Chapter 220

Was Louis XIII manipulating the war from behind the scenes? In truth, perhaps it wasn’t a discovery that should have surprised me. Even in the history books of my original world, the “Golden Age” of France was always said to have dawned in the wake of the Thirty Years’ War. From France’s perspective, there was no reason not to incite a conflict that promised the ruin of their ancient rivals.

And though I couldn’t recall the exact date, I knew that France eventually entered the war on the side of the Protestants. The French monarchy occupied a unique, almost paradoxical position. For a man like Louis, personal faith likely carried little weight when formulating foreign policy—especially now that he had surreptitiously sought to join the Nameless Church.

A monarch standing between Protestantism and Catholicism, weighing which side offered the greater advantage… few such men existed, and fewer still possessed the power to truly tilt the scales of history. In fact, there was only one.

Louis of France.

And he had chosen to reject both camps. If he were to intervene later, it would be as an anti-Habsburg force allied with the Protestants, but for now, his aim was simpler. He was content to let the war turn into a long, agonizing attrition, watching with cold eyes as he waited for the Empire to burn to the ground.

Honestly, Louis XIII’s strategy might have yielded beneficial results for us as well. If the Habsburgs collapsed more thoroughly than in original history and the Empire was reduced to cinders, Spain would have no resources to spare for the Americas. While the great powers of Europe exhausted themselves, those who stayed out of the fray—like France, or perhaps the Continental Covenant—would surge forward.

I imagined the European map being redrawn: France swallowing up the territories of its neighbors, the Empire shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, and the Spanish sun setting across the globe. But then I thought of what the paint for that new map would be made of.

Blood.

An ocean of innocent blood.

Had it been a simple war of conquest, perhaps the cost would have been lower. In a typical campaign, the vast majority of civilians might escape the worst of the carnage. One cannot think of 17th-century European warfare in the same terms as the total wars of East Asia or the modern era; these were generally “rulers’ wars,” not mobilizations of the entire national capacity.

But the calculus changes when the armies of a dozen nations are concentrated in a single region for decades. The soldiers of this era were parasites—destroyers who consumed resources without producing a single grain of wheat. As they roamed through countless cities and villages, massacre, plunder, and total devastation were the inevitable results. And religion provided the perfect, hollow justification.

Many would believe that raping and murdering a “heretic” was not a sin, but a service to God. In that moment, the war would cease to belong to the rulers alone.

I pondered this for a long time. I considered Louis the man, and I searched for the logic that might persuade him. Finally, I reached a conclusion. I could not appeal to his morality. Shouting at his conscience would be a fool’s errand.

Louis de Bourbon was a King. He had a dynasty to preserve.

He was fundamentally different from the others I had recruited. For them, the radiant glory of the afterlife was paramount. But Louis already possessed wealth and glory that would endure beyond his death: the name and legacy of his house. Therefore, the direction of my persuasion had to shift. I had to speak to him not in the language of the heavens, but in the language of the world.

***

Morning had finally arrived. Louis, born with a constitution that always seemed to teeter on the edge of collapse, rose from his bed feeling the familiar, dull ache of a looming fever. He ordered his servants to prepare hot water and sank his frail body into the bath.

The heat was both comforting and intoxicating. His pale skin took on a faint, pinkish hue in the steam. He leaned his head back, nearly drifting off into a listless sleep, before forcing himself awake. Today was the day he would review the European front with Richelieu. They were to discuss the systematic ruin of the Empire’s greatest cities.

The thought brought a satisfied smile to his lips. He rose from the water, allowing the young attendants to pat him dry and dress him in his robes. As he buttoned his coat, the news that his carriage was ready set his heart racing. He had to go; he had to discuss the grand design that would crush the enemies of Bourbon…

“Your Majesty.”

“What is it?” Louis asked, not looking up.

“His Highness, the Crown Prince of the Continental Covenant, has arrived. He is already at the palace gates, requesting an immediate audience.”

Louis froze. He nodded blankly, then turned back to the attendant. “Did he… did he send word of his visit beforehand?”

“No, Your Majesty. He arrived without warning.”

Louis was momentarily flustered by the suddenness of the request, but a slow smile spread across his face. “Send my apologies to the Cardinal. Tell him more urgent business has arisen and postpone our meeting until the afternoon. If there are pressing matters, tell him to report them to me after he handles the initial details.”

“Understood, Your Majesty. If you will allow us to finish your grooming—”

“No. I don’t wish to keep him waiting. Escort him in at once.”

Without even bothering with a wig or smoothing his disheveled hair, Louis hurried to the drawing room. As the Crown Prince entered, Louis signaled for all the attendants to withdraw.

While the servants were watching, the “Crown Prince” bowed with the quiet dignity befitting his station. But the moment the doors closed and they were alone, Louis returned the bow with equal reverence and hurried to usher his guest to a seat.

The two men sat facing each other. Louis’s eyes sparked with a sharp, expectant light. “It has been quite some time since we met in private. A year, I suspect?”

Nemo smiled softly as he filled his own glass. “About that, I suppose.” He glanced at Louis’s damp hair and slightly messy attire, his gaze lingering for a second. “I apologize for the intrusion so early in the morning, and without warning.”

“Not at all. However… I trust there is a reason for such a sudden visit?”

“There is. But let’s talk of other things first.”

With a soft, liquid sound, Nemo poured a measure of Bourbon whiskey into his glass. He then reached out and began to fill Louis’s glass as well.

“How have you been lately? I imagine the affairs of state keep you quite occupied. I heard you issued a new edict recently?”

“Ah, yes,” Louis replied. “The recent assassination attempt provided the necessary pretext. It wasn’t as difficult as I expected.”

He was referring to the edict revoking the privileges of the Protestants—measures that included disbanding the Huguenot forces at La Rochelle and dismantling their fortresses. The process had been surprisingly smooth; the Catholics were triumphant, and the Protestants had no choice but to bow their heads in submission.

“I heard there were several revolts along the way, however,” Nemo remarked. “Be careful.”

“Oh, those are always happening,” Louis said, his face stiffening for a split second before he smoothed it back into a smile. “They’ve been suppressed. It’s of no concern.”

Louis had been wary of the fact that the Queen Mother had attempted to place the King’s younger brother on the throne. To an outsider, it looked like a major crisis, but her forces had been fractured and her allies purged long ago. The suppression had been easy. He merely wondered why Nemo was bringing up such old news.

“Still, you should remain vigilant. You still have no heir, after all.”

Louis went silent, staring at his glass. Nemo continued to pour, but he didn’t stop when the whiskey reached the rim. The precious liquid began to overflow, spilling onto the silver tray with a soft, rhythmic hiss.

Neither man spoke. The only sound in the room was the steady splash of the whiskey. Finally, Louis reached out and gently took Nemo’s hand, tilting the bottle back.

“What is the meaning of this?” Louis asked, his voice low and serious.

Nemo merely smiled, calmly pouring the excess from Louis’s glass into his own. He took a slow, deliberate sip before answering. “The Bourbon has overflowed,” he said. “I was so focused on our conversation that I didn’t notice the glass was already full.”

Louis stared at him.

“If I had paid more attention to what was happening inside the glass while we spoke, this mess wouldn’t have happened. The fault is mine.”

Bourbon was a whiskey Louis was particularly fond of—not necessarily for its flavor, but for the name it shared with his house. Nemo’s words, heavy with implication, struck him with the force of a physical blow. There was something behind this. Just as the man had foreseen the plot of the Protestant traitors, he was here to deliver another warning.

Louis’s jaw tightened as his mind raced. The lingering fever made it difficult to focus, his thoughts feeling listless and hazy. What was it? What was he trying to—

“The war,” Nemo said, his glass hitting the table with a sharp clack. “Do not lose your home because you are too busy looking at the world outside.”

The words hit Louis like a bucket of ice water. He felt his mind snap into a chilling clarity.

“You must withdraw from the war,” Nemo declared.

***

“How… how did you know?” Louis whispered.

I remained silent. Sometimes, silence is a far more devastating weapon than a thousand words.

“Ha… no. Why would I even ask ‘how’?” Louis let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. “What is impossible for one who does not know death? I was foolish to ask.”

He seemed to have found his own answer in my silence. I continued to pour more whiskey into my glass as Louis spoke again.

“But why? That part I do not understand. The internal instability has been excised. The revolts have been crushed. And as for an heir… yes, I have none yet, but I am young and healthy. The opportunity will come.”

“No one in France can stand against the Bourbons,” he continued, his voice rising with conviction. “In fact, this is our greatest opportunity. The Habsburgs are reeling. If we trample them now, victory is ours—”

I filled my glass to the brim and drained it in a single swallow. The sudden rush of warmth from the alcohol was quickly suppressed by my mental “switch,” leaving me perfectly sober. I set the glass down and looked at him. My tone was soft, almost gentle.

“I know,” I said. “Every decision you made was rational.”

Louis watched me, his brow furrowed.

“It is exactly as you say. If the Empire crumbles and the Habsburgs fall, France will emerge as the sole hegemon of Europe. You would be hailed as a ‘Great King’ for a century to come. But I must ask… is that truly the best path?”

Louis tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. To seize hegemony over Europe and leave behind a legacy as a great monarch—that was the singular, driving ambition of almost every ruler on the continent.

“It might look like the best path,” I added. “Internal threats are temporarily stabilized, and meddling in external chaos seems like a wise use of power. If your only goal was your own personal glory, then yes, it would be a fine choice. But what is it you truly want?”

I knew the answer. Louis didn’t say it out loud; he merely looked at the bottle of Bourbon on the table.

Bourbon. 

The eternity and the glory of the dynasty.

That is the ultimate goal of every monarch with a shred of sense.

“If you truly act for the sake of your dynasty,” I said, “then you cannot afford to reach outward just because the inside is quiet. On the contrary, you must use the chaos outside to focus solely on the inside.”

Louis didn’t blink. “Is what you said earlier truly the case?” he asked. “Are you certain that no one in France can stand against the Bourbons?”

“I know what you intend to do,” I replied. “Once the external threats are handled, you will turn your attention to the nobility. You plan to dazzle them with opulent feasts and grand spectacles. You will lure them to the capital, stripping them of their local influence and turning them into mere courtiers who compete for your favor. You want to make it so they can never resist you again.”

Louis froze. I pressed on, my voice sharpening.

“You are pursuing two goals simultaneously. First, you want to make this kingdom yours alone. That is the will of the Bourbons; it was your father’s will as well. To achieve that, you want to distract the nobles with luxury so they don’t fight you while you exhaust your resources crushing your enemies abroad. You want to make the Bourbons the new Habsburgs.”

I leaned in, my gaze locking onto his. “You think that by conquering both the inside and the outside, your dynasty will shine forever. And for a century, perhaps it will. But then what?”

Historians often say that Louis XIII laid the foundations for “Absolute Monarchy.” They say he suppressed the nobles and seized European hegemony to make the French throne stronger than it had ever been. But I had seen the reign of Henry IV with my own eyes. And I had reached a different conclusion.

“You cannot have both,” I said firmly. “The system you are building is unsustainable.”

“To maintain external hegemony while suppressing the internal nobility through luxury and bribery? All of that requires a staggering amount of gold. The ‘cheap’ and ‘easy’ choice to expand outward while pacifying the inside is neither cheap nor easy.”

“The wealth of the Bourbons is not infinite,” I continued. “Do you know why your coffers are full right now? Do you know why the Bastille is overflowing with gold and silver? It is because of the sheer competence of your father and the Duke of Sully. They worked themselves to the bone to rebuild from the ruins and accumulate that wealth.”

Louis remained silent.

“If you build a throne that cannot be sustained without a constant deluge of gold, that weakness will eventually consume the kingdom. If not in your time, then certainly in the time of those who follow you. A monarchy that depends on bribery and spectacle to survive is a house built on sand.”

I looked at him with an intensity that brooked no argument. I spoke with more certainty than anyone else in this century possibly could.

“That weakness… it will be the end of the Bourbons.”

The room fell into a long, suffocating silence.