Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 562: Mamushi’s Bite

Stockholm’s summer air was a mockery. Cool, crisp, alive with birdsong. As if the world itself hadn’t just witnessed the sun descend in three poisoned crowns over Japan.

In the marble halls of the Royal Palace, courtiers in Swedish blue and gold moved like silent wraiths, their faces carefully neutral. They kept their eyes lowered; out of respect, or fear of what might be read there.

For the Emperor of Japan had come to Sweden, not as a peer, but as a man burdened by ash and uncounted graves.

Yoshihito’s robes were black, the crests of his house embroidered not in gold but in subdued iron thread.

His skin was drawn tight across sharp bones; since ascending after the sudden collapse of the Taishō line mid-war, he had been the sovereign of a realm already half-consumed by the dogs of famine and foreign ambition.

Now he was emperor of a nation that had seen its cities unmade in the span of a breath.

He stood by a tall window overlooking the palace gardens, hands clasped behind his back, listening to the interpreter murmur quiet updates.

Every few moments, his fingers would tighten; the only sign of life in an otherwise marble figure.

When he finally spoke, it was in a voice rough with disuse.

"Tell me again. They are here? Both of them?"

The interpreter bowed deeply. "Hai, Tennō Heika. The Kaiser Wilhelm II arrived last night by rail from Lübeck. and the Grand Prince of Tyrol Bruno von Zehntner arrived early this morning by special air courier from Innsbruck."

Yoshihito’s gaze did not leave the gardens. A gardener was trimming hedges into the shape of mythic beasts. Somewhere children laughed, chasing bright summer insects across the manicured lawn.

It felt obscene.

"Mamushi...." Yosihito whispered.

His response caught the aide off guard. It was a name not spoken since the days of Meiji. A name that carried respect back then. A friend of Japan and its Emperor.

Now it was whispered in corners but never openly. Ever since Bruno fell out with Taisho and his regime, it was an omen to be feared.

He turned, and the look in his eyes made the interpreter’s knees quake.

"Tell the Swedes we will proceed. I will not cower behind courtesy any longer."

The great hall had been prepared with almost painful care. Long banners of Japan’s rising sun hung side by side with Germany’s imperial colours.

Swedish guards in bright ceremonial plumes stood at exact intervals, hands resting lightly on gilded sabers.

At the far end of the hall stood two figures.

Wilhelm II still wore the proud moustache and heavy orders of a bygone century.

Age had stooped him slightly, but there was fire yet in his eyes; a cruel delight in still being called Kaiser after all the world’s attempts to deny him that title.

And at his shoulder, like a shadow given breath, stood Bruno von Zehntner.

His own Imperial Regalia was on full display. Medals won with blood and iron, not granted to himself by virtue of his brith and the position it gave him.

His hands were clasped lightly before him, his expression mild. But his eyes, ice chips set in stone, never ceased their quiet calculation.

When Yoshihito entered, Wilhelm’s smile flickered broadly. He stepped forward, offering an arm that was not refused.

"Your Majesty," the Kaiser intoned in passable Japanese, though thick with a German accent. "We meet at last, though under most regrettable stars."

Yoshihito inclined his head. His own voice in German was formal, precise. "I thank His Imperial Majesty for his attendance. And for granting this council in a neutral house."

Bruno’s lips twitched faintly. "Neutral," he echoed. The first word he had spoken. It was a small, quiet amusement that unsettled every man within earshot.

They took their seats at a narrow table of dark oak; the grain rippling like storm-wracked seas.

No servants remained. Only interpreters, who hovered pale and tense.

For a time, they exchanged the required courtesies; condolences, ritual condemnations of the tragedy, careful acknowledgements of Japan’s suffering. But it was paper covering flame.

Yoshihito leaned slightly forward. His hands were folded, his knuckles white.

"Let us not pretend," he said. "Three of my cities burn still, though the fires have long since died. Forty thousand gone in each. I stand here because my people demand to know by whose hand they were made to perish."

Wilhelm opened his mouth, but Bruno lifted a single hand. Even the Kaiser subsided, with only the faintest tightness at the corner of his eye.

"It was by this hand the order was given," Bruno said softly.

There was astonishment on the Japanese host’s faces. And then Bruno showed the first sign of emotion since the negotiations began. A cruel smirk appeared on his face as he rested his sharp chin on the top of his robust knuckle bones.

"And why wouldn’t I? Your orders were intercepted, quite easily I might add. You were going to arm every man and boy capable of wielding rifle and spear to fight against our invasion."

Bruno continued with increased contamination.

"Your women were taught that our soldiers were beasts, that mothers should smother their own children before we reached them. Victory would have cost us dearly; and drowned your nation in even deeper rivers of blood. It was a price neither of us could afford."

Finally he began to ease up on the aggression, and transition into a facade of lament.

"It is a pity you gave me no option but to destroy your capacity for war in its entirety. And here we are, letting our words end the conflict you all started, rather than bullets and bayonets. I’d say that alone makes my actions justified, wouldn’t you?"

He paused, letting the silence fill with ghosts.

Yoshihito’s breath shuddered. The interpreter’s voice broke, trying to carry it.

"So it is done, then. You wished to end our challenge in Asia, and you have done so. What remains of my house will sign whatever terms you press upon us, to preserve the hearths that yet stand." freēwēbnovel.com

Bruno tilted his head. For a terrible instant, there was something almost pitying in his gaze.

"Majesty. We do not seek the vassalage of Japan. Not now. Not when your islands still bleed so freshly. But we will take from you that which you have stolen from others, and grant it back to those it once belonged to."

A brief pause as Bruno drank from the water given to him before continuing.

"Unlike the Reich, which built its capacity for war based upon its own natural might, you carved an empire out of the lands of your neighbors, because your own lacked the resources to produce a war machine to compete with ours. And you have now lost the right to rule those lands. "

Yoshihito swallowed once. Twice.

"How much?"

Bruno smiled without teeth.

"You will retain your four great home islands, along with Okinawa, Tsushima, the Bonins... We will be gracious and let Sakhalin and the Kurils remain under your banner. But understand: Okinawa will host a Reich naval base. For as long as we deem necessary."

Yosihito remained utterly silent, as if he had truly turned to a marble statue on the spot for the longest of moments. And then a deep sigh.

"Fine then... Such is the cost of defeat... Our Empire is gone... And all that remains are the lands owned by my ancestors before the rise of Meiji... I suppose it is a more favorable fate than I was expecting. Where do I sign?"

A treaty was produced by Wilhelm in its fullest extent. The terms were read carefully by both parties thrice before the signing of it by all involved in the conference.

Afterward, as the courtiers reentered, bustling with tea and solemn platitudes, Wilhelm clapped Bruno on the back, the old man’s laughter brittle as frost on glass.

Yoshihito stood by the window once more, staring out at gardens that now seemed soaked in blood no one else could see.

His chief minister approached hesitantly. "Majesty... what shall we tell the Diet? The newspapers?"

Yoshihito did not answer at first. Then, in a voice so low it was nearly lost to the sighing trees, he said:

"Tell them we looked into the mouth of the Mamushi; and found its poison less cruel than we feared."

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