#140. A Pitiful Child Who Was Once Beloved but Ultimately Lost That Favor
In truth, the Kingdom of Lamore was little more than a tool to provoke the Empire, so the Kartian Kingdom’s objection was exceedingly rude.
For Kartian to demand that Lamore conduct a thorough investigation, publicly reveal the full story of the royal family’s collective deaths, and—if Lamore lacked the strength—to even offer their own assistance, was not the sort of proposal one made to a sovereign state one genuinely respected.
By making such a proposal, Kartian naturally expected a protest from the Empire. Instead, the one who moved was Lamore.
Lamore responded not with an official letter but by mobilizing its army and stationing them along the border. The Empire remained still.
What on earth was this situation? Kartian could not, by any reasonable logic, make sense of it.
Even as Lamore deployed troops to the border, Kartian could not believe Lamore intended to start a war. No sane ruler would make such a choice.
Of course, it wasn’t unheard of for the rulers of small states to occasionally make deranged decisions. But Lamore had the Empire behind it. Surely the Empire would never allow Lamore to face Kartian alone, without the Imperial Army.
Yet Kartian’s “reasonable” assumptions proved false.
“I, Langrisha Dre Vandalouin, King of Lamore, hereby declare to the Kartian Kingdom…”
The sole surviving direct royal, newly crowned king, sent back not an explanation to Kartian’s inquiry—but a declaration of war.
In short, the Kingdom had designated Kartian as the mastermind behind the royal assassinations and vowed vengeance.
The letter also contained filler details that hardly mattered: suspicions that Kartian’s very inquiries betrayed their guilt; testimony from spies allegedly unearthed and interrogated, claiming Kartian had imported undetectable poisons beyond Lamore’s capabilities to discover, and so on.
In other words: “I wanted to reshuffle the throne without others meddling, but since you dared challenge me, I’ll shove the blame on you.”
“The new King of Lamore has gone mad.”
Even Kartian’s king found that judgment hardly an exaggeration.
“Does Retile [the Empire] seek not to absorb Lamore, but to discard it instead?”
“Perhaps they are preparing for war. If Lamore manages to weaken our forces, it would serve them well in the coming conflict against the Empire.”
Kartian judged by common sense.
Common sense said that the Sixth Princess—who was not even crown princess—could not have plotted regicide. That pointed directly to the Empire’s influence.
And common sense said Lamore could never win against Kartian, so the war with Lamore was secondary; what mattered was what came after.
“In any case, the Ralké Mountains lie between Retile and Lamore. To Retile, abandoning Lamore costs nothing.”
“Princess Blanche is a peculiar case, though. I heard she was once greatly favored in the Imperial Palace. If the Empire intends not to hand her Lamore, but to sacrifice the entire kingdom, what sort of card would she be to them?”
The high nobles of Kartian, hastily assembled in preparation for war, exchanged glances.
Still holding Lamore’s letter in hand, the Kartian king cut the discussion short with a disinterested tone.
“It hardly matters. The very fact that she was sent to such a dangerous place means she was a discarded piece. Whether she perishes with Lamore or somehow returns alive to the Empire, she is no one worth our concern.”
It could not be said that Kartian’s judgment was wrong. Blanche had studied botany at the Academy.
Though there were rumors she had learned under the Empress, she had never once shown martial skill in public—and even then, what she learned was only the sword.
What was someone like that doing in a kingdom at war? By any measure, she was an easily disposable pawn. No one sends someone truly important into the flames of war.
A pitiful child, once beloved, but ultimately cast aside. A pawn to be sacrificed alongside Lamore in the Empire’s scheme.
That was Kartian’s final assessment of Blanche Roa Vandalouin.
“Our concern lies only with Retile. Other nations may have been stirred up by them, so we’ll station minimal forces along the borders. Gather the rest of the army and swiftly crush Lamore. Afterward, depending on Retile’s movements, we’ll keep the army intact rather than disband it.”
The possibility of losing to Lamore never once crossed the minds of those gathered.
Thus, Kartian’s response was shaped entirely by concern for its neighboring states and the Retile Empire.
It was, by all appearances, the most rational and inevitable conclusion—anyone else would have decided the same.
Anyone, that is, except Blanche herself and Melchizedek, who knew her true identity.
That “perfectly rational, obvious, and justifiable” judgment was revealed as a blunder in just a month and a half.
Ten days to redeploy troops along the border and gather every available soldier across the land. A month for them to march.
Three days to be crushed. Two more for the carrier pigeons to deliver the news back to the capital.
“…Surely this can’t be chalked up to coincidence.”
Mesra, warrior of the Nikal tribe, muttered grimly as he surveyed the devastated battlefield.
When the Nikal warriors marched under Dagon’s command to the border, their greatest fear had been conflict with the existing Lamore royal army.
But to their surprise, no friction occurred—because both sides agreed.
Blanche, leading the Nikal forces, ordered the army to fortify the defenses and wait.
All others who knew of Kartian’s approaching reinforcements argued that they must strike first, to thin out the defenders before reinforcements could arrive.
It was the obvious strategy. Divide and conquer the enemy before they united—textbook tactics. Why wait for separate armies to join and swell in numbers?
Yet Blanche remained resolute.
She commanded that the battle would not begin until Kartian’s army had fully arrived, offering no explanation.
Her lack of combat experience only fueled dissatisfaction among the soldiers, and that dissatisfaction against their superior quickly united them.
The only reason no rebellion broke out was because no battles had yet occurred—so no defeats to embolden the discontent—and because Sharchiel, entrusted with Dagon’s authority, supported Blanche.
Thus the army, unified in skepticism, waited for the moment the pampered princess—raised like a greenhouse flower—would taste defeat and abandon her stubbornness.
That moment never came. Instead, it was those who opposed her plan who were forced to bow their heads.
Blanche waited until Kartian’s forces were fully assembled.
Though Kartian left troops along the border for defense, they had scraped up soldiers from across the realm—an overwhelming number for so small a kingdom as Lamore.
It was far too many for a single small nation to face—so many that some even suggested surrender.
Yet upon seeing the enemy encampment, Blanche smiled with satisfaction.
She went out herself with only one guard, scouted the field, and then declared that the battle would begin.
It began with fire.
Blinded by the sheer size of their own forces, Kartian had overlooked one fact: the border fortress could not possibly house so many troops.
Expecting war against Retile, they had even conscripted noble households’ private soldiers, cramming far too many men into too small a base. Unable to fit inside the walls, they had camped outside on the plains.
It was late winter—dry winds, tightly packed tents, and commanders grown arrogant, dismissing Lamore’s inactivity as cowardice.
Kartian assumed war would begin whenever they chose.
That lax atmosphere was poison.
By the time they realized the sudden blaze was an enemy attack, it was already too late.
Desperate to put out the fire, they rushed en masse, opening the gates and even drawing out troops from within the walls.
Lamore’s forces seized the moment, slipped inside, and shut the gates.
The enemy was divided—and worse, Kartian didn’t even realize their army had been split.
In truth, the battle’s outcome was decided on the first day.
For the next two days, Lamore’s army slaughtered Kartian’s forces with cold, calculated precision.
