Chapter 18: The Paper Count and the Gilded Noose
The evening air in the solar was thick with the scent of unrolled parchment and cold tea. Julian sat alone, his eyes tracing the borders of the county map. The week of reprieve was half-gone, and the silence from Frankfurt felt more like a held breath than a peace.
Suddenly, a sharp, pulsing blue light cut through the gloom. Julian jumped, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt before he realized the glow was coming from his own pocket. He pulled out the mana-crystal Emilia had pressed into his palm before he left the Duke's estate.
The crystal hummed, vibrating with a frequency that made his teeth ache.
[System Notification: Remote Mana-Link Established.]
[Status: Encrypted. Source: Schwarzberg Ducal Manor.]
"Julian?" The voice was disembodied, shimmering in the air. It was Emilia. She sounded calm—terrifyingly so—but there was a new, practiced sweetness in her tone that made his hair stand on end. "Are you there, dear?"
Julian cleared his throat, leaning back. "I am. I didn't realize this came with a two-way audio feature. What's the emergency, Emilia?"
"No emergency," she purred, though Julian could hear the sharp edge of a political knife underneath. "Only a suggestion. My father has been watching your father's... enthusiastic mobilization. He thinks targeting minor barons is a waste of 400 professional mercenaries. He wants you to aim higher."
"Higher? I'm a Baron with a week to live, Emilia. I'm not exactly in a position to sack Munich."
"Not Munich. The House of Castell," she said. "The Count is weak. His title is a 'Reichsgraf'—a Paper Count. He has 400 troops, mostly unmotivated house-guards and starving militia. If you can take his central keep, the Old Stone Hold, before the Diet reconvenes, my father will have the leverage to argue that you aren't a 'buffer house' in need of relocation. You'd be a conqueror who just unified a fragmented county."
Julian's mind raced. He signaled the System. 'Details on House Castell. Now.'
[Strategic Brief: House of Castell.]
[Rank: Low Count. Troops: ~400. Fortification: Old Stone Hold (Outdated but high ground).]
[Analysis: A siege would usually take months. You have four days.]
"You want me to siege a Count's fortress in four days?" Julian asked, his voice flat. "Do you want me to be executed for treason, or just killed in the trenches?"
"I want you to be a Duke's son-in-law, Julian," Emilia replied, her voice cooling. "This is his test. If you break under this pressure, you're just my father's client. If you overcome it, you're his partner. Secure the fortress, and he'll secure your future. If not... well, Italy is lovely this time of year."
The light vanished. The room went dark.
The Desperate Council
Julian didn't wait. He burst into his father's study. Baron Maximilian was currently surrounded by bags of gold and three mercenary captains who looked like they'd sell their mothers for a silver groat.
"Change of plans," Julian announced, slamming his hand on the map, right over the House of Castell's territory. "We aren't hitting the barons. We're sieging the Old Stone Hold. Tomorrow morning."
Maximilian looked up, his face ghostly. "A Count? Julian, that's... that's an escalation. The Emperor—"
"The Emperor will favor the man who wins!" Julian snapped. "If we hit the barons, we look like local bullies. If we take a Count's seat, we look like a house returning to its Ducal roots. We have 400 mercenaries and 150 of our own. That's 550 against their 400. We don't have time for a field battle or a long starvation. We cut their river tolls tonight, seize their tax routes by dawn, and break the gate in two days."
"It's an irrational gamble," Maximilian whispered, gripping the edge of the table.
"Everything we've done for a month is an irrational gamble, Father!" Julian vented, the stress finally cracking his 'Philosophical Lad' mask. "I've sold my marriage to a Duke's daughter! I've dodged poison and yandere flags! Now, either we take that castle, or we start packing for the meat-grinder. Which is it?"
Maximilian looked at his son, seeing a shadow of the fierce Ducal bloodline that had been suppressed for generations. He stood slowly. "Logistics. Now. If we march at dawn, we need the wagons ready by midnight."
The Unreliable Army
An hour later, Julian stood before the gathered force in the flickering torchlight of the courtyard. The 400 mercenaries were a motley crew of scarred veterans and opportunistic thugs. They were professionals, yes, but they weren't loyal. They were here for the gold Julian had barely managed to secure.
"Listen up!" Julian shouted, his voice amplified by a minor water-magic resonance he'd practiced. "The House of Castell thinks their walls will protect them. They think we're just a broken branch of a dying tree. They're wrong. Tomorrow, we take their river, we take their gold, and we take their keep. There is a bonus for the first man over the wall, and double pay for the unit that takes the gatehouse."
A low cheer went up, but Julian saw the mercenary captains whispering. They knew the timeline was tight. If the siege stalled, they would likely desert or demand more coin.
[System Notification: Morale Check.]
[Mercenary Loyalty: 45% (Stable for 48 hours).]
[Warning: Supply lines are non-existent. You have enough grain for three days of hard fighting.]
'Two days to break them,' Julian thought, his eyes hardening. 'Or I'm a dead man.'
The Shadow of Frankfurt
POV Shift: The Imperial Chancellery
The Duke of Saxony and the King of Bohemia sat in a private solar, their "illness" now a convenient excuse for late-night plotting.
"The boy is moving," Saxony remarked, looking at a spy's report. "He's bypassed the barons. He's marching on Castell."
"A desperate move," the King of Bohemia sneered, sipping a cup of wine. "He thinks taking a minor county will save him. Let him bleed his mercenaries against the Stone Hold. By the time the Diet opens in four days, House Merania will be bankrupt, exhausted, and ready to be swept into the Italian frontier. The relocation list remains unchanged."
"And the mana-crystals?"
"Once he's in Italy, the domain becomes Imperial property. We'll split the vein fifty-fifty."
The trap was set. The Electors were waiting for Julian to fail, the Duke was waiting for him to prove his worth, and the Spanish were waiting at the border with fire in their hands.
Julian climbed onto his horse, looking back at the Saint's Peak shrine one last time.
"Let's go," he told Sir Berengar. "It's time to see if a 'Paper Count' can bleed."
To be continued...