Chapter 212: Justice

"...Know what?" Duke Ulrich asked, leaning so far forward he almost fell out of his chair.

"Sultan Suleiman and I are perfectly fine with each other," Konrad smiled, taking another sip of his spiced wine. "We have a pact now. In fact, we signed it more than two months ago."

The Great Hall around them was still echoing with loud laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses.

But at the high table, it felt as though someone had just dropped a huge block of solid ice onto the wood.

"You... you signed a pact with the Ottoman Sultan?" Elector Philip whispered, his voice trembling. "How is that even possible? He considers us heretics... He does not negotiate with German princes."

"He does not negotiate with German princes," Queen Katarina corrected. "But he negotiates with the only man in the world who can sell him explosive Swabian powder."

As such, Konrad leaned forward, dropping the playful tone entirely. His eyes were cold.

"Suleiman needed a sweeping advantage to break the eastern fortresses. Three months ago, I sent a secret envoy to Istanbul. I offered him fifty of our finest heavy mortars, and a continuous supply of black powder," Konrad explained, lowering his voice so only the men at the table could hear.

"You armed the Ottomans?!" Margrave George gasped.

"I armed a desperate man," Konrad corrected him, a smirk playing on his lips. "And in exchange for the weapons to save his eastern campaigns from the Habsburgs, he promised to recognize Lothar as the true, rightful Emperor. He also promised not to march a single Janissary past the Bavarian borders."

"So we wait," Konrad finished, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his stomach. "And when Suleiman sends me the letter confirming the Hungarian army is broken... that is our sign."

Elector Philip slowly shook his head, staring at the map on the table.

"And what happens when the sign arrives?" Philip asked.

Konrad picked up his cup, raising it slightly toward Duke Lothar.

"When the sign arrives..." Konrad whispered, his smile turning entirely deadly. "I am going to unleash General Richter from his cage, and we are going to burn every single elector in the Empire who ever dared to call my friend a traitor."

But just as Konrad took a sip of his wine, a loud commotion erupted near the doors at the far end of the Great Hall.

Konrad frowned, lowering his cup. "What is going on down there?"

The double doors were forcefully shoved open. Two young guards, their faces flushed and their charcoal wool coats dusted with fresh snow, sprinted into the room.

They were breathing heavily, wholly ignoring the festive music and the dozens of shocked nobles staring at them.

"General Richter!" one of the Jaegers shouted. "King Konrad! We have a severe security breach in the factory districts!"

"Lower your voice, Jaeger, and report," Richter commanded. "What kind of breach?"

"Thieves, General!" the young guard gasped, catching his breath. "There are people stealing from the primary weapons warehouses right now! They stole charcoal coats and walked right past the checkpoints!"

"What?!" Richter roared.

Konrad stood up from his high chair, resting his hand on the belt that held his steel revolver. "Wait a minute. If they were wearing your uniforms, Richter, how the hell did your men figure out they were thieves?"

"It was not our men, King Konrad!" the second guard quickly explained, looking up at the high table. "The thieves tried to slip out through the main square during the coronation festival. But the people saw them sweating and struggling to carry huge, heavy canvas bags. When a local blacksmith asked them what they were carrying, the thieves panicked and started running."

"Katarina, stay here with the guests," Konrad ordered. "Richter. We are going for a walk."

"I am coming too!" Margrave George suddenly cheered, jumping up from his seat and grabbing his cloak. "I want to see how Swabia deals with a bunch of rats!"

Elector Philip stood up as well. "If you do not mind, King Konrad, I would also like to witness your city’s justice."

"Suit yourselves," Konrad grunted, pushing past the tables. "But try to keep up."

Konrad, Richter, and the two foreign princes marched quickly out of the Great Hall.

"Move! Get out of the way!" a harsh voice yelled from the center of the square.

Konrad looked down the street. Four men, wearing poorly fitted charcoal wool coats, were sprinting through the packed crowd.

They were carrying huge, bulging canvas bags over their shoulders. The heavy bags clanked loudly with every step, clearly filled with stolen rifles and steel bayonets.

Right behind them, a dozen Jaegers were trying to chase them down.

"Stop them! Drop the bags!" the guards yelled.

But the guards could not run at full speed because there were simply too many innocent people in the way. They did not want to accidentally trample a laughing child or push an elderly woman into the snow.

The thieves were running in zig-zags through the thickest parts of the crowd, using Konrad’s own celebrating citizens as a shield.

"Curse it all," Konrad swore, narrowing his eyes as he watched from the top of the palace steps. "If they make it to the narrow alleyways near the river slums, we will lose them in the shadows."

Richter gritted his teeth. "I will run them down myself, my King. Excuse me—"

"That will not be necessary, General," a calm voice called out from the shadows near the royal doorway.

A young man stepped out into the falling snow. He was tall, lean, and had a mop of fiery red hair. He wore the sharp uniform of an elite officer, and he was holding a long-barreled Pattern-3 rifle in his hands.

This was Captain Felix, Richter’s trusted right-hand man and the sharpest marksman in the entire Home Guard.

"Felix," Richter said, stepping back slightly. "You have a clear shot?"

"Always, General," Felix smiled faintly.

Felix raised the iron rifle, pressing the wooden stock firmly against his shoulder.

He closed his left eye, tracking the thieves as they pushed and shoved their way through the screaming crowd of flower-throwing citizens.

The leading thief pushed a flower cart out of his way, creating a tiny, three-foot gap of empty space between himself and the fleeing crowd.

Felix’s finger squeezed the iron trigger.

The explosive thunder of the Swabian black powder shattered the festive noise of the city.

A huge burst of bright orange fire and thick white sulfur smoke erupted from the barrel of Felix’s rifle.

The conical bullet entirely bypassed the screaming civilians, flying straight through the narrow gap and slamming hard into the back of the leading thief’s knee.

"Aaaaaaargh!" the thief shrieked in agony.

His leg shattered, and he was thrown face-first into the muddy snow.

The heavy canvas bag he was carrying ripped open, sending dozens of freshly forged, highly expensive Pattern-3 rifles clattering loudly.

The thunderous gunshot and the brutal takedown sent a shockwave of fear through the remaining three thieves.

They looked back at the stone steps, seeing Felix slowly blowing the white smoke away from the barrel of his gun.

"Well?" Felix called out. "Do the rest of you want to try out for a wooden leg, or are we done running for the day?"

The three thieves dropped their canvas bags into the snow, threw their hands high into the air, and fell to their knees.

Margrave George let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee.

"By the Maker, Konrad... Your men are frightening!"

"Good shot, Felix," Richter nodded. "I told you to aim for the center of mass, though."

"He was moving too wildly, General," Felix chuckled, resting the rifle over his shoulder. "The leg was a much more polite target for a holiday."

Konrad slowly walked down the stone steps. The crowd of citizens respectfully parted for their King, giving him a wide path to the kneeling thieves.

Konrad stopped right in front of the kneeling men. He looked down at the stolen charcoal coats they were wearing.

Then, he looked at the ripped canvas bag, staring at the rifles spilling out into the mud.

"You boys are incredibly brave," Konrad said softly. "Or you are incredibly stupid. Do you have any idea what happens to rats who try to steal from Swabia’s armory?"

One of the kneeling thieves, a young, dirty-faced man shivering in the cold, looked up at Konrad with tears streaming down his face.

"P-please, King Konrad!" the boy begged. "We... we did not want to steal them... We do not even know how to shoot the iron wands! We swear on our lives!"

Konrad slowly crouched down. "If you do not know how to shoot them... then why are you carrying a hundred pounds of my expensive steel?"

"W-we were just hired to carry them!" the thief cried out, pointing a finger toward the alleyways leading to the northern docks. "We were paid silver to sneak in, grab the bags, and drop them off at the old river pier!"

Konrad’s eyes narrowed.

A common thief stealing a sword to sell on the black market was one thing. But an organized crew, hired to smuggle highly advanced firearms out of the city?

That smelled like a well-funded spy network...