Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

I'd like to ask a good question, recommendations for wives, because my friend and researcher of this work and I are in a dilemma. I am of the opinion that MC married for political power and probably has a mistress, while my friend says that MC is more likely to have married for love and has lovers because of his impulsiveness, although I always remind him of the prince of excess.

That's why I'm asking for your opinion on this, since we're at least stuck on which direction to take.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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Sommerzeit-4,2489 IC

I was satisfied with the outcome of the meeting, especially because nothing suspicious had been discovered. Apparently, they only noticed the magic emanating from my clothes and rings, maybe confusing it with the idea that it came from the enchantments on the objects themselves, leaving them with doubts about what was truly happening. To me, that was perfect.

Ten years without paying taxes... by Sigmar, that was quite convenient. Every year I had to give twenty-five percent of all my income to the Elector Count of Reikland, which represented a massive amount of gold, especially now that I was involved in so many ventures on a large scale. I don't know if someone gave the Emperor a bad report, or if the gold I provided seemed insignificant to him, but that sum is not small: it could fund thousands of soldiers every year. So ten years of tax exemption seemed more like a decision based on incomplete information than a calculated gesture. Still, I wasn't going to complain.

As much as I wanted to leave Altdorf as soon as possible and never return, I had to attend the banquet that was being organized in my honor. It would be an insult for the Emperor to host a celebration in my name, and for me not to show up. I was obliged to stay, even if that meant spending hours surrounded by nobles who, without a doubt, would line up to approach me, each with their own agenda. Some would come to beg for gold loans, others would seek political or military support, and some would try to drag me into a land or lineage dispute less important than the dirt on my boots.

So, I simply waited in one of the houses I had bought when I came for the trials, a building I had left forgotten, covered in dust and without decorations. I sat in a wooden chair bought at the local market, conversing with my men about their opinions of the campaign, letting them relax a bit while they drank wine and beer. I didn't drink, and neither did my bodyguards. Not only to maintain sobriety for health reasons but because I never owe a favor, and drink could be a way for them to gain favors from me. The general's mistake was one I would not repeat, even though it had gone well, filling my coffers with the loot and tax reductions. But the risk of dying was extremely high. Facing Grial maidens, although dangerous if you are caught off guard, was nothing compared to facing a Grail Knight.

All that was left was to wait. When the time finally came, I put on all my armor. If there were members of Sigmar's Cult, I preferred them to keep believing that the magic emanated from my rings and not from me. For that, I needed the armor: it hid my body, distorted the origin of the energy, and also intimidated. A noble who looked like a well-armed soldier is rarely approached for favors.

Once again, I arrived at the Imperial Palace. This time, the Reiksguard did not stop me. One of the guards simply opened the door and we were allowed directly into the banquet halls.

"By Sigmar... how many banquet halls do they have?" I murmured, seeing how the doors stretched down the entire length of the hallway.

"I think it's that one, my lord baron... sorry, Graf," said one of my bodyguards, pointing to an entrance flanked by guards, immediately correcting himself with my new title.

"Ha... let's go. I don't want to be late to my own banquet in my honor. And be careful with what they drink; no one knows what they might put in your cup in these places."

When I entered the hall, I was bombarded with an unbearable mix of excessive perfumes and spicy foods. The air was so dense that I could feel my eyes filling with tears. My guards weren't having it any better: one of them already had a wrinkled face, and another was discreetly covering his nose with a gloved hand. It was a direct attack on the senses, as if they were trying to poison us with smells instead of knives.

"The guest of honor has arrived: Albrecht von Reinsfeld, Graf of Reinsfeld, Merxheim, and lord of the city of Reinsfeld," shouted one of the members of the Reiksguard standing at the entrance, so loudly that the music stopped for a few seconds to allow him to recite the full title without interruptions.

I felt how all the eyes in the grand banquet hall were fixed on me. I walked with firm steps, scanning the room for a slightly more isolated place to hide from the attention, but that wasn't going to happen. My worst fears materialized in a matter of seconds.

A wave of perfume-soaked nobles surrounded me almost immediately. They began to bombard me with compliments, proposals, and questions while my bodyguards tensed around me, reacting to any strange movement, some already on the verge of lunging at certain guests who, by the way they approached, seemed too suspicious.

"Oh, young Graf, I didn't know you were as charming as you are brave..." tried one noblewoman before being rudely interrupted by another.

"My daughter would be eager to dance with you if..." said another woman, interrupted by an old noble.

"I don't think the Graf is interested in dancing. Surely, he wants to tell us his stories..." said another noble, though he was completely ignored.

The introductions multiplied. Nobles whose heraldry I didn't even recognize surrounded me, and several ladies tried to put handkerchiefs in my hands as if that meant something, even though, since I wasn't wearing the typical clothes with a pocket on the chest, it was the only way they had to offer them.

I tried to apply the same tactic I used at the margrave's banquets: smile, nod my head, maintain an unshakable composure. But this was not the same. Compared to this pack, the games at the margrave's court were mere childish gatherings. This was the Imperial court, and here, they didn't come to greet—they came to devour.

I began to suffocate. Not even being cramped in the formation of my soldiers during a march felt as uncomfortable as this constant pressure. None of those nobles would let me go; they all knew I had been rewarded with gold and war spoils, and they were desperate for a crumb.

It didn't take long for chaos to erupt among them. Some started throwing indirect insults disguised as courtesy, airing dirty laundry in public, speaking about economic problems, rumors of scandals, or loss of prestige. All to discredit each other in front of my eyes, as if any of that really mattered to me. But to their misfortune, I didn't care about any of them.

"If you'll excuse me... I'm going to try some of the food," I said as I tried to push my way through the group of nobles surrounding me, barely able to move a step. My guards had to push firmly, cutting paths and blocking several who tried to follow me like hungry dogs. As for me, I moved quickly, dodging couples dancing in the middle of the hall to the rhythm of the music, making sure I didn't trip over anyone who might embarrass me.

When I reached one of the long banquet tables, guarded by a group of imperial servants—all with refined manners, surely children of minor nobles in decorative positions—I started to serve myself some food, hoping it would be enough to distract the most persistent and give me some respite.

But it didn't take long for them to return to harass me. I had barely taken a couple of bites when the same nobles, like vultures, began to surround me again. Until, fortunately, a saving voice echoed through the hall, as if sent by Sigmar himself.

"His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Luitpold, Elector Count of Reikland and Prince of Altdorf, accompanied by his son, Prince Karl-Franz!" shouted one of the Reiksguard members with a loud voice.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath for a second. Members of the Imperial family entered the banquet, escorted by a detachment of the Reiksguard. As expected, many of the nobles who had been harassing me a moment ago rushed like rats to the new target, eager to impress the biggest fish in the hall. Only a few minor nobles remained by my side, the ones still holding onto their hopes in me.

The pressure slowly eased. Although they still asked me questions about the campaign or changed the subject every few seconds to offer me their daughters, invite me to dance, or ask me to visit their mansions, the intensity was no longer the same. I simply declined politely, smiled as if I didn't understand their insinuations, and pretended that choosing food took all my attention.

Now that there weren't so many perfumes mixing in the air, I could breathe more easily, and while I searched for something with fewer spices—that wouldn't look suspicious or cause indigestion—I felt something change in the atmosphere. A wave of footsteps was approaching.

I turned around and confirmed the inevitable: the Emperor was heading directly towards me, accompanied by his son, Karl-Franz.

I made sure to have the right posture, stood up straight, and prepared myself for whatever was coming.

It didn't take long for the Emperor to be standing right in front of me, surrounded by members of the Reiksguard who formed a protective circle around us.

"I've heard something, young Graf…" said the Emperor.

"What happened? Is there something I should know?" I asked with interest, looking directly at him.

"No… something you didn't report in detail, ha, ha," replied the Emperor with a light laugh.

"Something I didn't report? I'm sure I detailed everything that corresponded as part of the war loot, Your Majesty," I responded seriously.

"I mean that you didn't mention anything about crushing three more Bretonnian ducal armies during your campaign. While I was talking to the Archlector about your city rights, he informed me that you defeated three more dukes. I was quite surprised... considering I don't know anyone who forgets to mention something so important," said the Emperor with a curious smile.

I slapped my hand to my face and hit my forehead with my gauntlet. "I knew I'd forgotten something... I apologize, Your Majesty. That could have changed many of the decisions regarding the army that replaced me."

"There's nothing to apologize for… in fact, this makes the campaign much easier than I expected. Four Bretonnian ducal armies crushed... that news will cheer many regarding the results. I just find it curious that you forgot something so important... I'll think of something to reward you. But for now, I'm more interested in you meeting my son, Karl-Franz, with Sigmar's blessing, future Emperor and heir to my lands," said the Emperor while pointing to a tall young man.

Although I was nearly a head taller than him, he had determined eyes. There was something in his gaze... admiration? Hard to tell. His shoulders were broad, his posture firm. It was the legendary Franz.

"Graf Albrecht, His Imperial Majesty," I said, extending my hand, realizing too late that I had forgotten the formalities. It was too late now: I had already extended my arm.

I looked at those present, expecting some judgment for my oversight, but only heard the prince's laughter.

"Ha, ha… Karl-Franz, Graf. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard stories about you... although at first, we thought they were about your father since you both share the same name," said the prince, shaking my hand with a smile.

"I hope they were the good ones, Your Majesty. You have no idea what the Bretonnians must be saying about me, ha, ha," I responded with a light laugh, resting my hands on my waist and making the metal of my armor clink.

The Emperor began to withdraw, taking many of the nobles with him, leaving part of the Reiksguard with us.

"Only the good ones… about how Sigmar seemed to smile upon you in every battle, or how you inspired your men to face the Bretonnians, pushing them to give it all for the Empire," said the young prince in a firm voice.

"Bah... that was collective work. The Empire remains strong as long as each person knows their place on the battlefield," I replied, pointing to the nearby food table.

There, we had a pleasant conversation about my campaigns. No noble interrupted us while we spoke, and for a moment, the noise of the hall seemed to fade away. We talked for what felt like hours until the banquet began to near its end.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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