Chapter 221

One must not intervene in the war.

Hearing those words, Louis felt a surge of internal tension. Knowing the nature of the “being” before him, he had expected a specific kind of sermon: to beat swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks; to forbid the slaughter of the innocent; to command a king established by the Lord to follow the Lord’s word, protecting the weak while punishing the wicked.

Had such words been spoken, Louis’s mind would have been thrown into a complex turmoil. Such platitudes were not what he expected from the angel who had saved his life and elevated him to the throne. Those were the dull lectures of a tutor that made a student doze off—empty words that changed nothing and were utterly useless to a monarch who had to get his hands dirty to protect what was his.

However, the words that escaped the “angel’s” lips were something else entirely.

“Did you say… that domestic affairs are more important than the world outside?” Louis asked, leaning in.

Nemo merely nodded, his movements slow yet deliberate. His face bore that same unwavering smile, as solid as if it had been carved into stone. Louis took a sip of his drink, seeking the courage to face the overwhelming pressure radiating from the man.

“But I do not believe it is more urgent,” Louis said, relaxing his posture slightly. Nemo’s face remained close, as unreadable as ever. “There will be many opportunities to strengthen the interior of France in the future. And as for that…”

His throat went dry. He took another sip, and only then did his tongue loosen.

“…As for the ‘end’ you spoke of, how much time is left? Surely it is more than a century away.”

It had to be. Even if the Bourbons were destined to fall one day, it would not be now. The dynasty would remain strong through his son’s reign, and through his grandson’s after that.

“If I crush the Empire and the Habsburgs before then, who could possibly threaten France? We would have all the time and leisure in the world to manage our own house.”

Without external threats, France could extend its power anywhere. Glory was waiting for them. Therefore, if the house needed cleaning, it could wait. It was a reasonable delay.

But Nemo’s smile didn’t flicker. He was clearly unmoved by the argument.

Why? Louis wondered, racking his brain for an answer. Nemo eventually spoke, providing it for him.

“You are correct. The Kings of France will enjoy glory for a time.”

“Then—”

“But no king wants to sacrifice his own glory for the sake of the dynasty,” Nemo interrupted softly. “Just as you are doing right now.”

Louis froze. “What… what do you mean?”

Nemo offered a small, knowing smile. “Even you, standing here listening to me, are itching to seize the chance to expand outward. Do you truly think other kings will be willing to take on the ‘trivial chores’ of internal reorganization?”

He paused, his gaze locking onto Louis’s. “I want to turn your logic back on you. France will have many opportunities to project its power outward. But the opportunity to solidify the interior will never return. If you do not do it, no one can.”

Louis fell silent. Nemo added a final, punctuating sentence.

“You staged a coup and cleared out the Protestants and Catholics. All that remains are the petty debtors around you. The Empire is reeling, the Habsburgs are distracted, and England and the Netherlands are busy pouring their resources into the continental war.”

Louis saw his own reflection in Nemo’s eyes—a mirror of his own raw ambition.

“If you do not act now, such a chance will never come again. If you miss this moment, the ‘end’ is certain.”

The end of the Bourbons.

There were many charlatans and magicians in the world who claimed to have unraveled the secrets of the universe and the holy scriptures through mystical studies. They all boasted of knowing the future. Whether they were outright frauds or merely deluded, the essence was the same: hollow tricks and empty lies.

But the man before him was different. He didn’t speak as if he were delivering a grand prophecy. He spoke with the matter-of-fact tone of a farmer mentioning that his relative once had the measles, or a man observing that flowers will wither when winter comes.

“You cannot pursue both absolute power within the kingdom and hegemony over Europe,” Nemo said calmly. “If you attempt both, the dynasty will eventually find itself atop a mountain of debt, collapsing from the very bottom. You must choose one. That is the only path that will lead you to true, enduring glory.”

He spoke as if he had already seen the fate of the Bourbons with his own eyes.

“Do you want the Bourbons to enjoy a brief century of glory before burning away into nothingness? Or do you wish for them to shine with eternal splendor across the centuries? Strengthen your foundation. Place your dynasty upon a rock that cannot be shaken.”

He was an angel, yet he did not speak in the language of the heavens. He spoke the language of the earth—the language of statecraft.

However, Louis was still not convinced. “I disagree,” he said firmly. “If I do as you suggest, the Habsburgs will tear us to pieces the moment the war ends and we are preoccupied with internal strife. I cannot allow that.”

Withdraw from external affairs to focus on internal security? To Louis, it was the exact opposite. He felt he had to appease the internal nobility specifically so he could crush the external powers. He had to use his full strength to trample the Habsburgs now and break the encirclement that Spain and the Empire had placed around France. If he didn’t… France would…

“Do not worry,” Nemo said, his voice cutting through Louis’s spiral. “The end of the Habsburgs is near.”

Louis looked up, his train of thought abruptly severed.

“As I said, this war will be the end of the Habsburg hegemony.”

It was another prophecy. Louis closed his eyes, remembering that his very life had been plucked from the abyss of death by this man. Now, Nemo spoke from behind him, much like the angels who accompanied the armies of Joshua, urging him forward.

Happy art thou, O Israel: who is like unto thee, O people saved by the Lord, the shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency! and thine enemies shall be found liars unto thee; and thou shalt tread upon their high places…

Glory was within his reach. Louis struggled to pull himself back from the dizzying, almost surreal sensation. Cooling his mind as much as possible, he asked one final question.

“Will this war truly be the end of the Habsburg hegemony?”

He watched Nemo’s lips. They moved with a short, resolute certainty.

“Yes.”

***

Mansfeld marched toward the Imperial-aligned city of České Budějovice after being summoned back by his superior, the Prince of Anhalt. As he moved, he felt that same invisible gaze pricking the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the presence of the watcher seemed to ooze from the very surroundings.

“Budějovice… isn’t this the city you once conquered for the Emperor?”

Mansfeld nearly jumped as the merchant pulled his horse up beside him. The man’s appearance had changed significantly—his hair was styled differently and his features seemed altered—but the voice was unmistakable. Mansfeld suspected the man could have changed his voice as well if he’d wanted to.

“I… I say again, I have followed the contract to the letter!” Mansfeld whispered, his guilt making him defensive. “I forbade looting! I protected the refugees!”

A wave of dread washed over him. I should never have accepted the offer, he thought, his regret deepening. I can’t even sleep. Damn it, this isn’t worth it…

“I am aware,” the merchant replied. “Look, there is Budějovice.”

Mansfeld let out a long sigh of relief. The merchant’s simple acknowledgement made his guard drop. He turned his gaze forward, only to have his relief cut short.

“Do you… do you smell something burning?” the merchant asked.

A familiar, acrid scent hit Mansfeld’s nostrils. While the merchant tilted his head, Mansfeld spurred his horse forward. As the city came into view, he saw thin plumes of smoke rising into the air.

“It seems someone is looting,” Mansfeld muttered.

He looked back to see the merchant’s face had gone cold. Without waiting for a response, Mansfeld rode through the city gates to assess the damage. Fortunately, the fires and chaos had already been suppressed in most quarters. The soldiers responsible for the looting were already being dealt with; several were seen hanging from gallows in various squares. Seeing that the fault did not lie with him, Mansfeld felt his anxiety subside.

However, a glance at the merchant showed his expressionless face was still frozen in a chilling mask. Mansfeld considered telling him that this was actually quite a mild outcome for an army passing through, but he held his tongue.

Instead, he moved toward the source of the loudest commotion. Behind a high wall, he saw a crowd of bedraggled people huddling together. This was the most heavily looted quarter of the city. In fact, the violence there was still ongoing.

He saw the merchant’s hand tremble slightly, but the man quickly regained his composure and turned his horse away. Mansfeld investigated why the area hadn’t been controlled. It didn’t take long to find the answer.

This was the Jewish quarter.

Mansfeld felt a sudden, reflexive sense of relief. At least the watcher can see that this wasn’t my doing, he thought. I worked myself to the bone controlling the men. And if it’s only Jews who died, surely I won’t go to hell for it.

Yet, looking at a charred corpse nearby, he felt an undeniable pang of discomfort. For some reason, he found he couldn’t stand the sight of it, even though it was a scene he had witnessed a thousand times on a dozen battlefields. He felt… irritated.

Who was killing the very people he had been paid to save?

***

I let out a silent sigh of relief as Louis nodded repeatedly. He eventually excused himself, likely busy planning how to recover his resources from the war and begin his new internal strategy.

I looked back on what I had told him.

“You cannot pursue both absolute power within the kingdom and hegemony over Europe. If you attempt both, the dynasty will eventually find itself atop a mountain of debt, collapsing from the very bottom.”

In the original history, that was a problem the Bourbons never solved. They lost their hegemony and were eventually brought down by a financial and economic crisis that led to the Revolution. Would history be different this time? I couldn’t say for sure.

I returned to the estate to find the agents still busily shifting markers on the map.

“Ah, you’re back!” Oitotan shouted, and everyone stopped. They all knew why I had gone to the Tuileries Palace. I swallowed hard under their collective gaze.

“You don’t have to worry about the war being manipulated from the shadows anymore,” I said.

A wave of relief and joy swept through the room. One major problem had been resolved, but there was still much to do. It had been three years since the war began in earnest, and two since we decided to intervene.

Our progress, however… was far from sufficient.

We had prevented perhaps dozens of loots, but for every one we stopped, hundreds more had surely occurred. It was inevitable; we couldn’t plant agents in every single regiment and control their every move. If we had that kind of power, we would have stopped the war from happening in the first place.

I went to my room, and shortly after, there was a knock at the door. It was the Bishop. He reported that the expansion of the secret society was proceeding smoothly, but I shook my head, telling him it was still not enough.

“We are limited by resources,” the Bishop explained. “And we lack enough truly trustworthy individuals. We can’t simply accept every volunteer into the Coven…”

“I understand that. But we need an organization that is more closely linked and more widely dispersed. We need to be able to draw on more information and resources.”

“Even so, it is difficult to simplify the vetting process. Identifying those who cannot be trusted is our priority.”

“Show me the process,” I said.

The Bishop handed me a document. “These are the criteria we’ve established.”

I sighed as I scanned the list. If only there were a ready-made, well-organized pool of people we could simply absorb, I thought longingly.

“I have a question,” I said, pointing to a specific section. “Why have you excluded the Jews?”

“Pardon? Ah, we’ve excluded not just Jews, but atheists and anyone who isn’t a Christian. We assumed they would be too difficult to control…”

He continued his explanation, but I had already guessed the reasoning. They assumed a non-Christian or an atheist couldn’t fit into an organization led by a Christian “Angel.”

“But didn’t I tell you?” I interrupted. “The non-religious context is vital. It must be more than just inter-denominational; it must transcend religion entirely so that anyone…”

I trailed off, an idea striking me.

A well-organized group of people. Already closely linked. Widely dispersed.

“Scrap these criteria immediately,” I said.

I had found the answer. And more than that…

“And I want to add one more thing regarding the Jews,” I continued. “Identify the financiers and the merchants among them. Bring them to me first.”

I had a plan.

***

“Please, friends! Where are you taking me?” Serge asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and fear.

He was blindfolded, but the sounds and smells provided a few scraps of information. Based on the smell of horse manure and sewage outside the jolting carriage, they were somewhere in the city. Aside from that, he knew nothing, other than that it was now night, as it had been evening when they departed.

The Thirty Years’ War was raging across the Holy Roman Empire, and as was always the case, the Jews were being hunted. A few of his kinsmen were making fortunes in moneylending and logistics, but they were the lucky few.

And then, a Christian friend of his—one who knew he was a Jew who only pretended to have converted—had approached him. “Serge, if there were a way to save your people, what would you do?”

Serge had replied that he would join without hesitation, and as a result, he had become a member of the Coven. But a few days later, members of the society had burst into his home, blindfolded him, and thrown him into this carriage.

“Even if I agreed to join, shouldn’t you tell me our destination?” he asked.

It was a natural fear for a Jew who lived under constant threat from Christians. He wondered if the “Coven” was merely an elaborate trap to frame him for some crime, or if something had gone terribly wrong. As he was about to shout again, someone whispered in his ear.

“Shh. You are going to meet someone of the highest station. Someone far above the Grandmaster.”

“What? I thought the Grandmaster was the head of our order. I never heard of anyone higher—”

Creek.

The carriage stopped, and the door opened. A hand guided him down a set of stairs into a place where the air felt damp and cool.

Suddenly, the blindfold was removed. Blinking in the sudden light, Serge saw a tall figure approaching him.

“Please, stand up,” the figure said, extending a hand.

Serge reflexively reached out. As his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the man’s face, he froze. A tall, young man with East Asian features… the Crown Prince from the Americas. There was only one person in Paris who fit that description.

“The… the Crown Prince? Why are you here? No, I mean…”

The man remained silent for a moment before speaking, and the language that flowed from his lips made Serge stiffen in shock. It was near-perfect Judeo-French. And it didn’t stop there; the man spoke in the Oc language, in German…

“Yes. Yes… I see,” Serge whispered, utterly overwhelmed as he listened to the man’s gentle, multi-lingual voice. “You want me to use my connections with my kinsmen within the Empire.”

The man’s voice was soothing, resonating with a mysterious, choral quality as he switched between tongues.

“I… I don’t quite understand,” Serge stammered. “You want me to solicit investments? From the warring monarchs?”

He listened intently to every word, though his brow furrowed in confusion. “Lord, you want me to pay them thirty percent annual interest? Is that even possible? No… you say it doesn’t matter if it’s possible? What does that mean?”

Finally, Serge asked the most critical question. “What… what is a ‘Ponzi Pyramid’?”

Nemo finally smiled—a smile that made Serge reflexively smile back.

“If this succeeds,” Nemo said, “your people will find salvation from this bloody war.”

For some reason, Serge found he had no choice but to believe him.