everywhere, from ancient coins to exquisite paintings and stone carvings—all collections acquired at great expense by the previous pope.
Perhaps ordinary people would praise the pope's refined taste upon seeing these, but Bernhard, who had just been elected as the new pope, found these items vulgar and an eyesore.
Therefore, early in his tenure, he had ordered the disposal of these hundreds of collectibles. Now, most of the treasures had found suitable buyers.
"Francesco, complete the transactions as soon as possible. Sell all these useless things. I need money now, a lot of it. The Emperor is waiting for my support."
The new pope walked out of the papal treasury without looking back, entrusting this task to his defeated rival—Cardinal Francesco, who, after losing the papal election, still served as the head of the College of Cardinals.
"As you wish, Holy See. Within three days, the treasures here will be converted into a large sum of florins and delivered to you."
Francesco saw nothing wrong with Bernhard's approach; in fact, he had long wanted to do the same.
The Vatican's financial situation was already somewhat strained. Paul II, relying on the Emperor's support, indulged in pleasure in Rome and ended up with a good reputation, which was truly lamentable.
"The beautification project of the Venetian Palace can also be halted... Let me think, rename that palace the Austrian Palace. From now on, it will serve as the embassy of the Archduchy of Austria. What do you think?"
Bernhard couldn't quite understand why Paul II chose to live in that newly built palace outside the Vatican and spent a fortune on its construction.
However, this conveniently allowed him to offer the palace to the Emperor as a gift. By doing so, the Vatican wouldn't have to fund the remaining construction work—everything would be left to the Emperor.
Upon hearing the new pope's proposal, Francesco's gaze toward him shifted slightly.
He roughly guessed the reason for his own defeat.
Despite his close relationship with the Emperor, with frequent correspondence and the Emperor's high regard for his abilities, at the critical moment, the Emperor's support had entirely gone to Bernhard, the former Archbishop of Salzburg.
Now, Francesco felt he had finally found the reason.
If nothing else, Bernhard had truly put effort into pleasing the Emperor.
"I believe His Majesty the Emperor will be very pleased with this," Francesco replied with a smile, though it was somewhat stiff.
How could the Emperor not be pleased? Over the years, the Emperor had been seeking opportunities to infiltrate Rome, and many nobles in the city had already established friendly relations with him. Now, with the pope directly allocating land in Rome to Austria, there was nothing more to say.
"Hmm, have you contacted the lords around Rome?"
Having temporarily resolved his economic troubles, Bernhard began planning his next move.
"They are willing to raise an army for you to reclaim the Vatican's territory in Avignon, but the Vatican must cover most of the expenses."
"Sigh, if there were more time, I'd rather organize an army myself, expanding the Vatican's current small-scale guard into a Papal Guard directly under the Vatican's command," Bernhard lamented with some regret.
This idea didn't come from him but from a suggestion the Emperor had once made.
To suppress the lurking demons in Rome, the pope inevitably needed to develop an army. Even with just a few hundred men, they could dominate the city.
Although Laszlo is called the Roman Emperor, he couldn't possibly directly send a large army to suppress Rome, could he?
As for whether developing an army would pose a new threat... a force built for city defense and protection would hardly have such combat capabilities.
"Holy See, maintaining an army would likely bring immense financial pressure, and there would be significant resistance from the College of Cardinals... After all, the Vatican has always waged wars by organizing the Holy League, rallying the armies of secular monarchs to fight against enemies of the faith."
"Don't we still need some self-defense capabilities? Never mind, let's not discuss this. Speaking of secular monarchs, has there been a reply from the King of Naples?"
Previously, the Emperor had sent an invitation to Naples and received a response that Naples would provide naval assistance.
The specific method was for the Neapolitan Navy to act as pirates, patrolling outside the port of Marseille, joining the Genoese in plundering French merchant ships, almost completely blockading Marseille and cutting off all maritime trade routes to Southern France.
This level of support was more like taking advantage of the situation than aid, which happened to be the King of Naples' specialty.
"Ferdinand I is willing to provide you with six hundred elite soldiers, but he also made a request. He hopes you will bless the marriage of his daughter, Princess Beatrice, to Prince Maximilian, and send an envoy to witness their wedding—he recently plans to discuss this with the Emperor."
Francesco's words made Bernhard pause briefly before he couldn't help but smile.
Ferdinand's identity as a "bastard" had haunted him like a nightmare for most of his life.
When he inherited Alfonso V's legacy, he paid a large sum to the Vatican just to gain the pope's recognition.
Even so, the Duke of Lorraine of the House of Anjou twice led the French Army to invade Naples, but fortunately, their ambitions were ultimately curbed by the Emperor.
To escape the world's criticism and strange looks, Ferdinand racked his brains to enhance the legitimacy of his rule. The most important measure was arranging a marriage between his daughter and the Emperor's second son.
Even so, Ferdinand felt it wasn't enough. Now, he hoped to make this alliance more "formal" through the Vatican, while also avoiding the risk of the Emperor breaking the agreement.
Since this request involved the Emperor's son, Bernhard naturally had no reason to refuse.
"I agree to his request. Send someone to tell him that this marriage will receive God's blessing."
"Holy See, the most discussed matter in the College of Cardinals recently also involves a marriage. I believe Cardinal Rodrigo has already mentioned it to you..."
"Are you referring to the marriage between the Princess of Castile and the Prince of Aragon?"
"Yes, Cardinal Rodrigo, being of Aragonese origin, has been particularly focused on this matter lately, tirelessly lobbying members of the College of Cardinals to recognize this marriage, hoping you will grant them a Dispensation for Consanguineous Marriage."
"Hmph, this marriage is illegal. Paul II's handling was very appropriate, and it won't be any different under me!"
Joking aside, the Emperor had specifically warned about this. The Prince of Aragon had eloped with the Emperor's father-in-law's fiancée; there was no way he would issue a dispensation and bless this marriage.
Francesco looked somewhat troubled. He wasn't surprised by the new pope's attitude, given his allegiance to the Emperor, but the current situation was quite complex.
"Holy See, if you continue to refuse to recognize this marriage, it might affect the Kingdom of Aragon's stance toward the opposing Vatican. After all, the biggest supporter behind the Pseudo-Pope Benedict XIII in Avignon was the Kingdom of Aragon, and even that pope's guard was composed of Catalans from Aragon."
"What if Aragon supports the Pseudo-Pope in Avignon? It just means one more target for excommunication.
Don't worry, the Emperor will deal with those heretics supporting the Pseudo-Pope."
Bernhard waved his hand, signaling Francesco to change the topic. There was no need for further discussion on this matter.
After discussing a bit more, Francesco left the Vatican to carry out the tasks assigned by the pope.
Soon after, a "Papal Decree" spread wildly in Rome and throughout the Italian peninsula.
The newly ascended Pope Benedict XIII, also known as Bernhard, announced he would personally lead a Holy League army on an expedition to Avignon.
This army mainly consisted of troops provided by the Vatican's vassal lords and Neapolitan forces, totaling over two thousand men.
The funds supporting this army came from the Vatican's treasury and the proceeds from selling Paul II's treasury collections.
Shortly after the first harvest season passed, while the Emperor was galloping across French soil, the army gathered by the pope held a rally in Rome, determined to capture Avignon, reclaim the Vatican's territory and the famous papal palace there, and depose the Pseudo-Pope Benedict XV.
After a grand ceremony, Bernhard, accompanied by several Cardinals and his Vatican army, marched northward, heading straight for Milan.
Some suggested advancing toward France along the coast, but the envoy sent by the Vatican to negotiate with the Duke of Anjou brought back bad news: the other side had no intention of allowing the Vatican's army to besiege Avignon.
Thus, Bernhard had no choice but to lead his army north first to join the southern forces of the Imperial Army, then march together toward Avignon.
Soissons, a famous ancient city whose origins date back to classical times.
However, during the medieval urban revival, it wasn't particularly prominent, with a modest economy and a population of only a few thousand.
Located near the border between France and Burgundy, it had faced varying degrees of threat in past wars.
Even so, this was the only notable town on Laszlo's march.
Before approaching Soissons, the Imperial Army had swiftly captured and completely destroyed several weakly defended towns, gaining ample supplies, so Laszlo had no intention of engaging in a prolonged siege here.
Soissons' walls, built along the Aisne River, provided some protection to the core city area. Capturing it wouldn't be too difficult but would waste considerable time and manpower.
Thus, the Imperial Army circled around the city along the main road to the southwest, burning the outer city and suburbs to ashes before heading northward.
The residents who had taken refuge in the city could only watch the Imperial Army's retreating backs with resentment. The garrison on alert fired a few shots from the Small-Caliber Cannons on the walls as a farewell gesture.
Over the next few days, the Imperial Army didn't stop anywhere, marching straight north to Péronne, where they crossed the Somme River at the spot where Henry V had once crossed.
After purchasing some supplies from Burgundian merchants, the army moved downstream along the river, advancing toward Amiens.
Around the same time, two other armies were marching upstream side by side, but their target was Péronne, where Laszlo had just arrived.
Charles, who had been pinned down at Abbeville, recently noticed unusual movements in the French Army.
The Duke of Bourbon on the opposite bank, upon hearing news of the Emperor's army approaching Paris, could no longer stay calm. He immediately chose to march along the river, trying to find another suitable crossing point.
His mind was now filled with thoughts of quickly crushing the Burgundians and then returning to deal with the Emperor's army.
Charles couldn't let him have his way, so he immediately broke camp and gave chase.
The French Army and the Burgundian Army marched side by side along the banks of the Somme River. Whenever the French moved, the Burgundians followed closely, never giving the French a chance to slip away and cross the river.
Moreover, Charles loaded some lightweight Serpentine Cannons onto ships, sending them out from time to time to bombard the French Army during their rest stops.
Regardless of whether these bombardments caused damage, such psychological torment left the French soldiers resentful yet helpless.
Their cannons sometimes returned fire, but with little effect.
Both sides spent each day finding ways to mock and insult the enemy across the river. When tempers flared, they brought out cannons for a few rounds of fire, then continued marching along the river.
By the time both sides reached near Amiens, the Duke of Bourbon still hadn't found any opportunity to cross the river.
He didn't stay long in the well-defended Amiens but chose to lead his army further upstream to find a suitable crossing.
As the French Army marched, they once came very close to Amiens' walls. The garrison on the walls unhesitatingly poured fire from the cannons and all ranged weapons King Charles had stationed there.
When the French rearguard moved away from the walls, a unit of Burgundian Ordinance Cavalry charged out of the city, clashed with the French rearguard, then feigned retreat, trying to lure the French back into the garrison's firing range. However, the French, eager to leave, didn't fall for it.
After receiving supplies provided by Amiens' citizens, the Burgundian army's morale soared. They continued tracking along the river, shadowing the French Army like ghosts, leaving them no opportunity.
This thoroughly disgusted the French commanders, including the Duke of Bourbon.
The French Army, which had set out from Paris with high morale intending to crush the Burgundians, was now hindered by the natural barrier of the river, with their patience and morale constantly wearing thin.
Taunts from the Burgundians occasionally came from across the river. All they could do was respond with even dirtier language.
And what they least expected was that another dangerous army was approaching them.
Between Amiens and Péronne, there lies a low-lying area where the Somme River overflows, forming a marshy region containing numerous ponds and small lakes.
The waters here are tranquil and bountiful, practically a fisherman's paradise; in particular, the numerous and delicious eels have become a local specialty.
After tasting the uniquely flavored smoked eels, Laszlo had to admit that the French really knew a thing or two about cooking.
However, the terrain of the Somme Valley, with its dense network of waterways, was a massive headache for the Imperial Army, which left him quite frustrated.
Moving along the river to search for traces of allies and enemies was no longer feasible; the winding roads and soft soil brought considerable trouble to the march.
The artillery and supply wagons accompanying the army fell far behind the main force for these reasons; instead, the army composed mostly of nimble-footed infantry moved more quickly here.
Unfortunately, a sudden autumn rain in mid-September that lasted for several days made the road conditions deteriorate once again.
The muddy ground caused wheels and hooves to slip or sink from time to time; the artillery, already trailing the column, was now completely rendered useless.
Precisely at this time, the Balkan cavalry sent out for reconnaissance brought back news, claiming they had discovered French troops on the other side of the river. A small unit was looting a ferry crossing on the opposite bank, and the scouts had witnessed everything in secret.
"This is between Amiens and Péronne; how could the French be here?"
In a temporary tent set up in the forest near the riverbank, Laszlo and his followers were staring intently at the map, analyzing the current situation.
"Perhaps it's just a small unit looting nearby?" Ester guessed.
Since the Emperor had also placed the Austrian cavalry legions under his command, two light cavalry squadrons were frequently sent out on various missions, including but not limited to reconnaissance, looting, and raids.
When the army marched, the formation was very loose; often, each unit had to collect its own baggage and supplies, and the method was naturally simple: looting.
Only when scouts clearly identified enemy intelligence would the commander-in-chief gather the army to form a battle line.
The more elite the troops, the shorter the time needed for combat preparation and the less time spent in chaos.
However, the Emperor's emphasis on logistics was clearly different from that of previous commanders; he often invested more than half of the military budget into logistical preparations, only leading the army on an expedition after gathering enough pack horses, supply wagons, and materials.
This, on one hand, tested the abilities of the royal merchants, and on the other, required the royal finances to remain in good condition.
Fortunately, Austria was considered qualified in both respects, so the army's marching formation was relatively less loose and wouldn't be too panicked when a fight broke out.
Having endured years of war and maintaining a force of over twenty thousand men year-round, the French Army, whose treasury was long exhausted, clearly did not have such luxury. Thus, it was not strange to see French units scattered everywhere to collect military supplies.
"North of Paris, there is currently only one French unit that dares to roam outside, so it's quite obvious what finding traces of the French Army means.
The Duke of Bourbon is likely somewhere on the other side of the river, but since he is neither in Abbeville nor Amiens, what exactly is he doing here?"
Laszlo spoke with his chin in his hand, looking somewhat puzzled.
"Could the French be looking for an opportunity to cross the river?" Marshal Albrecht suggested a bold guess, staring intently at Péronne on the map, which was where they had just left.
During the time they were openly attacking Paris while secretly moving north, the French Army had likely been lingering on the south bank of the Somme River, which meant the Burgundy army was also likely nearby.
Only in this way could the French Army be pinned down for so long; otherwise, they would have turned back to deal with the Imperial Army long ago.
Laszlo also realized this possibility, which lifted his spirits.
Shortly after arriving in Péronne, he had already sent messengers galloping toward Amiens to search for traces of the Burgundy army; he expected to hear back soon.
"Where is the most suitable spot for an army to cross the river near here?" Laszlo asked, looking at his Burgundy guide.
"The terrain of the valley is very complex, and there are no suitable spots for an army to cross nearby. However, at the bend of the Somme River where the river cuts through the plains, the bridges and ferries there allow an army to cross easily."
"The bend... isn't that Péronne?" Laszlo realized that within a radius of dozens of kilometers, the most suitable place to cross the river was Péronne.
"What should we do, Your Majesty? Should we go to meet the Burgundians first, or head back to Péronne—even though we left there less than two days ago?"
Join forces with Charles first? Or intercept the French who might be crossing the river?
While Laszlo was still pondering this question, his messenger returned with several important pieces of news.
He had encountered the Burgundy army dozens of miles ahead of the main force. Hearing that Laszlo was already close at hand, Charles was eager to meet him.
However, the messenger also learned from Charles that the main force of the French Army was indeed advancing on the south bank, but the Burgundy army had lost track of them after they entered the valley area. Yet, it was certain that the French were moving upstream.
Unless the Duke of Bourbon had lost his mind, he wouldn't lead his army back to attack the heavily fortified Amiens.
This news made Laszlo feel suddenly enlightened, as if the fog of war that had been hanging overhead was blown away, and everything became clear.
"Keep moving forward to find Charles," Laszlo made his decision.
"Your Majesty, if the French cross the river..."
"Hmph, my biggest concern right now is that they won't dare to cross. If we let these troops escape back to Paris, that's when things will get troublesome."
Laszlo confessed his calculations to everyone.
He didn't intend to cut off the French before they crossed the Somme River; that would only scare them and make them flee toward Paris. If he allowed them to cross and they found the Burgundy army they were longing for a decisive battle with, only to discover the Imperial Army suddenly popping up, they would likely be quite "surprised."
Hearing this, everyone understood the Emperor's intention and felt extremely excited.
A decisive battle with the main French force was something they had long anticipated, especially with the help of an ally.
To prevent the army's movements from being exposed prematurely, Laszlo led the Imperial Army on a march far from the riverbank, meeting the Burgundy army rushing toward them in just one day.
The two armies camped on the spot to rest for a while, and after adjusting their deployment, they slowly approached Péronne with the Burgundy army in the lead and the Imperial Army following behind.
The Burgundians had been marching within their own territory all along and had rested for a long time beforehand, so they were full of combat strength and well-suited to lead the charge.
Laszlo had led his army across a hundred miles of enemy territory in over ten days. Although they hadn't seen much combat, the soldiers were somewhat exhausted, so they followed behind as a reserve force.
Everyone knew the real purpose of this arrangement, but Charles had no complaints.
Compared to the Duke of Brittany, who ran away upon hearing the enemy was approaching, the Emperor's reputation was as outstanding as ever. Upon learning he couldn't lead his army to meet, he actually personally led the Imperial Army all the way to the banks of the Somme River.
After joining forces, the coalition's size approached forty thousand, far exceeding the French Army under the Duke of Bourbon, which numbered only a little over twenty thousand.
The Imperial Army's weakness in cavalry was also supplemented by the ten Burgundian Compagnies dordonnance under Charles.
The only regrettable thing was that due to weather factors, the world-renowned artillery units of Burgundy and Austria temporarily lost their utility and were packed into the slow-moving baggage trains at the rear of the column.
The large number of muskets equipped by both armies also became useless. Fortunately, there were England Longbowmen and Genoa Crossbowmen in Charles's army, and Laszlo's troops also had some Crossbowmen.
However, looking at the continuous autumn rain, it likely wouldn't be easy for the archers to pull their longbows, and the flight distance of the arrows would clearly be affected.
If the weather conditions didn't improve by the time the two sides met, the outcome of the war would ultimately be decided by bloody melee combat.
Meat-grinding was no difficult task for the experienced Imperial warriors.
In Péronne, the Somme River made a sharp turn, changing from an east-west direction to nearly north-south, and even branching off a tributary from its original course.
Not far from the south gate of Péronne, a triangular island was surrounded by water, with two bridges connecting both banks of the Somme River.
Two French detachments had already crossed the river. One part set up positions on the north bank, intending to build a bridgehead to protect the subsequent crossing, while another group rested on the island in the river, waiting for the rest of the troops.
The French Army led by the Duke of Bourbon marched slowly across the great plains on the south bank in an extremely loose formation; from a distance, the marching column could be seen stretching for several miles.
Most were on horseback, with only the miserably conscripted auxiliary troops following behind the Ordonnance Men-at-Arms, trudging through the torrential rain.
The Duke of Bourbon led the center army forward slowly, his emotions unusually stirred.
He had finally reached Péronne before the Burgundians. Once they crossed this river, Charles would have nowhere to run.
However, news from Paris not long ago cast a thick shadow over the bright future.
According to reliable sources, the Imperial Army suddenly vanished after approaching Paris. Based on subsequent intelligence, the Emperor likely led his army north.
Judging by their tracks, the Emperor might be heading for Champagne, likely intending to conduct looting activities there.
However, another possibility could not be ignored: that the Emperor was coming for him.
He just didn't know exactly where the Imperial Army was now. Due to the delay in intelligence, he only knew that about twenty days ago, the Imperial Army had left Nemours and pushed north.
Gazing at the heavily guarded Péronne in the distance, the Duke of Bourbon steeled his heart.
He had come this far; if he returned to Paris without even seeing a shadow of the enemy, His Majesty the King would surely impose the harshest punishment on him.
Without achieving a victory significant enough to stabilize public sentiment, he simply could not turn back like this.
"Lord Duke, Marshal André reports that no abnormalities have been found on the opposite bank. The small garrison in Péronne cannot pose a threat to us."
A messenger's report solidified the Duke of Bourbon's resolve.
"Order the whole army to prepare to cross the river."
"Yes, milord."
The Duke of Bourbon was the first to step onto the wooden bridge; it didn't look very sturdy, and the horse's hooves made some heart-pounding sounds upon it.
However, until he and all his guards reached the island in the river, nothing went wrong with the bridge.
Without staying long on this desolate, muddy, weed-choked island, the Duke soon led his troops across the other bridge to the north bank of the Somme River.
Not far from the bridgehead, the closed gates of Péronne could be seen. The garrison on the walls was ready; some shot arrows at the French who approached the walls, but due to the heavy rain, they had basically no accuracy.
The garrison on the walls soon thought of cursing as a method, intending to lure the French closer so they could kill a few French dogs.
Although they were subjects of France thirty years ago, they now undoubtedly belonged to a new kingdom.
They were now Burgundians; this was a fact Charles constantly emphasized to his subjects, telling them they were now entirely different from the French.
In other parts of Picardy, the effect of this propaganda was not significant, but along the Somme River, residents of many towns once ravaged by the French Army quickly accepted it.
They knew that the Imperial reinforcements had only recently left Péronne and that their King was on his way here, which was why they were emboldened to provoke the crossing French Army.
Unfortunately, after these days of tempering, the French had become basically immune to the Burgundians' curses and wouldn't foolishly approach the walls to die for it.
They wanted to catch the King of Burgundy's army, not to fight to the death at this small city.
The French Army, still kept in the dark, could hardly imagine that they were the ones being hunted.
A few miles west of Péronne, the French Army was setting up camp.
The Duke of Bourbon did not intend to advance rashly; he ordered trees to be felled to build a sturdy camp in the vicinity, waiting for the rest of the troops to cross.
By now, more than half of the French troops had crossed the Somme River, which had blocked them for nearly a month, and subsequent units were arriving continuously.
A piece of news that he should have known long ago reached his hands late due to some accidents: a cavalry unit that had gone alone to collect supplies found several villages along the way completely destroyed.
These villages were undoubtedly ruled by the King of France, so it was unlikely to be the work of friendly forces.
This suspicious news gave the French commanders a bad premonition.
And they were not yet aware that in the riverside forest not far from them, a massive army was lurking in secret.
The heavy rain showed no signs of stopping, obscuring vision and lowering the temperature, easily stirring up frustration and fear in people's hearts, especially for the soldiers about to face a bloody battle.
However, Laszlo and Charles, who were secretly approaching the French Army outpost to observe the enemy situation, were greatly encouraged.
The French were moving slower than they had anticipated.
Perhaps because their formation was already scattered, compounded by the interference of the heavy rain, the force of over 20,000 men spent half a day, yet only about half of the troops had managed to cross the Somme River.
The trailing troops were dragging their feet; even though the generals urged them on vigorously, they merely led their restless warhorses slowly across the bridge.
The French Army that had already crossed the river was deployed quite thoroughly.
The Duke of Bourbon divided the troops that had crossed into several sections, camping them a certain distance apart. Each section did not interfere with the others, but could receive reinforcement from other camps if one was attacked.
Consequently, disrupting the French Army's formation through a sudden attack on one flank was no longer a simple task.
"It seems this Duke of Bourbon is not someone whose reputation is undeserved. It's a pity that the timing, terrain, and unity are not on his side right now. Victory will be ours."
Laszlo sighed with emotion, while also boosting the morale of those around him.
"At this speed, the French probably won't all cross the river before nightfall today. So, how long should we wait?" Charles was clearly impatient.
"It's almost time. As long as we annihilate all these French Army units that have crossed, there won't be much suspense left in this war."
Although Laszlo really wanted to remain patient and wait a bit longer, judging by the speed at which the French Army was building defensive positions, he feared that by the time the subsequent troops arrived, things like trenches and chevaux de frise would already be in place.
By then, the effect of a surprise attack would likely be greatly diminished.
"In that case, we proceed according to our original plan?"
"Are the troops sent into Péronne city all in position?" Laszlo looked at the French Army camping southwest of Péronne city, confirming the key element of the battle one last time.
"Don't worry, several cavalry teams and some auxiliary forces successfully entered Péronne."
The location the French chose really wasn't very good. The plain where they were stationed was surrounded by the Somme River to the west and south, and there was a small lake to the east. The north shore of the lake held Péronne Castle, which was integrated directly into the city walls, effectively blocking the entire eastern side of the French Army, leaving only a small forest path on the south bank of the lake, sandwiched between the lake and the Somme River.
Passing through this path led to the crucial intersection. One end of the road was the South Gate of Péronne, and the other was the bridge leading to the small island in the river.
This was the Somme River Valley, land fragmented by waterways, and now it would become the burial ground for the French Army.
The main force of the Imperial Army was deployed in the dense woods northwest of the French Army camp, while Charles moved his troops to the plain north of the French Army—this was the only direction the French Army could currently move freely.
Another detachment, using the terrain to block visibility, detoured from the north and entered Péronne city to lie in wait for the opportune moment.
After confirming everything was in order, Laszlo and Charles quietly moved away from the French Army camp, which was filled with resentment.
Although the soldiers worked quickly, the things they were saying were not pleasant to hear; clearly, these men had long-standing grievances against their army commander.
This was undoubtedly a good thing for the coalition forces.
Before parting, Charles glanced anxiously at the troops Laszlo had hidden in the woods and, after a moment of hesitation, asked, "Are you sure it's alright to deploy your most elite troops here?"
"Don't worry," Laszlo patted Charles's shoulder and said confidently, "I am certain they have learned to fight like the Swiss. They will destroy the French formation from the flank; you only need to hold the pressure on the front."
Hearing this, Charles nodded, showing absolute trust in the Emperor.
As for what the Emperor meant by fighting like the Swiss, Charles was puzzled but assumed it was just another way of saying they were highly combat effective.
After all, he had not yet experienced the great battles of Grandson, Morat, and Nancy like the historical Charles, and he would not know the terrifying power of the Swiss, who could break down armies of thousands or even tens of thousands, traverse slopes and dense forests, reappear on the flanks or even behind the Burgundy Army, regroup, and advance—a force capable of frightening the Burgundy Army into scattering like birds and beasts.
The two men returned to their respective positions in the main army formation in the north. Due to the limited width of the battlefield, the coalition forces chose to form a tiered formation to engage the enemy. The 6,000 troops in the first line were commanded personally by Charles, who was accompanied by a mobile unit consisting of several hundred knights.
The second and third lines were mixed forces from the Empire and Burgundy, all commanded by Laszlo. All ranged units were placed at the rear; even the world-renowned English Longbowmen could not exert much power in this heavy rain.
The army, having finished assembling in the heavy rain, was now listening to the commander's brief and powerful speech.
This was a standard method for boosting morale. Compared to Charles, who repeatedly emphasized the deep-seated hatred between France and Burgundy, Laszlo's speech was much simpler.
It summarized to just a few points: For the Empire, for the faith, the battle forces are 40,000 against 20,000, the advantage is ours.
Yet, even such a brief speech was interrupted midway.
The French Army in the distance was the first to sound the horn; their scouts had finally spotted the large enemy force forming ranks and advancing on the plain two kilometers away. "Don't dawdle," Marshal André, who commanded the vanguard camping furthest north, rode through the camp, constantly urging the exhausted and slow-moving soldiers beside him to hurry up. "When those Burgundians get here, you either crush them with hooves, or get riddled with holes by the Flanders pikemen—choose one, now move!"
The soldiers looked up. In the rain curtain, the Burgundy Cross Flag was particularly conspicuous, while the other flag, symbolizing the King, was blurred.
On the flag that truly belonged to the King of Burgundy, they could see the familiar Fleur-de-lis, proof of their shared lineage.
But now, blood relatives had long since become mortal enemies, and they were nothing more than meaningless sacrifices in the internal conflict of the Valois Lineage.
Nearly a thousand French Army troops, hastily forming a formation, gathered north of the main camp under the Marshal's leadership and advanced a short distance toward the Burgundians before stopping to wait for friendly forces to arrive.
However, the friendly forces, like them, were exhausted from long marches in the rain and constructing fortifications, and their movements were even slower now.
Although units carrying square banners continuously joined the front line, they were still insufficient to fill the entire front facing the Burgundians.
On the Burgundy Army side, the triumphant Charles slowly followed the ranks, surrounded by knights.
Except for the knights accompanying him for emergency use, all other Burgundy Compagnies dordonnance cavalry were ordered to dismount and join the infantry formation for battle.
These well-equipped armored warriors and their retainers were placed in the center to serve as the spearhead of the grand army's assault, protected on both flanks by pikemen from Flanders and Picardy.
The armored warriors' boot soles sank deep into the mud, making a dull "squelch" sound with every step. Mud already clung to the gaps in their armor, and most had their helmet visors half-raised, revealing faces filled with excitement and pride.
The Flanders infantry advancing alongside them, although slightly inferior in equipment, compensated for this with their neat and orderly battle formation.
These pike-wielding infantry were densely arrayed, resembling a pack of beasts ready to devour their prey.
"God help us... there are just too many of them," a young mounted archer muttered, his voice trembling, among the dismounted French Army Compagnies dordonnance cavalry.
He and his companions had drawn the bows and arrows they usually carried. Some archers abandoned their bows and instead took up longswords and shields, preparing to meet the enemy alongside the dismounted heavy cavalry.
Hearing his murmur, Marshal André spat and said loudly, "Too many men? Just wait and see. Once we withstand this initial charge, reinforcements will pour in continuously, and then the Burgundians will be finished."
He turned his head and saw that cavalry units seemed to be gathering in the rear, and more Compagnies dordonnance companies were abandoning their warhorses and converging toward his position.
After secretly cursing the damned weather and terrain a few times, the Marshal focused his attention on the enemy before him.
Charles, who had slowly advanced to within a few hundred meters of the French Army, could now barely make out the enemy's situation.
The French Army unit blocking his path was entirely fighting on foot, which caused him a slight disappointment.
He had initially been hoping for the French Army Compagnies dordonnance cavalry to launch the first charge, but the French, caught by surprise, clearly lacked the ability to organize a cavalry unit capable of piercing the Flanders pikemen square amid the chaos.
The heavy horns of the Burgundians suddenly pierced the rain curtain, and the ready-to-go warriors began to quicken their pace, charging toward the enemy blocking their way.
"Shoot! Shoot!" The French Army commanders immediately gave the order.
The archers released the bowstrings they had strained to draw, shooting arrows that were heavy from the rain. Unfortunately, these arrows fell short and had no effect on the rapidly advancing Burgundy Army formation.
Seeing this, the mounted archers in the Compagnies dordonnance completely gave up hope, drawing the swords and shields they carried, preparing for a bloody melee.
Accompanied by roars, the Burgundian pike formation advanced irresistibly, piercing straight through the French Army's frontline formation like a sharp dagger.
The expected meat grinder did not materialize; the French Army on the front, heavily outnumbered, was immediately pierced, then divided and surrounded, and soon completely routed.
The clatter of weapons was swallowed by the sound of the rain, while heavy gasps, the dull thud of shattering bones, and death groans faintly seeped through the rain curtain.
Some French Army heavy cavalry, hastily assembled, attempted to break into the Burgundian formation from the flank.
The deafening sound of hooves drew everyone's attention. The knights roared, trying to accelerate in the mud, but they were like flies stuck in honey, unable to pick up speed. Some who pushed too hard even slipped and rolled off their horses, struggling desperately in the mud to get back up.
The Flanders men facing them didn't even stop to form ranks; instead, they met the elite knights, whose threat was greatly diminished by their lack of speed, with several rows of dense pikes. What followed was a brutal massacre.
The poor souls who were pulled from their horses, crushed by dead warhorses, or had fallen earlier but couldn't get up in time, were mercilessly slit by the Flanders men who arrived afterward.
The once fearsome Compagnies dordonnance cavalry were like beasts stripped of their fangs, reduced to being slaughtered at will.
Rainwater, sweat, blood... and perhaps urine poured together into the already chaotic mud, making it difficult to stand firm.
Thanks to the sacrifice of these men, the French Army in the subsequent camps finally finished assembling and, led personally by the Duke of Bourbon, met the attacking Burgundy Army.
A larger-scale melee erupted immediately.
The Compagnies dordonnance cavalry, having abandoned their horses, were still top-tier fighters. They quickly broke through the Burgundian formation, and the warriors from both sides mixed together in chaotic fighting.
In the standard six-man Lance Unit of the Compagnies dordonnance, there was only one heavy cavalryman used to charge the enemy line; the rest were light cavalry,
mounted archers, and retainers. The heavy cavalry, once dismounted, transformed into armored warriors, beginning to display their valor against the enemy.
In the center of the battlefield, the Compagnies dordonnance cavalry of France and Burgundy were locked in a fierce struggle.
Some were hacking at each other with swords, while many others simply discarded their restraints and engaged in bare-knuckle fighting. Only after pinning their opponent completely to the ground would they pull out a sharp dagger and stab it into the gaps of the plate armor, savoring their opponent's death throes, watching their life slowly ebb away, before plunging into the next fight.
The Flanders mercenaries were startled by the desperate ferocity of the French Army fighting with their backs to the wall. After suffering significant casualties, the flanks of the Burgundians began to waver.
Seeing this, the Duke of Bourbon immediately ordered the reserve forces to engage the flanks, attempting to crush the enemy forces on the front in one fell swoop.
However, although he had clearly dispatched men earlier to urge the troops on the far bank to rush over for support, not a single person was visible now.
Moreover, the Somme River, whose sounds had been drowned out by the battlefield clamor, suddenly produced some noise. But it wasn't the sound of flowing water—a unit bearing the Eagle Standard suddenly burst out of the forest along the riverbank, forming a highly aggressive Boar's Head Formation, driving straight into the flank and rear of the French Army line.
Almost simultaneously, the garrison returning from the lake reported news that made the Duke's heart stop: an enemy force had suddenly emerged from within Péronne city, cutting off the intersection leading to the bridge, and was firmly blocking the troops rushing over from the far bank.
Now, unless the French Army on this plain could physically swim across the Somme River or the lake to the east, they had absolutely no chance of escape.
Yet, this was still not the worst news, because they soon realized that the Burgundy Army, which had begun to show signs of decline, was merely the first of the enemy's several echelons, and a far larger army was slowly approaching the battlefield behind them.
Behind the active battlefield, several thousand troops led by the Imperial Marshal and Elector of Brandenburg, Albrecht, were slowly advancing. However, the Marshal's attention was not fully focused on the battle before him, for the person riding alongside him was none other than the Emperor himself, who should have been commanding the third line consisting of the Venetia, Bohemia, and Pressburg Legions, along with some irregulars.
Not only that, but the two trembling Princes were also following beside them.
Since their faces were hidden by visors, it was impossible to tell if this trembling stemmed from excitement or fear.
"Regardless, please take the two Highnesses and retreat to the rear, Your Majesty. It is too dangerous here; leave everything to me,"
the Marshal urged with a face full of anxiety.
Regardless of any political disagreements between him and the Emperor, on this battlefield, the other party was undoubtedly the sovereign he served, and he naturally had to ensure his protection was thorough.
Moreover, anyone with eyes could see that although the current battle was in a stalemate, the defeat of the French Army was only a matter of time.
If any accident were to befall the Emperor during this time, it would be a massive loss for the Empire.
Laszlo raised a hand to stop the Marshal's further persuasion, his tone filled with confidence: "The warriors of the Empire are about to charge into the fray; how can I hide far behind?"
"The French are already at their breaking point. Speed up the pressure, reinforce the two flanks of the Burgundians, and crush the enemy's final resistance."
"As you command, Your Majesty." The Marshal said no more, turning to order the sounding of the horn. This was the second horn blast of the Allied Forces, signaling that a fresh reserve force was about to enter the battle.
Soon, the speed of the Imperial Army's advance began to noticeably quicken. Due to factors like weather and terrain, aside from a small number of Swabia knights, most knights had abandoned their horses to stand in formation with the peasants and advance on foot.
They held a motley assortment of weapons—sabers, spears, swords, and halberds of all kinds—making them look entirely like a ragtag unit.
However, the Swabia, Rhineland, and Franconia knights positioned on both sides were absolute elites trained in the Germanic tradition, with individual combat prowess that even surpassed the French Army.
When fighting a winning battle, they were reliable.
The French, hearing the horn, did not yet know what was happening, but the Burgundians suddenly rallied as if they had been injected with adrenaline, and their wavering flanks began to stabilize.
Laszlo's gaze swept across the battlefield; those French cavalrymen clad in Milanese armor were indeed brave.
They swung their longswords to forcefully tear through the lines of Flanders spearmen—knowing that in the Battle of the Golden Spurs years ago, their French knight predecessors had been disastrously defeated by poorly equipped Flanders peasants. Now, having abandoned their horses to fight on foot on the muddy plains, their advantages of superior equipment and training were instead put to good use.
Roars, hacking, and wails; everywhere the eye could see was a sight too gruesome to behold.
Those "Flowers of Knighthood," with feathers tucked into their helmets and looking as if they had stepped out of an oil painting, were now in a wretched state, covered in blood, rain, and mud, rolling and fighting on the ground.
Laszlo turned his head to look at the two boys beside him; even through their iron plating, he could feel their tension.
Christopher had been suppressing an impulse—the impulse to vomit and turn to run away.
In this rain, the hellish scene had scared him out of his wits.
Severed limbs were everywhere, and bloody slaughter was all around; such a scene was far too intense for him.
Maximilian was slightly different; while the child's heart was also filled with fear, there was also a hidden trace of excitement. He even felt a slight urge to accelerate and charge alongside the warriors passing by.
Over a distance of several hundred meters, the soldiers shouted in unison, "God bless!" or "Long live the Emperor!" before charging toward the battlefield ahead.
Under the Marshal's command, the ranks began to adjust their formation and position, moving to the sides in an attempt to complete an encirclement.
The dense sound of footsteps seemed to make the ground shake. Facing the Imperial Army surging like a tide, the French Army could only feel a deep sense of despair.
Before long, the French left wing was the first to collapse under the multi-sided pincer attack.
They turned and fled; some ran toward their unfinished camp, only to find it already occupied by the Imperial Army. They then turned to flee eastward, crashing headlong into their own comrades who were still engaging the enemy.
Although the Duke of Bourbon had tried his best to organize a resistance, everything had already reached an irreparable state.
The increasingly ecstatic Burgundian and Imperial soldiers pursued the fleeing enemies with great effort, while more people rushed into the French camp to snatch horses and other spoils of war found everywhere, grabbing everything they set their eyes on as if at a buffet.
In the end, even Laszlo's own units could barely maintain their formation as they closely pursued the enemies fleeing to the east.
The panicked French only discovered upon reaching the eastern path that their retreat had been cut off by the Burgundians, and the subsequent reinforcing units were also blocked on the bridge—even more troops who had not yet crossed the river were jammed at the bridgehead on the south bank, unable to advance or retreat.
When they saw their completely isolated and surrounded comrades being driven into the rushing Somme River in batches, news of the crushing defeat spread like wildfire among the rear units and quickly evolved into a large-scale rout.
By that nameless small lake, the same scene was unfolding; batches of French soldiers threw away their armor and jumped into the freezing lake water. Only a few were lucky enough to escape to the other side and become prisoners of the Burgundians, while the rest drowned in the bone-chilling lake.
The French who hid in the woods were also found one by one by the pursuing Allied soldiers and became prisoners.
In just over two hours, the ten-thousand-strong French Army was completely annihilated, leaving behind over two thousand corpses, with countless others drowned in the Somme River and the lake south of Péronne. The remaining six thousand-plus became prisoners of the Allied Forces.
In an empty barn in the suburbs, the Emperor's Imperial Guard captured the wounded French commander, the Duke of Bourbon, along with several high-ranking generals. They were imprisoned, awaiting the Emperor and the King of Burgundy to decide their fate.
In this battle alone, two French Marshals were killed in action, one of whom had participated in almost all the battles of the latter half of the Hundred Years' War, including the expedition that invaded the Empire.
"An unprecedented victory, Your Majesty."
Meeting again in the French camp, Laszlo and Charles immediately shared a stirring... handshake.
Charles had originally intended to embrace, but considering the occasion and their statuses, he restrained the impulse in his heart.
"Calm down, Charles, the battle is not over yet." Laszlo looked around; the attendants had already begun to raise their swords high and cheer for victory.
"You mean, we should pursue those scattered enemies on the other side?"
"We have only annihilated half of the French Army. If we let the remaining troops escape back to Paris intact, while it won't be enough to change the overall situation, it will make things much more complicated.
Order the troops to rest well. I have already arranged for my army to pursue them, and your troops should follow as soon as possible."
"I understand, Your Majesty."
Charles accepted Laszlo's direction with a smile on his face.
Before leaving, he ordered a sword and the French banner to be delivered to the Emperor's guards.
That sword was found beside the body of Marshal André, the commander of the French vanguard. It was claimed to be the sword of the legendary French hero, the 'Eagle of Brittany,' Bertrand du Guesclin. Guesclin had once driven the English to the brink during the Hundred Years' War, but this time, France would likely find it difficult for another hero like him or Joan of Arc to appear.
Laszlo gladly accepted the gift and selected several of the highest quality horses from his own spoils to send to Charles as a return gift.
Early the next morning, the three Austria Legions that had not previously entered the battle were now crossing the bridge in an orderly fashion, while some warriors crossed the river in small boats from nearby fishermen, their efficiency being more than a step ahead of the French.
The French on the other side, having witnessed the slaughter of their comrades, had been completely terrified and had already vanished without a trace, leaving behind a great deal of baggage and miscellaneous items on the road. Even a large number of precious cannons were abandoned haphazardly by the roadside.
These spoils were naturally seized by the Imperial warriors who hadn't had time to scramble for them with their comrades, but they soon abandoned those heavy items that were inconvenient to carry; otherwise, they would be unable to complete the task assigned by the Emperor.
Pursuing the fleeing French was not a simple task, especially when the other side was equipped with many horses. Fortunately, they also obtained many horses from the Emperor to be used for travel and transport.
Those temporarily conscripted French auxiliaries had already scattered and fled when the army showed signs of defeat, and were unlikely to pose any threat thereafter.
The only organized units were the few Compagnies dordonnance that hadn't had time to cross the river. They barely maintained their ranks and retreated toward Paris under the leadership of a general.
Behind them was the relentlessly pursuing Imperial Army.
In Paris, at the French King's court, Louis XI held his forehead in a headache, waving his hand for the attendant to take away the bloody head.
The messenger he had sent to Orléans to persuade the Duke of Berry had suffered a major failure and had even lost his life for it.
According to the deputy envoy who escaped back, the Duke of Berry was almost persuaded when the Count of Nevers from the House of Burgundy suddenly burst into the tent with men. Without a word, he cut down the messenger and persuaded the Duke of Berry to persist in his claim to the French throne.
In that situation, the desire in the Duke of Berry's heart quickly gained the upper hand. His longing for the French throne overrode everything else, causing Louis XI's scheme of sowing discord to completely collapse.
The situation in Orléans was now precarious;
The Duke of Brittany was also leading an army to forage in the Loire Valley;
The battle situation in the north was still unclear. While the Burgundian army was difficult to annihilate, news of the Imperial Army heading for Péronne had also reached Paris not long ago.
Not good. The current situation could be described as quite unfavorable.
To be honest, Louis XI was already somewhat inclined to follow his father's example: abandon Paris, which was surrounded by enemies, and move the royal court to the safer south—Bourges, or Tours in the Loire Valley.
Currently, only that area was completely under the control of the royal family and was relatively safe.
The potential threats from the Armagnac rebels, Berry rebels, and Brittany rebels were not very strong and could be settled with a little effort.
Furthermore, if all else failed, he could retreat to Bordeaux, accumulate strength in Aquitaine, and wait for an opportunity for a comeback.
Louis XI snapped back to his senses, realizing he seemed to be thinking too far ahead and too pessimistically.
However, he soon discovered that his thoughts were not redundant.
"Your Majesty, the citizens are rioting." The spymaster Olivier, who had rushed into the palace, arrived before the King out of breath and reported with lingering fear.
"What's going on?" Louis XI furrowed his brows, questioning with a slight lack of understanding.
"Someone brought back news from the front. The large army led by the Duke of Bourbon was ambushed by the Burgundian and Imperial armies and was almost completely wiped out. "
"Now, the citizens, driven by fear, are gathering in the streets seeking your protection."
As Olivier spoke, he was secretly calculating in his heart.
Doing dirty work for the King over these years had allowed him to amass a lot of wealth, but it had also offended many people.
If the situation in Paris spiraled out of control, he would certainly die before the King, because the citizens hated him and his secret agents the most.
In the court, the gathered French ministers had already begun to whisper. The news just now was too much of a shock for them; many could not believe their ears for a moment.
"Gentlemen, you have all heard. If you have any opinions now, please voice them."
Louis XI tried his best to calm his emotions, restraining his impulse to roar.
He actually already had a decision in his heart, but he just didn't intend to propose it himself.
"Your Majesty, please appear before the citizens in person now to soothe their agitation and unease, and then send people to gather the remaining troops to organize a defense in Paris."
Bishop Labarthe immediately stood up. It was framed as a suggestion, but it sounded more like he was urging Louis XI to act quickly.
He knew very well that once Paris was abandoned now, then everything would be over.
However, Louis XI's reaction was unexpectedly indifferent. The King merely nodded and then turned his gaze to others.
"Your Majesty, Paris has no natural defenses and is surrounded by enemies. It's better to gather the remnants and head south to establish a solid base first, then look for an opportunity to launch a counteroffensive."
Another person gave a suggestion. Louis XI looked up; it was Alain, the head of the House of Albret. Because his territory was being attacked by the Armagnac rebels, he had chosen to side with the King, and now he issued an invitation to Louis XI to go south.
Many southern strongholds, including Bordeaux, were currently in the hands of the House of Albret. Once there, his influence would undoubtedly be greatly enhanced.
Soon, the ministers split into two factions according to their views.
Bishop Labarthe had few supporters beside him. He stared at the King he served with a disappointed face, feeling incredibly weary.
He had already guessed the King's decision.
"Now, assemble the palace guards, quell the public panic, then pack up and head for Tours!"
The King's decision made almost all the ministers in the court breathe a sigh of relief. Only Bishop Labarthe's eyes flickered as he let out an imperceptible sigh.
He had failed to help Charles keep Louis XI here; now the situation would likely become even more complicated.
Louis XI probably never would have imagined that his most trusted minister today had actually long since come to a secret understanding with the Burgundians.
It was precisely because of this that as soon as the Duke of Bourbon's troops left Paris, their movements were quickly relayed to the Burgundian army, ultimately leading to the crushing defeat.
Louis XI's paranoia and cowardice had actually saved his life this time.
After soothing the people of Paris, Louis XI took his court and royal government and fled Paris in a panic under the protection of the Scotland Guard, abandoning the deceived citizens before they could react.
Louis XI did not care what fate awaited the citizens of Paris.