Chapter 156: The Imperial Audience -3
A\N: DON’T OPEN (WRONG Chapter )
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A minor Austrian count, his chest puffed out in a display of false bravado, stepped into Konrad’s periphery.
The man’s eyes darted nervously to the impassive faces of the Ironstorm Jaegers before he spoke.
"King Konrad," the Count began. "Word of your... exploits in the Netherlands has reached our courts. The peasants whisper that you possess an iron beast. An iron dragon that breathes black smoke and devours coal. Tell me, Your Grace, is the strange witchcraft true? Do you feed it the bones of Bavarian traitors to make it haul your cargo?"
Konrad paused, turning his piercing sapphire eyes upon the Austrian.
He did not immediately answer.
They could not comprehend thermodynamics; they could not fathom high-pressure steam pushing forged steel pistons.
When faced with superior engineering, their minds immediately defaulted to magic and necromancy.
...
Leaving his Quartiermeister to oversee the logistics of their encampment, Konrad turned and strode toward the grand antechambers of the Imperial hall, flanked by four of his most imposing, rifle-bearing guards.
The corridors preceding the main throne room were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the traditional nobility of the Holy Roman Empire.
It was a suffocating sea of gaudy velvet doublets, ostentatious ruffled collars, and absurdly padded hoses.
A minor Austrian count, his chest puffed out in a display of false bravado, stepped into Konrad’s periphery.
The man’s eyes darted nervously to the impassive faces of the Ironstorm Jaegers before he spoke.
"King Konrad," the Count began. "Word of your... exploits in the Netherlands has reached our courts. The peasants whisper that you possess an iron beast. An iron dragon that breathes black smoke and devours coal. Tell me, Your Grace, is the strange witchcraft true? Do you feed it the bones of Bavarian traitors to make it haul your cargo?"
Konrad paused, turning his piercing sapphire eyes upon the Austrian.
He did not immediately answer.
They could not comprehend thermodynamics; they could not fathom high-pressure steam pushing forged steel pistons.
When faced with superior engineering, their minds immediately defaulted to magic and necromancy.
"It is not witchcraft, Count," Konrad replie,. "And I assure you, it does not run on the bones of peasants. A concept I fear your localized, agrarian mind will never truly grasp."
The Count recoiled as if he had been struck, his face flushing crimson as he slinked back into the crowd.
Konrad resumed his pace...
However, not all the nobles were merely superstitious fools; some possessed the arrogant venom typical of the old military elite.
A high-ranking Spanish commander, adorned in polished Toledo steel and bearing the proud, haughty demeanor of a man who believed cavalry charges still won wars, stepped into Konrad’s path.
"The newly crowned King of Alemannia," the Spaniard mocked, offering a theatrical bow. "Or should I say, the Swabian mercenary who managed to extort a crown. Tell me, von Frundsberg, does the heavy gold of your new title strain your commoner’s neck? We were quite amused to hear how you hide behind your high walls and your cowardly little smoke-tubes, rather than fighting with a blade like a true nobleman."
Konrad stopped. "When the Ottoman Sipahi cavalry eventually breaches the Hungarian lines and charges your obsolete, slow-moving pikemen, I want you to remember this conversation. When you are bleeding out in the mud because your Toledo steel could not stop a volley of Janissary musket fire, you will beg the heavens for my artillery."
Konrad stepped into the Spaniard’s personal space, towering over the traditionalist. "Now, step aside."
The Spanish commander stepped back.
With the minor pests thoroughly dealt with, Konrad finally reached the doors of the grand hall.
Two Imperial guards hauled the heavy doors open, and Konrad stepped out of the antechamber.
Hundreds of Electors, Dukes, and Archbishops were packed into the benches, fiercely debating the fractured religious state of the empire and the terrifying military reports flooding in from the east.
But Konrad’s eyes ignored the squabbling politicians. His gaze locked instantly onto the elevated, gilded dais at the far end of the room.
There, sitting upon the throne of the Holy Roman Empire, was Charles V.
It was the very first time Konrad had ever laid eyes upon the most powerful monarch in the world.
Charles V was not an imposing figure in the sense...
He possessed the incredibly prominent, unfortunate Habsburg jaw, which hung slightly open, giving him an exhausted, strained appearance.
The Emperor’s eyes were sunken and shadowed, bearing the impossible weight of fighting the French in Italy, the Protestant Reformation in Germany, and the Ottoman invasion in Hungary simultaneously.
Konrad marched down the center aisle of the grand hall. A hushed silence rippled through the room as the hundreds of assembled nobles turned to watch the warlord approach the Emperor.
"Charles of the House of Habsburg," Konrad’s voice boomed. "I am Konrad von Frundsberg. You summoned me to discuss the survival of your eastern borders, and I have arrived."
The Emperor leaned forward on his throne.
The Emperor swallowed his pride, suppressing the desire to have the rebel executed on the spot.
He needed the Alemannian cannons far more than he needed his vengeance...
Charles V raised a hand, gesturing to an empty chair positioned close to the imperial dais.
"Sit," the Emperor commanded. "We have much to discuss."
Konrad von Frundsberg did not immediately take the chair offered by the Holy Roman Emperor. Instead, he stood before it for a fleeting second, his eyes sweeping across the grand hall of Speyer.
To his left stood the Spanish commanders, their hands resting on the pommels of their Toledo steel swords, their faces twisted in arrogant disdain.
To his right were the Austrian Archdukes and German Electors, their heavily padded doublets attempting to project an aura of wealth that their empty treasuries could no longer support.
And seated beside Emperor Charles V was his younger brother, Archduke Ferdinand of Austria.
Ferdinand was the key...
As the man directly responsible for the Habsburg defense of the east, Ferdinand’s face was slick with a cold sweat.
The Ottoman Empire was marching over a hundred thousand battle-hardened troops into Hungary, and Ferdinand knew perfectly well that his fragmented, traditionalist levies would be slaughtered the moment they met the Janissaries in the open field.
Konrad finally sat.
"The Kingdom of Alemannia formally acknowledges the Imperial Diet," Konrad stated. "I received your penned summons, Emperor Charles. You did not invite me here to legitimize my crown out of the goodness of your heart. You invited me here because Suleiman the Magnificent is about to tear your eastern borders apart."
A collective gasp of sheer outrage rippled through the assembled nobles.
To address the Holy Roman Emperor with such blatant disrespect was unthinkable...
A red-faced Elector from Saxony stepped forward, pointing a finger at Konrad. "You insolent Swabian upstart! You sit in the presence of the Emperor, the defender of th e Catholic faith! It is your sacred, Christian duty to march your men to Hungary and repel the heathen hordes!"
Konrad gaze remained locked on the exhausted face of Charles V.
"My ’sacred duty’ is to the prosperity and security of the industrialized Kingdom of Alemannia," Konrad replied. "My army will not march to Hungary. My soldiers will remain within my borders, ensuring my factories and macadam-paved trade routes operate without interruption. If you expect me to fight your war for you, you have severely miscalculated my intellect."
Archduke Ferdinand leaped from his seat beside the Emperor. "Then why did you come?! If you refuse to march, Vienna will fall! Budapest is already burning! The Ottoman Sipahi cavalry numbers in the tens of thousands. Our arquebusiers cannot reload fast enough to stop their charge. Without your... your Gatling machines, the eastern front will collapse!"
Konrad allowed a smirk to grace his features. "I came, Archduke Ferdinand, because while I will not bleed my soldiers for your incompetence, I am a pragmatic man," Konrad declared, leaning back in his chair. "I am willing to sell you the means of your own salvation."
Konrad reached inside his coat and withdrew a rolled parchment.
He tossed it onto the ornate table separating him from the Imperial dais.
"The blueprints for the horizontal cannon-boring mill," Konrad explained. "I have restructured the foundries of Augsburg. We are no longer casting hollow bombards that explode and kill your own men. My factories are now producing solid-cast bronze and iron field cannons, bored out with a water-powered drill. The windage is practically non-existent."
The Spanish artillery commanders in the room leaned forward, their arrogant disdain replaced by a sudden hunger.
They understood exactly what that meant...
"The cannons my factories are mass-producing will hit with twice the force and travel three times the distance of anything the Ottomans can field," Konrad continued. "Furthermore, they are mounted on highly mobile, standardized carriages. You can deploy them on the muddy fields of Hungary, shatter the Janissary siege lines from a mile away, and reposition before the Sipahi cavalry can even cross the distance."
Emperor Charles V finally spoke. "You will provide the artillery to Ferdinand’s armies. At what cost? How many millions of silver florins do you demand to drain from my treasury?"
"Silver?" Konrad sighed. "Emperor Charles, I do not want your silver."
Konrad leaned forward. "I demand the immediate, permanent, and legally recognized secession of the County of Tyrol."
The grand hall erupted into chaos. Archdukes screamed in protest; Spanish generals drew their blades an inch from their scabbards.
The Ironstorm Jaegers immediately raised their grooved rifles.
Konrad remained seated.
The County of Tyrol was the crown jewel of the Habsburg southern territories.
It bridged the Alpine passes into Italy, serving as the primary trade artery of the continent.
More importantly to Konrad’s tech-tree progression, the mountains of Tyrol were obscenely rich in highly accessible iron, deep-vein copper, and massive salt mines.
Securing Tyrol would grant Alemannia a localized supply chain for casting cannon barrels, forging train tracks, and manufacturing the brass casings he would eventually need for his next generation of firearms.
"You are insane!" Archduke Ferdinand roared, his face purple with rage. "Tyrol is ancestral Habsburg territory!"
"Then you will die," Konrad replied.