Chapter 210: Festival

Konrad unlocked the door and marched down the stairs...

The closer he got to the Great Hall, the louder the noise became.

It was the booming roar of hundreds of wealthy merchant lords, allied Protestant princes, and foreign nobles celebrating the peak of Swabian wealth.

He pushed the double doors open. Sitting near the high table, already drinking from glass cups, were the leaders of the world.

Elector Philip of Hesse was laughing with Duke Ulrich of Württemberg.

They were wearing their finest silk doublets and heavy gold chains, but they looked around the hall with awe.

"King Konrad!" General Richter announced loudly. "The King of Swabia arrives!"

The princes, the dukes, and the merchant leaders all stood up, raising their cups of strong stout and spiced wine.

They were genuinely excited. Every single person in this room was a vassal or close ally to Konrad’s industrial empire, and they were all desperate to stay on his good side.

Konrad walked down the center aisle, slapping his generals on the back and laughing loudly.

He made his way to the high table, where Queen Katarina was already sitting, looking stunning with a crown resting on her head.

But just as Konrad sat down and raised his own silver cup to start the feast, the double doors of the hall burst open once again.

Standing in the doorway, wholly out of breath and covered in a light dusting of white snow, was the royal family of Brandenburg-Ansbach.

Margrave George stood at the front, his heavy velvet cloak entirely crooked.

Beside him was his wife, and holding onto his belt was his young son.

They looked exhausted, but their eyes were shining with a breathless excitement.

"Konrad!" Margrave George gasped. He leaned on the doorframe to catch his breath. "Please tell me we did not miss the roasted boar... We rode so hard my horse nearly lost a lung in the snow!"

After hearing such words, the entire Great Hall burst into a roaring fit of laughter.

Konrad stood up, spreading his arms wide with a huge grin. "George, you old dog!" Konrad cheered. "You are late! I already gave away all the new ceremonial sabers! But I saved you the fattest piece of meat in the kitchen. Come in! Sit down!"

Margrave George laughed, leading his family quickly toward the high table.

The Margrave threw himself into an empty chair next to Elector Philip.

"We thought we were too late for the coronation ceremony," George explained, wiping sweat from his forehead while a servant quickly poured him a tall cup of ale. "We were rushing with our horses down the mountain passes. I swear, I pushed the guards so fast they were cursing my name... But when we finally reached the gates of Augsburg... gods above, Konrad, your city is alive!"

"It is a holiday," Katarina smiled warmly from the high seat. "The people are happy."

Konrad chuckled, slicing a huge piece of roasted venison with his hunting knife.

"Eat! All of you! Swabia provides!"

As such, the feast exploded into motion. "King Konrad," Duke Ulrich said, wiping grease from his thick beard. "I must ask... the new steel plows your merchants brought to my borders last month... My farmers are begging for more. How much silver do you want for another hundred?"

"We can talk trade tomorrow, Ulrich," Konrad laughed, taking a long drink of spiced wine. "Today is about my son. Today is about family."

"Of course, of course!" Ulrich smiled quickly, not wanting to push his luck. "Long live Prince Karl!"

Afterward, the musicians in the corner of the hall began to play a fast, upbeat Bavarian tune on their wooden lutes and drums.

The younger nobles started banging their cups. The laughter grew louder. Konrad raised his cup, drinking heavily.

Though the musicians in the corner were playing a wildly upbeat tune, and the children were chasing each other around the stone pillars, the conversation at the high table was slowly shifting toward the messy business of the world.

Elector Philip wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.

He leaned forward, looking past the towering pile of roasted pheasant sitting between them.

"King Konrad..." Philip spoke. "If I may speak freely on a matter of the mainland?"

"You are eating my best salted butter, Philip," Konrad chuckled.

He leaned back in his chair and rested his heavy boots on the edge of the table. "You can speak about whatever you want. What is on your mind?"

Margrave George, who had been aggressively tearing the meat off a large turkey leg, suddenly stopped chewing.

"It is about the eastern borders," Philip said, unrolling a small map onto the table. "And the changing empires to the south. We have been getting incredibly worrying reports from our merchants. The Ottoman fleets are pushing brutally hard into the Mediterranean. They are taking sprawling territories and marching straight up into Hungary and Austria. At the same time, the French Valois kings and the Spanish Habsburgs are expanding westward, swallowing up the weak border states."

"It is a cursed mess out there," George grunted. "The empires are eating all the land... But what are we doing? Swabia only holds the southern core and the city of Munich. General Richter has been sitting behind his walls for six months. He is not marching on Vienna! He is not fighting the Ottomans! He is just sitting there!"

Konrad looked at the three royals sitting at his table.

They paid him taxes in exchange for the benefits of his industry... the steel plows, the coal, the medicines. But they were still princes of their own lands. Konrad did not strip them of their armies.

He wrote a specific, unbreakable law.

The Vassals do not bleed for the King.

Philip, George, and Ulrich kept their spearmen, their halberdiers, and their own defenses.

When Konrad went to war, he did not force the farmers of Hesse to march with him. Konrad fought entirely with his own army.

He built the cannons.

He poured the explosive Swabian powder.

He supplied the rifles, just like he did for Voss’s alpine Vanguard. Because of this law, these foreign princes had no skin in the game.

They were not losing men in Austria... They were not paying for Richter’s brass bullets.

By what right did they question his military strategy? They had no right to question his war.

"Konrad..." Ulrich asked nervously. "If the Ottomans and the Habsburgs keep taking land, they will eventually push north. Are you not worried they will surround Munich? Why is Richter not marching to take the rest of the Imperial lands before the others steal them?"

Konrad stared at them for a long moment.

He picked up his cup, took a sip of his wine, and let out a sigh.

Then, Konrad flashed a wide arrogant grin.

"I could not care less," Konrad said plainly.