industrial lord

Chapter 767 Escape
In the summer, the air in Cologne is thick with a sense of unease. Birdsong is particularly noisy in the humid afternoon, and pedestrians hurry along the streets as if trying to escape an invisible shadow.

Deep within the palace, the former solemnity has been replaced by an atmosphere of extravagance and decadence. Heavy curtains hang low, isolating the outside world, but unable to stop the decay within.

The crushing defeat in the Battle of Redwaterwheel Village hung over the heart of the entire Rhine Alliance like an inescapable ghost, with every corner filled with a sense of oppressive tension.

Rudolf secluded himself in a cool royal estate on the outskirts of the city, a place that should have been a summer retreat but had now become his prison for escaping reality.

The estate, surrounded by tall oak trees and babbling brooks, should have been filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers, but now it was eerily quiet.

Rudolf distanced himself from the hustle and bustle of the council chamber and the unsettling requests for an audience, even ordering his servants not to disturb him lightly.

He had dreamed countless times of becoming a great conqueror, firmly believing that fate was on his side and that he was destined to lead the Rhine League to glory.

However, the disastrous battle outside Hongshuiche Village, which he spearheaded, completely shattered his carefully constructed self-perception.

The long list of casualties, especially the names of fallen nobles, was like daggers, stabbing at his remaining dignity every day.

He could not face the skeptical gazes of his courtiers, even though they had tried to conceal them, nor could he face the deep-seated fear and shame within himself.

The screams, flames, and scenes of defeat on the battlefield would always intrude into his mind in the dead of night, waking him up in a cold sweat, as if those dead souls were whispering his defeat.

Therefore, Rudolf chose to escape completely, numbing his senses with fine wine, feasts, and decadent music, trying to hide himself in a false world without failure or responsibility.

The side hall of the manor became his drunken haven, with gold and silver cups scattered all over the floor, and the songs of the exotic dancers long since ceased, leaving him alone to swallow bitter solace.

Only in this way could he temporarily forget that he was no longer the monarch "ordained by heaven," but a defeated general who caused countless families to break apart, a coward despised by history.

Earl Rank, the Minister of the Interior and the King's trusted advisor, stood before the magnificent gates of the manor, his brow furrowed and filled with worry.

The defeated kingdom had many things to deal with, was fraught with crisis, was eyeing covetously by neighboring countries, was internally unstable, was secretly colluding among nobles, and was filled with resentment among the common people. It urgently needed a king to come out and stabilize the situation and take charge of the overall situation.

Rudolf, however, became more and more depressed and unapproachable each day. He not only failed to attend the most basic political meetings, but also repeatedly postponed the ceremony of bestowing allegiance upon the heirs of the old nobles who had died in battle.

As Rank stared at the tightly closed door, a sense of foreboding welled up inside him.

After being reluctantly allowed to pass by, the guards exchanged worried glances but dared not say a word.

Rank walked through the meticulously tended but somewhat desolate garden. Rose petals lay scattered on the stone path, unswept. The fountain had long since dried up, and a faint smell of decay lingered in the air, mingling with the distant chirping of cicadas to create a mournful melody.

As he walked toward the side hall where the king usually stayed, his footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, adding to the eerie silence.

Before even entering, a strong, pungent smell of alcohol hit me, mixed with the aroma of various foods, creating a slightly unpleasant experience.

Rank's heart sank, as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

He pushed open the half-closed door, and the scene before him made him feel suffocated, almost unable to breathe.

King Rudolf slumped in a huge armchair, his magnificent robes crumpled and open, stained with wine and food grease, the gold embroidery dull in the dim light.

His hair was disheveled, his eyes were heavily puffed up, his face was flushed with an unhealthy redness, and his temples were soaked with sweat.

One of his hands hung limply at his sides, his fingertips touching the cold floor, while his other hand clutched a nearly empty gold bottle, its surface reflecting the flickering light.

At his feet lay more overturned bottles and half-eaten bones, the carpet stained and a mess.

Rudolf heard someone open the door, opened his eyes, his gaze cloudy, and tried to focus on the intruder, but only swayed a few times in vain, his pupils dilated. He mumbled a few words, the content of which was indistinct, as if he wanted to reprimand, but he didn't even have the strength to utter clear syllables, only letting out a few hoarse gasps.

His eyes, which once shone with confidence, are now empty and evasive, occasionally flashing with a childlike confusion and fear, as if he might be seized by a nightmare at any moment, and his body involuntarily curls up.

A surge of mixed emotions, including heartache and anger, welled up inside Rank, and his nails dug deep into his palms.

He rushed forward, knelt on one knee, and tried to awaken his monarch, his voice trembling with urgency: "Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Wake up! It is Rank! The kingdom is in imminent danger!"

Startled by the sound, Rudolf managed to lift his heavy eyelids, his eyes bloodshot.

He stared at Rank for a long while before he seemed to recognize who the person in front of him was, and his lips twitched slightly.

He wasn't angry at being seen in such a shameful state; instead, he grinned, revealing a drunken smile that was even uglier than a cry, his teeth smeared with alcohol.

“Lan…Lank…come…just in time…” he slurred, brandishing the bottle, spilling liquid. “Have a…have a drink with me…those fools…those incompetent nobles…it’s better they’re dead…so they don’t have to bother me…it’s not my fault…it’s theirs…they didn’t understand my perfect tactics…if they had listened to me…we would have won long ago…”

His words were illogical, full of resentment and self-justification, and his voice was sometimes loud and sometimes soft.

He blamed the defeat on the dead soldiers, and even on the generals who failed to execute his "perfect tactics," but refused to admit his own mistakes, as if reciting a pathetic lie.

Looking at the utterly dejected man before him, Rank felt a chill run through him, almost unable to reconcile him with the once spirited king he remembered.

More importantly, Ranke was present at the day of the defeat and knew very well where the failure came from.

Now Rudolf wants to shift the blame onto someone else... Last time he tried to shift the blame to Count Wessen, but the Grand Duke Wessen rose to power.

If they try to shift the blame to someone else again... Rank didn't dare to think about it anymore.

Now, after his ambitions were shattered, Rudolf was left not with reflection and regrouping, but with utter collapse and self-exile.

The immense psychological trauma led him to choose the most cowardly way to cope—building a high wall with alcohol, completely isolating himself from reality, and indulging in a bubble of illusion.

"Your Majesty! The kingdom needs you! The people need you! You can't go on like this!" Rank made a last-ditch effort, stepping forward to grab Rudolf's arm, his voice filled with pleading and even a hint of despair, trying to pull him back to reality. "The Kingdom of Anglo is now harboring ill intentions. The nobles are secretly plotting something. If we don't return to the palace to deal with this, it will be too late!"

But Rudolf simply waved him away impatiently, his arm weak and powerless, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

"Stop...stop arguing...it's so annoying...what kingdom...what people...let me have some peace and quiet...we won...we'll win eventually...next time...I will..."

His voice grew softer and softer until it was replaced by snoring. His head tilted to one side, and saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Rudolf once again sank into the chaotic dreamscape brought on by alcohol, where there was no devastation of Red Waterwheel Village, no responsibility, only illusory solace and those never-to-be-realized triumphs.

Count Rank slowly stood up, his bones creaking, and looked down at the king, who was dead drunk. The last glimmer of hope on his face was extinguished.

He knew that words had no power at this moment, and any advice would be like a stone sinking into the sea.

The king's heart, along with his judgment, had been abandoned on that defeated battlefield and could never be found again.

A profound sense of powerlessness overwhelmed the minister who had served the country diligently for decades. He stood silently, his gaze sweeping over the mess in the room. He felt that the air in Koren City was bitterly cold this summer, and even the afterglow of the setting sun could not warm him in the slightest.

Finally, he turned and left, his steps heavy, leaving the king to continue his escape in his drunken dreams.

(End of this chapter)