# Enhanced Translation
# Ep 22. The Rebellion of the Three Counts
It would not be an exaggeration to say that all eyes in Tilles were now fixed on the Bernini Mountains. The royal family, the Noble Council, and the three counts—everyone was watching.
Historically, when a high noble with strong military power mobilized troops, it naturally drew attention. Whether it was military provocation against a foreign country or a march to overthrow the government. After all, "hunting" had always been the easiest excuse for mobilizing large military forces.
Therefore, even foreign spies were monitoring Gill Bert d'Etacrich's military expedition. In other words, the inferno engulfing the Bernini Mountains at this moment had been detected by intelligence organizations of all kinds.
At this time, all the power holders in Tilles felt the tremors of shifting tectonic plates. A massive earthquake shaking the power dynamics that had remained stable since the last war.
The epicenter at Bernini would soon become a tsunami engulfing the entire nation. For true power is always born in times of chaos.
Three people were laughing amidst the earthquake shaking the country.
"Ha, haha, uahahaha!!"
Jean Beltuois, ruler of Perbeaune—the great estate closest to the Bernini Mountains and head of the Vermontfort Count family—burst into laughter as he heard the urgent news brought by the messenger.
"So those fools were right for once!"
"What shall we do?"
"We'll just watch the show and reap the benefits. Wait for Guillaume and Etouang to raise their armies. When those fellows try to march toward Saint Matilenne, they'll have to pass through our vicinity."
The wise never soil their own hands with blood. Leave the dirty work to the lowborn, and nobles need only receive the tribute of grain.
Why bother going against the royal family when there are so many willing to do it for you?
Jean Beltuois took a sip of wine and reclined on his sofa.
Etouang de Grandmartel, Grand Count of Narbon, surveyed his military camp from atop his snow-white horse. Countless soldiers looked up at him, holding torches aloft.
It was a sight to make any man tremble. The Grandmartel family banner—a griffin entwined with roses—looked down upon him above the red glow of torches.
The three greatest noble families of Tilles had gathered. The three grand counts had joined hands for this moment alone.
The last family standing would no longer be called a count family. The royal family. The Tilles royal family would fall, and the era of the Grandmartel royal family would dawn.
He was confident he could make it happen. He commanded the largest military force, controlled the most stable supply routes, and held the most seats in the Saint Matilenne Noble Council.
"Your Majesty. The signal fires of Bernini have been lit."
"What of Orleans and Vermontfort?"
"Even if Orleans marches with all its might, it will be at least three days late, and Vermontfort lacks the ambition to deploy troops until Saint Matilenne is surrounded."
"Fools."
Etouang turned his horse with a cold smile.
"Have they forgotten that Saint Matilenne will never attempt to defend itself? The defense force barely numbers three thousand, and the Noble Council will gladly open the gates for us."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Tell the soldiers that the hunting season is over and the harvest season has begun."
The deer hunt has ended. The deer that faced the dragon has died gloriously, and now only the easiest step remains—gathering the fallen grain.
"The reactions of Krasilov and Kalion are variables."
"Kalion is full of opportunists who will switch sides according to their interests, so they're not a concern."
"And Krasilov doesn't have legions to spare for this land."
Krasilov is already using two legions to maintain the northern front, and the Royal Guard is busy suppressing the aftermath of a large-scale rebellion that occurred just months ago.
Even if Krasilov were to deploy troops, Tilles' fate is already sealed. With the death of the Guardian Knight.
Who would raise sword and spear for a country that has lost its Guardian Knight?
Under Grandmartel: 7,500 infantry, 850 cavalry, including 300 knights.
Baron Blancmont: 3,700 infantry, 300 cavalry, including 52 knights.
Baron Lamogne: 3,000 infantry, 200 cavalry, including 40 knights.
Viscount Conter: 750 infantry, 30 cavalry, including 5 knights.
The total forces of all Grandmartel Count's vassals—Fleuville, Monne, Fourignon, Bru...
19,000 infantry, 2,700 cavalry, and 500 knights.
The Eastern Corps totals approximately 30,000 men. Excluding the ratio of conscripts and tenant farmers, a single legion has been formed under Grandmartel's name alone.
Considering the mobilization capacity that has plummeted since the last war, about half of Tilles' potential war mobilization capability is now in this man's grasp.
He cannot lose. Whether domestically or internationally. Under no circumstances.
Within five days, the name of the nation will change.
"Excellency, urgent news that Count Grandmartel has begun his march."
"Good. That boar will charge straight for Saint Matilenne, won't he?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"Then let's do our part."
Guillaume grinned as he repeatedly jabbed at the map.
"How stupid. When the capital falls, he can certainly claim the royal title, but what ultimately matters is how many territories pledge their loyalty."
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
"After receiving loyalty oaths from the entire western region based on the Bernini Mountains, we'll settle things when that fellow Etouang holds his coronation."
Divide Tilles with the Bernini Mountains as the center. Abandon all the rugged territories of the east.
After the dragons of Bernini kill Gill Bert, the land beyond becomes the land of death. The eastern front will not be able to hold back the demon race.
Even if the demon race tramples Tilles territory and invades, the Bernini Mountains remain intact. Dragons are inherently arrogant and greedy creatures. Even the demon race cannot control them.
Therefore.
"If we throw bait to the dragons and make them our new eastern front corps, we'll have a natural barrier."
"How wise you are, Excellency!"
Tilles' territory will shrink by about 30%, but the eastern lands beyond are dead lands with negligible output anyway. The core of Tilles is concentrated in the western granary region, and Tilles' financial power comes from trade.
In other words, whoever controls the trading ports and granary regions will become the next royal family of this land.
"I thought he was pathetic, wandering around after being chased away like a dog by my sister, but he has a remarkably sharp mind."
"Indeed, Excellency. But how can that compare to your generosity in embracing even a prince exiled from his own country?"
"Yes, that's right! Uahahaha!!"
Guillaume 2nd composed himself and asked with a grim expression, staring at one corner of the map.
"What about that demon race fellow, Bargadal?"
"He's moving according to plan, Excellency."
"Good. Let's prepare as well."
"Yes, Excellency!"
When a group of demon race warlords 'coincidentally' break through the eastern front and trample Tilles territories, the Orleans Count's legion will 'opportunely' appear to save the territories in crisis.
While the Count of Orleans dedicates himself to the country, Etouang, who dared to burn Saint Matilenne for his ambition, will become a traitor to history.
Jean Beltuois, that timid fool, will submit according to the prevailing trend.
Then this country will become Tilles of the Orleans Grand Duchy. There's no need to usurp the royal title. By placing a royal collateral on the throne and ruling as regent, all the power in this country will obey him.
This is how politics works. Can one swallow a country just by raising an army? He is different from the foolish Etouang and the petty Jean Beltuois.
This is the quality of a sovereign. Guillaume rose from his seat with a smile.
The rebellion of the three counts had begun.
"Urgent news!! Count Grandmartel Etouang has begun marching from Narbon!"
"Urgent news! Count Vermontfort Jean Beltuois has blocked all trade ships connecting to Saint Matilenne!"
"Urgent news!! Taurus warlord confirmed in the eastern Rocher region! Numbers approximately 750!"
"Urgent news!! The Bernini Mountains are engulfed in flames! Gill Bert d'Etacrich's survival uncertain!"
Pavel received the new urgent reports that arrived almost simultaneously and remained silent.
Tuk, tuk, tuk. The hand tapping on the table with the tactical map spread out stopped at the last urgent report.
Under the dim white magic lamp, Pavel's body stiffened.
"The commander..."
"All information deployed in that direction is being blocked. According to visual observation, the entire mountain range is engulfed in flames... Dragons... at least forty were observed in the sky alone."
"Dragons. Dragons, is it."
Pavel muttered bitterly while touching his waist.
"Didn't I tell you I should go, you stupid junior."
Shouldn't the old die before the young? That's the way of the world. Pavel gritted his teeth. Now I'm truly the last one left of the late king's Royal Guard.
The magic lamp swayed weakly. Uncontrolled magic dispersing from Pavel's body was creating a gentle breeze around him.
In the midst of a bloodthirsty aura that smelled of iron, Pavel said through gritted teeth:
"We're returning home."
"What? B-but Deputy Commander..."
"The Foreign Intelligence Department of the Counterintelligence Command will withdraw from Tilles from today onward. Accept this as a royal command. From today, Tilles is no longer an allied nation."
Pavel put on his coat and spat out words to the agents looking at him:
"Tilles will certainly perish. We have only one thing left to do now."
Punishment for the traitors who damaged the banner of the alliance.
Revenge against those who drove the commander into danger and threw him as food for dragons.
For these two crimes committed by this country's nobles, Krasilov has only one answer.
"When we return to Saint Matilenne, our name will be that of invaders."
Pavel turned around. Behind him, all the agents of the Counterintelligence Command walked out together.
Soon, magic crackled and sparked, beginning to burn down the safe house in Saint Matilenne.
Feeling the flames spreading behind him, Pavel smiled bitterly.
It felt like the signal fire of a falling nation.
"How am I to report this to our sovereign..."