2 CHAPTER I, FREDERICH II VON NERENTEAU

"Von Botsdam, we would like to hear our opinion concerning these matters."

He took a sip of the alcohol which had been previously sitting in his cup. Despite waiting through the while, the taste had yet declined and was still fierce and dancing cheerfully on his tongue. Frederich II frowned at the taste and cast his goblet aside, still awkwarded by the beer he just tasted.

"Alcohol exported from our newly made ally Rosenia," von Botsdam observed, making a polite gesture, "or more precisely, beer specifically sent to the Pracanburgian royal family."

"A token of gratefulness," Frederich was amused as he placed his cup high up to examine its substances. The liquid was flowing richly in an appealing dark shade, "what did it cost us?"

"A daughter," von Botsdam replied, "and some exclusive crafts, if it pleases Your Grace. Wouldn't take too much of a toll on the royal treasury, but the Rosenians would have poor image of us, if we be too inconsiderate if not niggardly."

"That's well enough," Frederich spoke with coolness in his tone. He never liked his daughters too much anyways," how was it such that Rosenia made us such a tempting offer? Do I have to thank your magnificent skill of words, my dear von Botsdam?"

"I did not take too much a role regarding this issue," confessed von Botsdam, "but I would consider this political folly, for the Rosenians." He paused for a while, to seemingly reorganize his words, and continued, "the Rosenian boy's made with love with your fair maiden daughter, I've heard whispers and gossips, and the current Rosenian King is not too well-known for his decisiveness on political affairs. An offer was therefore made, by the soft-minded Bohemian King and his strong-willed son, to our great advantage."

Frederich was more doubtful than von Botsdam. "I suspect that the Rosenian King had other intentions," he spoke uncertainly, once again examining the cup of strong alcohol, still resting within his cup, "or were they so desperate being scorned upon by other members of the Empire of the Holy Crownlands for being a heretical nation that made them choose us as an ally?"

"I think not. I've heard Your Grace had achieved great success on the Vomeranian battlefields."

Oh, yes. The Vomeranian Wars. Frederich reminded himself. He considered this opinion for a while and replied, "I have been doing reforms with my military with your assistance some years ago before the war, von Botsdam. I would have to thank you for building up our first extensively trained standing army."

Von Botsdam looked relatively humble, "your Grace is being too kind," he suggested, "my idea was only inspired by the Zimouthian Black Army." He confessed, "that and a bit of my own poor imagination, to be sure, but a one thousand strong standing force is a poor and rather pitiful thing. It is Your Grace who established a police force and developed a strong and complicated military system, which enables you to raise all eligible men of our state to service in the military. Many of the enlisted men had years of experience having spent a quarter of their lives within the forests and had better methods in operating weapons than those untrained conscripts of Vomerania."

"Poor creatures," expressed Frederich as he agreed with von Botsdam's notion, "those are green boys who had rather stick their manhood in a maiden's innocence then to being poked by their enemies on the battlefield, so hard that it produced holes, but it was messy and brutal, and quite unlike the hole that spills blood during the flowering of a girl, I shall suppose."

Both men gave a good chuckle. It was good and real sarcasm in Frederich's manner of speech. Frederich took a moment to retain his composure, took a gulp of the Rosenian beer, and flung the goblet away in disgust. "May the just God curse this cup of Pagan alcohol," he exclaimed, rather unsatisfied.

"The Vomeranians have difficulties in unit cohesion," voiced von Botsdam as he attempted to bring the conversation back on the topic, "their lands were split into multiple duchies, and the lords and dukes seemingly experienced difficulty in agreeing upon the best course of action."

"More likely they are opt to agree upon the best maidens to deflower after their foreseen success in the battles against us, their hosts crushing mine in the fantasy worlds playing in their minds so hard they found it to be reality," Frederich jested, "now, hesitation isn't best when you are situated upon a battlefield and have you host surrounded admist ash and smoke." He toyed with a steel dagger and the blade bit his finger, sending him cursing, "the outcome of the war had been decisively favorable on our side, note that the duchies of Vomeranian were sawed into half after the capitulation of Nelfast." He continued as the servants came rushing in tending to his injury. He gave a slight shake of his hand and dismissed them not ungratefully.

"Your Grace also destroyed the majority of their forces," added von Botsdam.

"I also destroyed that fancy grave that old fellow of Nelfast had been building for himself. It was rather sad. Could've turned it into a better purpose then to serve as a worthless man's eternal destination," Frederich joked, a common habit of his, "but yes, alas, I eradicated most of the units that managed to come for Stettin and did not leave any behind for your harvest," he replied, feigning a sorrowful tone so merry that it would only require half a fool to understand he meant a jape, "anyways, the Vomeranian hosts in Coldbeg and Griefsward were being hindered by my militia units, see that you give them well command if you intent is to fight on battlefield. They would be able to break out, however, but not without suffering heavy casualties, so grievous as to deem their fighting capabilities non-existent."

"Shall we make arrangements for the next phase of our campaign?" von Potsdam questioned, I've received news that the Duke of Vonmeranian-Coldbeg is requesting help from the Union of Calmariensis."

"Oh, it is so?" Frederich was amused and laughed, "the former Calmariensis king of an extinguished dynasty, so noble of him, yet now he had to beg his rivals to give him strength against one of the poorest states within Europe. That's rather hilarious, don't you think?"

Von Botsdam nodded, "there are yet news from the Calmariensis court, but it should be assumed that it would be poor excuse to assist a former King of a former dynasty, of which the current monarch shares no ties with whatsoever."

"It would also be ill to intervene upon the internal affairs of the Empire of the Holy Crownlands, still one of the most powerful nations within the Known realms," Frederich noted, taking a sip of the wine vintage his servants had just placed upon his table, "now it tastes better," he sighed a sign of relief, "it is important that you always keep your shield close by and intact when you are located on a battlefield, do note."

"Indeed," agreed von Botsdam as he suggested, "Your Grace seems to dislike these flasks of Rosenian beer."

"The drink gets more bitter the older it gets." Frederich replied, not disagreeing with von Botsdam's notion.

"It requires different methods to taste different beverages, offendedly said, Your Grace," von Botsdam reminded.

"Indeed," replied Frederich, "some explanations were required to tell one who had yet touched beer over the decade, I shall say. Bitter gifts are sent to bitter foes. Offer sweetness to your allies and they shall fall for it."

"Oh?" von Botsdam looked inspired by Frederich's speech, "that said, the bohemians were full-hearted to their proposal of alliance, so committed that they won't even bother to bait us with sweet gifts."

"Very well," Frederich II stroke his beard, "that said, I shall storm the rich lands of Silinia after the conquest of Vomerania, do remind me, for a true friend would not offer generous gifts."

Both men then laughed. It was a nice time chatting with von Botsdam.

"We should probably return to the discussion concerning the Vomeranian battlefield," suggested Frederich, "what do you think of it, von Botsdam?"

"Why, we had gained the upper hand in the series of engagements, Your Grace," answered von Botsdam, "we haven't gathered enough accurate intelligence to determine the amount of Vomeranian soldiers defiant against our cause, alas. However I would suggest we launch an assault on Farther Vomerania. The terrain there is more suitable to develop the envelope tactic."

"Indeed," agreed Frederich, "to avoid exposing our flanks to a possible Vomeranian counterattack that might as well as cause unpleasant consequences upon us, I have plans to withdraw the eight hundred strong army besieging Griefsward to garrison the recently captured Nelfast to hinder enemy movements in the West Vomerania, if there would be."

"Your Grace would march for Coldbeg while the enemies in the west batter their hosts into bloody pieces attempting to force a breakout, may I assume?" asked von Botsdam, "I recall that Your Grace despise the means of a frontal assault in times of warfare."

"I would sooner not have my entire reign wasted in the war against Pomerania just as the Electors of Pracanburg in the past," replied Frederich, "it is crucial that I discover better means to change the fate of wars without implementing additional factors to further burden the folk."

"Nevertheless we should admire this type of undying courage," jested von Botsdam, "I recall it being officially named chivalry."

"Ah, yes, the knights," recalled Frederich, "they ride horses gallantly and bear armor and swords so polished that I thought it shines of the body fat of the nobility for a while. That and they are not inexpensive to maintain. Yet I wonder how well will their stupidly long and overly heavy sticks fare against some horse archers piercing arrows against the gap of their full plates, or a musket bullet to the shiny belly of theirs."

"Not wrong, yet musketeers are as well difficult to maintain without burdening the treasury," commented von Botsdam, "but by using either knights or musketeers, a flanking in the rear would do well to pin what remain of the Vomeranian army in place so as to rout their ranks."

"I have failed to grow unfond of my envelope tactics," mentioned Frederich, "but I shall discover better methods of new to keep the enemy surprised."

"Why, yes," responded von Botsdam, "it would be best to win a war without shedding unnecessary blood of our own."

"Indeed. I plan to offer the Vomeranians a chance to surrender in exchange that I spare their lives."

"A wise measure," von Botsdam spoke, "the Vomeranians have considerably low morale and this should cause internal chaos within the Vomeranian military command."

"The Vomeranians better pray that I be generous then," agreed Frederich as he rose from his chair and prepared to leave, "now, my dear von Botsdam, it is indeed a nice time discussing with you, however my head is throbbing from all the drinking I went through tonight. I would require rest before I could attend tomorrow's affairs and possibly I have a battle to command and I would want myself to be in the best shape."

"Indeed," replied von Botsdam, "there would be another many affairs to tend with on the morrow and Your Grace should take sufficient rest."

"Another many a troublesome matters," complained Frederich as he approached the door," now, if you may, von Botsdam, it's getting late and dark, and I fear we must depart," he spoke as he gestured von Botsdam the way out.

Before long the servants were around the table busily cleaning off the piles of dishes. Frederich gave them a warm smile of approval of their service and took the stairs up for his personal tower.

His room was dark and grim and wanted light. Thus Frederich flickered a branch of torch and placed it into a iron basket nailed onto the wall above his desk. The lone flame gleamed weakly yet defiantly against the night but was eventually engulfed by the complete darkness. Frederich sighed and lit a candle before placing it on his desk. The room shone more brightly then.

From the drawers beneath the desk he found his quill pen, took it out and dipped it into the ink. He found a stack of freshly produced parchments and took a piece. In the brightness of the gleaming flames above and in front of him, he wrote "To Albrecht, my dear brother, Duke of Weansbach," his writing was suddenly interrupted by a moan of pleasure down the dining halls suggesting that his servants were unlacing and stripping each other naked, but Frederich only gave a slight frown and shook his head before continuing on his letter, "As I, Elector of Pracanburg, have been left heirless for many a year of my reign, I hereby offer you the position of the Elector after my death, in other words, naming you my heir. However, I would like to see that the Principality of Weansbach united into the boundaries of Pracanburg beforehand, for me to perform integration and other certain activities that will help the efficiency of policy execution and news reaching from court. The realms of Pracanburg have long been divided to our father's work to split us apart. Now it is time that we merge into one again." He stopped his writing there, still lingering over his choice of words before eventually giving up deciding that his mind would do little to allow flourished vocabulary and elaborated sentences. It would be best to keep the message clear and simple then. Therefore he sealed his letter with the royal wax and did not wait to start on his next message.

The second one he addressed to his second brother currently ruling over the town of Kulmbach. From what he recalled Kulmbach had just been sacked some years ago and was still devastated from the effects. Yet no rebuilding had been carried out so far and the town remained a lifeless and gloomy place. Frederich wondered that should his brother do better than to simply feast and drink with his group of pesky nobility on a daily basis, the fate of the town would end up more considerable. Thus he offered to his luxurious and oaf brother that in exchange of being merged into Pracanburg domains, his brother would keep his title and receive an honorary position in court which basically hurt his freedom to feast and drink no more than the grumbling of his dissatisfied folk which he never ruled over or care to listen to.

After accomplishing his two letters, Frederich commanded his squire to deliver them, "the one with the blue seal is for the Duke of Weansbach while the one with red is for Kulmbach." The squire was red in the face and breathless when he went upstairs for his task, a sign suggesting to Frederich that he had been seducing servant maidens not long ago. Frederich soon dismissed the thought however, and watched as his squire nodded obediently and hurried off to his task.

Fredericyh walked back to his desk as the lights were going out. Its late at night. Frederich II sat in his spacious room drinking a bottle of beer. The candle placed in front of his desk was struggling to lit, as the wax was being burnt away slowly over time. Melted drops scattered across his desk and it looked like a painted canvas. Frederick put down his inked quill pen on a rack, arranged his documents neatly, and pushed himself up from his wooden chair. Rubbing his stiffen legs, he walked slowly around his room to examine the weapons arrayed neatly and hanging proudly on the walls. The scabbards that sheathed the blades were so polished that they gleam even in the dark. The matchlocks looked lethal and resembles the pure definition of deadly art. Giving a slight sigh, he turned around and approached the windows of his room. The stars were shining brightly and in masses, casually hanging on the skies as they too looked back at the curious investigation of Frederich. They shone diamonds and gold. Suddenly, a bright spot brightened up the sky. A meteoroid. It crashed across the horizon and left behind a long, thin and lasting line that sketched a mark across the dark and silent skies. It flew past his sight and the next moment Frederich reacted, it was already gone.

The stars were gleaming like diamonds in the horizon. One star seemed to glow more brightly as time passes by. It did not take long for Frederich to realize that the star was the Sun growing ever larger and rising from the bottom. The moon was slowly fading away from his sight, and a golden edge had formed around the Sun, appearing from the horizon and slowly influencing its neighborhood until all the stars submitted and the sky turned into a light blue from its original pitch black.

Frederich sighed. Stars are not Suns, nor a star can hope to challenge the might of the Sun, unless the star transformed into a Sun, or the Sun broke its dominance through overextension in their vile pleasures of manipulating other stars. Either this or they break themselves through internal fragmentation. But then darkness would swallow everything up, and the stars left without the guidance of a Sun would be too fragile to resist.

Frederich suddenly grew very tired. He just realized that he had wasted an entire night to lean by a window to observe the scenery when he should be taking sufficient rest on his bed to prepare for the battles with Vomerania to come.

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