I Don’t Need a Guillotine for My Revolution

Chapter 141: Iberica - Showdown of Shadows

Mittelburg, the capital of the Krafte Kingdom.

“Hmm.”

Justin von Wittenfeld, the Chancellor of the Krafte Kingdom, smiled faintly as he looked at the document in his hand.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Mr. Chancellor.”

Hearing his aide's words, Wittenfeld laughed and replied.

“Hahaha… It is amusing, very amusing indeed.”

He then waved the document in his hand, adding.

“It seems the Black Witch of Aquitaine is trying very hard.”

“Did she do something of interest?”

“Ah, no. She is doing surprisingly little.”“Pardon?”

“According to the report, it seems she’s focused on attending council meetings, managing her merchant guild, and exchanging letters with Marquis Lafayette, who is out on the Iberian Peninsula.”

“Well, how romantic.”

At his aide’s words, Wittenfeld adjusted his glasses and laughed.

“They’ve known each other for quite a long time, yet they’re still so heated. They show it off so much, you’d wonder why they haven't married yet.”

“Well, Marquis Lafayette is rarely in the Capital, after all. If they were living together day in and day out, the sweetness would quickly fade and only look like burns.”

“Oh, you too? I feel the same! How that once-pretty wife of mine became so detestable! Ah, if only I could meet my younger self, I’d tell him, ‘Stop right now!’”

“Isn’t that just life? Hahaha!”

“Hahahaha!”

Wittenfeld, who had been laughing with his aide, abruptly stopped as if flipping a switch and asked.

“Is it about that time?”

The aide, as if he had never been laughing, immediately replied calmly.

“It is time, Mr. Chancellor.”

Wittenfeld slowly twisted his lip into a smirk and rose from his seat, his aide naturally following him.

The two left the official residence, took a carriage, and entered a certain mansion.

Their movements were as smooth as flowing water, with no one bothering them, and those they encountered simply bowed their heads respectfully.

Upon entering the mansion's basement, Wittenfeld inhaled the damp, foul-smelling air and remarked.

“He seems to have ripened well.”

As if Wittenfeld's words were a signal, a man tied to a chair laboriously lifted his head.

His sweat-soaked clothes were already in tatters, and his body, visible through the torn fabric, was covered in scabs.

“Ugh, I, I’ll talk.”

The man forced his mouth open as if begging for mercy, but Wittenfeld simply extended his hand to a subordinate standing beside him and received a pair of tongs.

“I’ll, talk, I’ll—ugh, uwaaaaargh!”

The man’s last fingernail was torn out.

“Aargh, aaaaaargh—!”

While the man screamed, Wittenfeld handed the tongs back to his subordinate and threw his glove onto the floor.

The aide naturally took out a new glove and deferentially handed it to Wittenfeld. Wittenfeld took it and leisurely put it on.

“I’ll talk, I said I’ll taaaalk!”

Looking at the man screaming his lungs out, tears and snot streaming down his face, Wittenfeld opened his mouth.

“I would appreciate it if you didn't misunderstand.”

His leisurely voice was, at least, extremely polite.

“Wh-what are you talking about….”

“Talking does not stop the pain. You can, and will, suffer at any time and for as long as it takes until you have been ‘properly’ and ‘completely’ squeezed dry.”

Facing the trembling man, Wittenfeld gave a faint smile.

“So please, feel free to give a false confession, remain silent, or feed us false information to confuse us. For a schemer, watching this process is, in itself, quite, quite an enjoyable thing. We have a great deal of time, so let's take our time and enjoy it.”

The man trembled in terror, as if that slow, almost kind voice were the whisper of the grim reaper himself.

A short while later.

The man desperately spilled everything he knew.

While acting as if she were simply enjoying a long-distance romance with her fiancé in the Capital, Countess Aquitaine was steadily planting spies in the Krafte Kingdom’s army and its key bases.

Wittenfeld was inwardly impressed that, even after capturing several of them, he had failed to get a proper lead on their primary manager.

And at the same time, he felt it was a limitation befitting her merchant origins, given her obsession with risk management.

Managing agents in a cell-based structure like this might reduce the information leaked when an agent is captured, thereby increasing security. However, it also makes coordination between cells and efficient infiltration much more difficult.

Most importantly, it couldn't protect all the information.

Wittenfeld was methodically cross-referencing the information extracted from each agent.

Information was about collection and deduction.

Information extracted from a single agent was insufficient on its own, but a comprehensive analysis of information from several agents would eventually lead to a coherent conclusion, even from small, disparate pieces.

Watching the puzzle pieces slowly fall into place, Wittenfeld let a small laugh escape.

What she had shown so far fell a little short of his expectations.

But that, in the end, was only what was visible on the surface.

Now, was this really all there was to it?

Or…

*

Lumiere, the capital of Francia.

Christine Aquitaine was mechanically reviewing and processing the piles of documents on her desk.

A sudden bird's chirping made her glance out the window, and the sight of the lush, green foliage of the mansion’s small garden, typical of summer, met her eyes.

Christine’s eyes rested on the scenery for a moment before returning to her documents.

It was the summer of her 25th year.

Louis, now 15, was apparently distinguishing himself and rapidly rising in the Magic Kingdom.

Christine was nearly a total layman when it came to magic, but that her brother's desires and talents overlapped brought her satisfaction and relief.

Even if it was a kind of shallow compensation.

As Christine worked through the documents, her eyes fell upon a report about the victory on the Iberian Peninsula, and she smiled faintly.

Their engagement had been decided when they were quite young, but her true connection with Pierre began when it was broken, when she was 18.

Seven years had passed since then. Both of them had long missed the prime age for marriage, but the time ahead was much shorter than the time already passed.

Just as she had that thought, a knock sounded at the door.

“Your Excellency the Countess, it’s Lina.”

To prepare for that future, she needed to properly handle the tasks at hand.

Christine closed and reopened her eyes, and in that instant, her warm expression gave way to a colorless one.

“Come in, Lina.”

Her handmaiden and trusted subordinate, Lina, opened the door carefully, entered, and presented a report deferentially before speaking with some hesitation.

“We’ve lost contact with two more agents on the Krafte side.”

“I see. Be sure to compensate their families properly.”

“…Yes, Your Excellency the Countess.”

Christine glanced at Lina's expression and asked.

“What is the reaction from the other staff?”

“…Everyone is taking it as a warning and acting cautiously. …I believe the Countess’s intentions have been properly conveyed.”

Christine smiled coldly.

Since allying with Pierre, the Aquitaine Merchant Guild and the organization she commanded had enjoyed a long period of success.

Not only had they expanded to an astonishing degree economically, but they had also secured enough influence to sway Francia itself if they so chose.

And in the core of such an organization, complacency inevitably builds up.

There were those who, despite being justly rewarded for their contributions, remained unsatisfied, mistaking the organization’s power for their own and deluding themselves into believing they could enjoy unpermitted privileges.

Among them, those who did not know their place and crossed a line that could no longer be overlooked were assigned the most dangerous mission and sent to Krafte, where contact with them was subsequently lost.

No one within Christine’s organization was foolish enough to be unaware of their fate; such individuals would never have risen to a position where they could access such information.

Christine took a sip of her long-cold coffee, savored its bitterness, and then asked.

“And you, Lina?”

“I… I too… will take it to heart.”

Christine gave a faint smile to the handmaiden who had once followed her around, affectionately calling her ‘Young Miss.’

The meticulous handmaiden, who had once considered it an honor and worked diligently when Christine first entrusted her with intelligence missions, now carried the demeanor of one in power.

Christine, who remembered the moment her first handmaiden succumbed to money and framed her, hoped that her second handmaiden had fully understood her warning.

Christine didn't know what choices Louis would make.

But if Aquitaine fell into Louis's hands, it would be a problem if those who had served Christine from the beginning deluded themselves into thinking they were the masters and treated Louis as a mere puppet.

That was why she was culling her organization while simultaneously drawing Krafte's attention.

“However… Your Excellency the Countess. Forgive my impertinence, but at this rate, will a proper operation against Krafte not be difficult…?”

At Lina’s worried question, Christine readily nodded.

“Yes, you’re right. It seems they have ample capability to confidently declare war.”

Although there was still time before the war Krafte had foretold, their Chancellor had already sent a very polite, advance declaration of war.

Thus, even now, their daggers were being prepared against Francia, one by one. While Christine was also capturing their agents, she couldn’t think it would be perfect.

“Then, what do you intend to do…?”

Looking at Lina’s anxious face, Christine smiled faintly.

“I never expected to be able to deal a direct blow to Krafte’s army. I am preparing something on another front, so you just need to do the best you can.”

Lina’s face showed a flicker of wounded pride, but she quickly bowed.

“I understand, Your Excellency the Countess.”

It was unfortunate for Lina, but Christine didn't rely on a single person for everything, not even a trusted subordinate.

She had merely entrusted Lina with the most effective, yet most easily discoverable, approach to be revealed to the enemy.

Christine looked down at the map spread on her office desk, then took a pen and drew a circle around the Krafte Kingdom.

Her intention from the start was not to measure their strength, but Lina’s attempt had, in any case, allowed her to gauge their capabilities.

As a schemer in military operations, Justin von Wittenfeld was likely a cut above her.

More importantly, Christine's organization had ultimately started as a merchant guild.

Its structure and operational methods were somewhat disadvantageous against their organization, which had been created from its very foundation to support war.

They would understand the methods of agents infiltrating armies and military bases better than anyone, and how to infiltrate more efficiently.

Furthermore, he had time to investigate her movements and prepare before she did.

Their Chancellor had likely judged Christine to be a schemer like himself and thrown down the gauntlet, confident that he could win.

However, ability as a schemer does not decide the outcome of a contest.

In the first place, Christine did not think of herself as a schemer.

A Merchant Guild Master, a politician, an admiral, and a schemer.

If she had to define it, scheming was merely one of a number of tools at Christine’s disposal.

Just as her fiancé, Pierre de Lafayette, became the victor despite not surpassing Raphaël Valliant in military genius.

There was no need to march into the enemy's field of expertise and fight a head-on battle.

Everything was for Pierre de Lafayette, and for herself.

Christine drew a line on the map connecting the circle to another country and said,

“If I cannot win with tactics and schemes, then I must face them with strategy and statecraft.”