Treason or Revolution? (2)
Three days later.
After marching into the Demon Realm, the imperial army reached a fork in the road.
The main force turned toward the ridges of the Tantalan Mountains. Benelia, whose troops had been assigned the role of a detached force, continued straight toward Grimund Forest.
There were murmurs of concern over her reckless decision, some less sincere than others. She paid them no mind. She knew perfectly well which of them had reason to be afraid.
Ten thousand soldiers followed her beneath the trees of Grimund Forest, a place teeming with demons.
“…”
Eyes watched from the thickets. Growls and strange cries followed the column. Werewolves bared saliva-slick fangs, duouksini glared with bloodshot eyes from grotesquely twisted faces, and vampires lurked among the brush in the ill-fitting clothes of their human victims.
Above, gargoyles and wyverns wheeled and screeched.
The men grew visibly uneasy.
Their commanders showed no such fear. Benelia and Hildes Froheim continued at the head of the march as though the watching monsters were no more than birds in the trees.
“They won't attack,” Benelia said. “Pay them no attention. Keep moving.”
“You little cowards!” Hildes boomed. “What are you trembling for? Her Highness told you they won't attack. And if any of them try, we'll cut them down and teach the rest some manners!”
His laughter carried along the column. The soldiers straightened, reassured by the confidence of their leaders, and marched on.
After half a day's advance, they reached a great clearing. At its center, precisely inscribed into the bare ground, lay a magic circle some twenty meters across.
Mages waited around its perimeter. As Benelia approached, they bowed. One who appeared to be in charge stepped forward, hand over his chest.
“Your Highness. This humble servant awaits your command.”
“Enough ceremony. Is it ready?”
“Yes. We have sufficient magic stones, and the circle is free of errors. We should be able to keep the gate open for twenty minutes.”
“That will be enough. You've done well.”
The mage bowed again and withdrew.
Benelia took a long breath. Ten thousand soldiers were looking to her. Those who could not fit in the clearing stood among the surrounding trees, waiting for her signal.
Their lives depend on me.
Not every soldier here necessarily shared her convictions. But each had chosen to stake a life on the cause she led.
The responsibility made her heart race.
Benelia gripped the hilt at her waist until her breathing steadied. Then she lifted her head. Pride and resolve shone in her golden eyes.
“Listen to me!”
Her voice carried through the ranks without a mage's amplification.
“Seongwangpaegu—the victor is crowned king; the defeated is condemned as a thief!”
She did not waste their time with a long speech. Everyone present knew what was about to begin.
Benelia drew her sword and raised its bright blade against the sky.
“From this moment, you are soldiers of Emperor Benelia!”
The meaning was unmistakable.
A cheer rose from the gathering, spread outward, and became a roar. Soldiers drew their weapons and lifted them toward the light.
“For Emperor Benelia!”
Ten thousand swords flashed above their heads. The spark of rebellion had taken hold in their hearts.
Benelia lowered her blade and turned to the waiting mages.
“Open the portal.”
Her eyes were cold and clear.
“It's time to take the throne.”
The Imperial Palace. Office of the captain of the guard.
“At last, everything is moving.”
Duke Brillt Adenoel, minister of the imperial household, stroked his beard with satisfaction.
The emperor had acted just as Brillt had hoped. At the proper moment, Brillt would send his secret messages to the neighboring kingdom and principality. Imperial forces would be defeated, the foreign powers would divide the Empire, and he would become regent under the arrangement promised to him.
“Er…”
Beside him, Captain Dilbers of the palace guard bent forward with an ingratiating smile.
“Duke Brillt. When the principality's army arrives, I simply open the gates. Is that correct?”
“Yes. How many times must I repeat it?”
“Ah, of course! I understand my assignment perfectly…”
What he really wanted was assurance of a place in the new order. Brillt understood the hint and disliked it, but an unhappy guard captain could ruin everything before it began.
“Very well. When the new world arrives, there will naturally be a place for you—”
A crystal ball on the desk flared with mana. An image took shape above it: the guard captain's adjutant, pale with panic.
“Captain Dilbers! Something terrible has happened!”
“Terrible? What are you talking about?”
“The gate in the central square has been forced open! Her Highness's soldiers are coming through!”
Brillt and Dilbers blanched.
Dilbers rushed onto the terrace and seized the railing.
“That's impossible…”
Below him, troops poured out of the portal in the central square. The white lion of the imperial house and the white swan of Pelgaroin flew above the incoming soldiers.
It was Benelia's army.
“Captain!” Brillt cried. “How did this happen?”
Dilbers had no answer. He returned to the crystal ball and barked orders.
“Send word to His Majesty that a rebellion has broken out! Assemble every palace guard and shut the gates!”
“But, sir—”
“Damn you, listen! We hold the palace until His Majesty returns. Do you understand?”
“It's not that…”
The adjutant looked almost ready to despair.
Then laughter drifted in from beyond the window.
Dilbers turned and saw witches riding broomsticks across the sky, scattering spells below. Lightning struck the ground. Fireballs burst against the defenses.
He needed no explanation of their targets.
“The witches… It looks as though the Association and the Dokwol Guild have both joined them!” the adjutant cried.
Veins stood out on Dilbers's neck.
“Those damned witches! Put archers and mages on the ramparts! Shoot them down! I want them brought out of the sky!”
“Yes, sir!”
Benelia's ten thousand men were trouble enough. With witches striking from above, the defense of the capital seemed almost hopeless.
Still, if the palace held until the emperor returned, perhaps they could survive.
Dilbers stepped onto the terrace again, clinging to that last hope.
Then he heard another command from below.
“Kill the guards who resist! Spare none of them!”
Fred, the second son of Count Leonberg of Pelgaroin, was leading rebels through the palace grounds. White-armored paladins and priests in red robes fought alongside his men.
Dilbers could scarcely comprehend the alliance.
Worse, Fred's soldiers were already inside the palace. Hadn't the gates been shut? How had they entered?
The underground waterways…!
With so many palace troops marched off to war at the emperor's command, too few guards remained to watch every approach.
Dilbers felt sick.
“Damn it. Damn it all!”
He stamped his foot, powerless to undo the disaster. Screams rang through the palace. The gates, closed only a short while earlier, swung open again.
Benelia entered at the head of her soldiers, killing guards who stood in her path.
“Captain! Stop them!” Brillt shrieked. “Do something!”
Dilbers did nothing. The palace had fallen, its defenders were being cut down, and he could see no way to reverse the outcome.
Ten minutes passed in helpless silence.
Armored footsteps approached. The door crashed inward.
Bang!
Splinters struck Brillt as Princess Benelia entered. Blood stained her sword and face. Her cloak swayed behind her as she strode calmly into the room.
“Ah…”
Brillt backed away, his face drained of color.
“It's been a long time, Duke Brillt Adenoel,” Benelia said.
He could only stare.
She turned toward Dilbers, who managed to step forward despite his shaking knees.
“Y-Your Highness…”
“You've lost. Order the guards to surrender.”
Dilbers opened his mouth to agree, then hesitated.
If he submitted now, he would admit having failed his emperor. Benelia was known to value loyalty; surely a man who abandoned his sovereign so easily could expect no mercy. Perhaps showing loyalty to the bitter end would give him a better chance of surviving her judgment.
“I cannot. My loyalty belongs to His Majesty the Emper—”
Benelia swung her sword.
Blood spurted from the wound across his throat, staining her uniform. Dilbers dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck, then fell forward and lay still. His eyes remained open.
Benelia regarded the body without expression. On the crystal-ball image, the adjutant watched in horror.
“From this moment,” Benelia said, pointing toward the image, “you are captain of the palace guard. Understood?”
“Y-yes, Your Highness! Understood!”
Brillt clenched his fists, appalled.
“Princess. Are you truly not afraid of His Majesty?”
Benelia gave a quiet laugh and walked toward him.
The blood on her uniform had not yet dried. She looked, to Brillt, more like a fierce spirit of vengeance than a princess.
He refused to lower his eyes.
Clack.
Benelia halted a step or two away and looked directly at him.
“Why should I be afraid of myself?”
There was something almost feverish in her calm voice. Brillt, who had no answer to such confidence, finally bowed his head.