The Youngest Prince Of The English Royalty House [EN]: Chapter 99

99. Opening (3)

—Somewhere in Ireland—

Under the scorching sun, somewhere in Ireland.

Serfs in the farmland, drinking beer to beat the heat, began to murmur.

“Something big is going to happen soon!”

“They say war is brewing again!”

“Well, at least we won’t be conscripted.”

“Yeah, let the mercenary lords handle the fighting.”

People may look down on the lower classes as uneducated, but they are often the most sensitive to shifts in the world around them.

Besides, the signs were hard to miss.

The influx of newly hired mercenaries in Ireland, the increase in troop movements, and the nobles busily traveling about were all too obvious. In the end, even the serfs, with their own eyes and ears, knew what was happening on the land they farmed.

Perhaps it was because they were the historically oppressed lower class of Ireland. The Irish had often been victims, and exploitation was a part of their daily lives.

But those who had the leisure to drink beer to quench their thirst were among the first to notice the changes, and even while feeling uneasy, they held a certain affection for their lord.

They instinctively knew how much their lord had accomplished and how much more livable the territory had become.

“What kind of person is our Prince John?”

“Indeed, thanks to him, even simpletons like us know a thing or two.”

These serfs, in fact, harbored many grievances against England.

In their childhoods, English invasions had brought death to their villages time and again, and the serfs still couldn’t shake off their hatred for England. The perpetrator forgets, but the victim holds a grudge until death.

Despite having the blood of the invading Anglo-Saxons and Normans (Frenchified Vikings) flowing in their veins, was it the abundant safety John provided that swayed them?

Forgetting their past grievances, they genuinely believed Safe Zone was a ‘safe zone’.

Ireland was unusually peaceful now. There was no forced conscription or forced labor. It was a territory where, unusually, the exploiter was being exploited, so daring fellows couldn’t easily step forward.

The outrageous acts that truly wicked lords used to commit had also decreased. That’s because John was legally extorting money through taxes and fees.

As the serfs chattered, an Irishman silently drinking beer nodded in agreement.

“That’s right. A lord like Prince John is rare in Europe.”

‘Priests usually give naive serfs empty hopes of peace and heaven, but in Ireland, it’s a true story. It’s safer here than in other territories. That’s why I submitted to his rule.’

Of course, other farmers might have simply accepted the situation, but the man who had seen the world while traveling back and forth between Mortain and Ireland knew better. The two territories of Ireland and Mortain were like Canaan [the promised land], better to live in than other places. Of course, it couldn’t be called an unconditional ‘heaven’, but it was certainly a prosperous Canaan if one worked hard.

The economic power generated by slaves captured from bandits, pirates, or pagans eliminated much of the burden on the serfs, allowing them to live a life completely different from the serfs of other territories.

At least in Ireland and Mortain, the weeping commoners were becoming a rarer sight. It was a change everyone was experiencing and a source of joy.

Watching these serfs with a complex gaze, the man thought as he returned home.

‘My father was executed for advising the lords of Gaelic Ireland, and our family fell from grace. A leader who shows mercy, even if of a different lineage, is better than those who exploit in the name of kinship. Yes, this is Anjou… yes, an Angevin.’

Finishing his thoughts, a cute son greeted the man as he returned to his shack.

“Dad, why are you so late?”

“Why weren’t you asleep?”

“It’s still bright! And I wanted to see Dad before I slept~”

“You need to sleep early to grow tall. That’s what Prince John told the children.”

“Yes, if Safe Zone said it, we have to obey.”

So, with a pleased face, he put his son to sleep.

The man came out of the shack.

It was time for his real work to begin. Alan changed into dark clothes and went to the meeting place.

He said to the subordinates waiting inside.

“New mission. Execute all but one of the traitors immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

The subordinates, also someone’s fathers, respectfully obeyed the order.

After giving orders to his subordinates, Alan went to the destination to deal with the independence activists plotting sinister schemes.

He was just a man obeying the orders of Prince John, who was merciful but also cold, not allowing a single variable in these sensitive times.

—Phew.

Arrows took out the people on watch.

With a hand signal, the agents were deployed.

“John has weaknesses. Besides, isn’t there going to be a family feud in the House of Anjou soon?”

“Ireland must belong to us Irish.”

“Because of those damned Sunday schools, our culture is being eroded by Anjou.”

Inside, the traitors were plotting.

‘Eliminate them!’

The agents who received the signal stormed the door.

As expected, several people were plotting. It might be ‘patriotism’ to someone, but that didn’t matter.

With a great civil war ahead, they couldn’t let such nonsense go unchecked.

The trash was incinerated by the extermination squad, composed entirely of Irish residents.

—Swish.

Today, they killed the traitors who were thinking foolish thoughts and spared one man who needed to be tortured.

He said to the leader of those who had persecuted them.

“Aren’t you also Gaelic (Irish)?”

“The lord’s lineage doesn’t matter to me, as long as we live peacefully and prosperously. Rather, it was the lords of Irish descent who tormented us.”

The man was still angry when he thought of the lords who had engaged in power struggles during the reign of the great Lionheart [Richard I], causing innocent people to suffer.

Having captured the only surviving piece of trash, the man said,

“Going to the destination.”

Prepared to torture him.

These movements were not only happening in Ireland.

Under the grand banner of kinship.

Internal crackdowns were also taking place in Wales, Scotland… and somewhere in Mortain.

* * *

—The Duke of Ireland’s Castle—

Robin came after a long time and reported to me.

“Your Highness, we have pulled out all the remaining weeds.”

“You’ve worked hard. Now we really have time.”

At my satisfied words, Robin said.

“Now Your Highness can go to Mortain without any worries.”

I had properly grasped how Europe was turning in various ways, and I was dealing with the reactionaries in the countries that had succumbed to England one by one. Rather than being backstabbed by those who claim to be kin and failing to wage a consistent civil war, it was better to pull out the weeds in advance.

As the Bible says, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,’ I decided to use the natives to bury the reactionaries in the regions of Ireland, Wales, and Scotland.

Of course, the core of that would be the descendants of fallen nobles who had been executed or exiled for giving unwelcome advice.

As a great lord, it was natural to have many nobles to meet because I had to handle many affairs. But today, a special guest came.

The head of the Claire family, who had been building up strength, Earl of Hertford, my brother-in-law.

He came to me with a more dignified face than before.

“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”

“Welcome, Earl.”

The Earl of Hertford had been really busy.

As the family name was French, ‘de’ Claire, it was a Norman family, and using that connection, he had worked hard to win over the French lords in unseen places.

In any case, besides that, the Claire family was also well involved in the mercenary business that flowed through me, the Count of Habsburg, and Venice.

Because the Claire family’s purpose has long been the mercenary business.

And I was thinking of this family as the crowning glory of the ‘giant mercenary company’ I was going to create.

He said to me.

“The securing of troops is complete, so rest assured.”

“Thank you. I will pay the price soon.”

All preparation is important.

* * *

—Ireland, 1190—

A letter came from my brother Richard in Normandy.

What was written in the letter was not a sentence but a single word.

[Start]

Amidst several priests with solemn expressions, newly slaughtered sheep were burning as burnt offerings in various places.

It was a reenactment of the thousand burnt offerings performed by King Solomon, who had won the civil war, to please God.

It doesn’t mean the same as three thousand bows [a Korean expression for apology]. It doesn’t mean doing it a thousand times, but offering a thousand sacrifices.

If the last general mobilization training was a kind of show of force, this time it was a display of economic power and Ireland’s ‘attitude’ towards the Catholic Church.

“Lord, look down upon our Ireland.”

Bishop Rothaire’s prayer was missing a few words, such as the words ‘Safe Zone’s Ireland’. It doesn’t matter anyway. God would have understood well.

Anyway, like in the Old Testament, they offered a thousand sheep as burnt offerings, showing confidence in their victory. But they slaughtered many cows to feed the soldiers meat.

Even in the 21st century, beef is expensive, but in the Middle Ages, beef was a noble food with an incomparable price.

‘My money….’

It is the norm to feed the soldiers well before any war or decisive battle.

It was a waste, but still rewarding.

“Eat and enjoy, from now on, all that’s left is to digest!”

With all preparations completed, it was time to go to Mortain, the forward base in the French region.

Already, the territorial wars of lords with small and medium forces had begun in northwestern and southwestern France. And today.

The concept of a declaration of war was not firmly established in this pre-modern era. And the justification needed for a civil war didn’t feel that great.

“What brought down our father Henry II was not a beautiful girl in her twenties, but the conspiracy of the self-proclaimed Duke of Aquitaine!”

The justification was easy.

Just mentioning the army of Duke Henry of Aquitaine, who threatened the radius of the old seven nobles who supported his father, became a reasonable reason.

As we set out to sea, there were welcoming guests to greet us.

“Your Highness, it’s an enemy fleet pretending to be pirates.”

Admiral Charles, who had been dispatched to sea after a long time, had a very happy face.

Looking at his expression, this French admiral friend realized that they were not real pirates.

I knew it too. Those pirates were the navy of my brothers who just didn’t fly their family flag.

Of course, it was nerve-wracking to face enemies that had to be dealt with, not pirates for farming [easy targets]. But I simply ordered.

“Deal with them.”

* * *

As Prince John went to Mortain, the women of Ireland gathered in one place.

They were all noble ladies who had sent their husbands to the battlefield.

And two women who reigned over them came.

“The Duchess is entering.”

“Her Majesty the Queen Mother is entering.”

Eleanor, the Queen Mother of England, and Mary, the Duchess of Ireland, arrived at the meeting.

The noble ladies in Ireland looked at the two women with reverence.

Despite their different ages and backgrounds, these two women held the greatest authority in Ireland.

Especially after the true power of the Claire family, which had only been a promising family for a while, was seen throughout Ireland, no one ignored Mary’s background anymore.

The meeting was a place to pray for the safe return of the husbands participating in the war and to discuss the future.

Two hours later.

“You’ve all worked hard. You may return now.”

It ended with the words of Queen Mother Eleanor.

In any case, the meeting of the noble ladies was over.

But Mary and Eleanor remained in that place. Everyone else had left.

But there were many things that only the real representatives had to say.

“Are you pleased with Richard’s proposal?”

“Of course.”

“Then there’s more you want to say.”

Queen Eleanor, who had been vague, looked at her beloved daughter-in-law and said.

“Mary, you know well that we will drive out the obstructors from the unseen board [political machinations]. No matter how much I hate them, Henry and Geoffrey were born from my womb, weren’t they?”

“That’s right.”

“Mary, you set the stage, but still, I don’t want to stain my hands with my children’s blood.”

“What does Mother want to say? You know my time is precious.”

“How amusing, our scary daughter-in-law. It’s nothing much. We should share our thoughts on this family matter.”

It was too presumptuous and immoral for the youngest daughter-in-law to speak to her mother-in-law, who was like the sky [held immense power]. But Eleanor, who was pleased with Mary’s question, said.

“And, the rest of the conversation should take place in the St. Patrick’s Prayer Room.”

Then Eleanor slightly raised the corners of her lips and said.

“Mother, you use very subtle words.”