In the conference room of the Army General Staff in Vienna, Field Marshal Conrad convened a third closed-door meeting.
The sunlight slanting in through the windows illuminated most of the long wooden table, as well as the group of grim-faced military men and bureaucrats seated around it.
In Conrad's words, today would be the final meeting. No matter what, Vienna had to make its final choice.
This also meant today was the critical moment to decide which direction the sinking ship of the Austro-Hungarian Empire would steer.
Field Marshal Conrad sat at the head of the table, his fingers unconsciously rubbing a freshly polished button on his cuff.
His gaze swept over everyone present: the Minister of War, the newly appointed Vienna Garrison Commander, several Austrian deputies from Cisleithania (the Austrian half of the empire), and several high-ranking civil servants who, though not in uniform, effectively controlled Vienna's administrative lifelines.
No one spoke. Only heavy breathing and the occasional sharp click of a lighter could be heard.
The multiple-choice question before them actually didn't offer many options; in essence, it was a very cruel "choose one of two."
On one side was the Saxon Empire—sharing the same language and race, even having familial ties through the royal families, but fiercely ambitious and desiring to annex everything.
On the other side was the Kingdom of Hungary—nominally eating from the same pot, but itching to smash the pot, divide the household, and live separately.
"Just yesterday, Budapest held back another shipment of grain destined for Vienna."
Breaking the silence was the Quartermaster General of the Kingdom of Austria.
He threw a crumpled written report onto the table, his tone carrying irrepressible anger: "The reason given was wartime rationing, 'prioritizing the protection of our own citizens'... To hell with 'our own citizens'! Are the Magyars the only ones dying fighting on the front lines?"
These words acted like a spark, instantly igniting the dry firewood that had accumulated in the conference room.
The unique political structure of the Austro-Hungarian Empire allowed the Kingdom of Hungary to adopt protectionist economic policies after the outbreak of the war.
And the lands of the Kingdom of Hungary were the traditional breadbasket of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. When they reduced grain exports to the Austrian half, even Vienna was subjected to the torment of food shortages.
"This is the third time this month!"
Another official in charge of civil administration also slapped the table.
"Vienna is the capital of the Empire! Right now, even the grain rations for the capital's citizens have dropped to historic lows, and the price of bread on the black market has increased tenfold!"
"If this continues, we won't even need to wait for a coup; the starving citizens will storm in and hang us from the streetlamps too!"
"Count Tisza (the Hungarian Prime Minister) is doing this on purpose!"
A senior Army officer bit his cigar, spitting out a puff of smoke viciously: "That Hungarian relies on Crown Prince Karl listening to him and completely disregards Vienna now! What do they want? Do they want to force us to beg for mercy? Or do they want to take advantage of the old Emperor's severe illness to dismantle the Empire directly?"
At the mention of Crown Prince Karl, the atmosphere in the conference room grew even heavier.
Everyone in the Vienna government knew that compared to Vienna, Crown Prince Karl I was more willing to communicate with Budapest.
Hungarian Prime Minister Count István Tisza was even able to exert direct influence on Karl I.
And this was obviously something Conrad and the others did not want to see.
Because in that Crown Prince's vision, granting Hungary more autonomy, even changing the Empire into a federal system, could buy peace and stability.
But in the eyes of these "conservative" figures present, this was simply cutting off one's flesh to feed a tiger—seeking one's own doom.
Discussing to this point, Field Marshal Conrad finally spoke in a cold, hard voice: "If we continue to tolerate this... when that Crown Prince truly sits on the throne, I'm afraid this will be the last time we gather to discuss affairs of state."
Field Marshal Conrad's words were very realistic, and also pierced the hearts of these Vienna officials.
Power struggles are never minor squabbles. Once Karl I took power, a purge of hardliners like them under Count Tisza's guidance was inevitable.
By then, that new Emperor who only knew how to compromise with the Hungarians would sell out Austria's interests bit by bit.
"But, is siding with the Saxon Empire truly the right decision..."
An older official hesitated, and amidst the impassioned voices, raised a different viewpoint.
"After all, that Saxon Emperor's appetite is not small either. If we rely on their power to depose the Crown Prince, or even install Archduke Eugen, who clearly looks more like a Saxon, wouldn't we become..."
The conference room fell silent for a moment.
This was indeed a tacit concern among everyone.
Saxon troops had already marched in, the Saxon Crown Prince was in the city, and even the suppression of the rebellion was done by Saxons...
"Become what? Traitors to the nation?"
Conrad sneered, his falcon-like eyes staring fixedly at that deputy: "Wake up! It is wartime now! We are fighting for survival! If we can't even fill our stomachs or win battles, what sovereignty is there to talk about?"
Simultaneously, the Quartermaster General who had complained about the Hungarians cutting off supplies earlier sneered.
Then he looked around and spoke words that left everyone present unable to refute: "Gentlemen, if I really had to choose, then I would rather work with the Saxons!"
"At least we speak the same language, drink the same beer, and going back a few hundred years, our ancestors were all Prince-Electors of the Holy Roman Empire anyway!"
Hearing this, Field Marshal Conrad also abruptly stood up, his voice rising several pitches, spittle flying under the lights.
"Exactly! What are the Magyars? A bunch of barbarians from the steppes riding horses, still calling themselves nobles every day!"
"A few hundred years ago they were still herding sheep by the Danube! And now they dare to shit on our heads and cut off our food?"
"Prince-Electors or steppe barbarians, is this a difficult choice?!"
These words were crude and direct, yet possessed astonishing incendiary power.
The innate arrogance deep in the bones of the Austrian officials present was instantly ignited.
Yes, being underlings to the Saxons is at most a sibling rivalry; losing isn't shameful...
But being stepped on by the Hungarians, that's a fucking regression of civilization!
"The Field Marshal is right!"
"We cannot let that weak Crown Prince ruin the Empire!"
"We must take action immediately and strike hard!"
Voices of agreement echoed one after another, and the few who had been wavering finally made up their minds.
Watching this scene, Conrad sat back down in his chair with satisfaction, pulling a pre-drafted order from a file folder.
"Since everyone is in agreement, let us act."
That night, the Crown Prince's residence at Belvedere Palace in Vienna was silently surrounded.
Executing the mission were not ordinary military police, but a detachment of the Tyrolean Kaiserjäger (Mountain Infantry) battalion specially recalled by Field Marshal Conrad—a unit famous for its absolute loyalty to the old Emperor and its disgust for Hungarians.
The confessions of the captured coup plotters, and the letters found in their strongholds, could be considered "ironclad proof" that Crown Prince Karl "colluded with the coup plotters."
Or rather, when Conrad and the others prepared to act, whether there was evidence or not didn't matter anymore.
At this time, Crown Prince Karl was still sitting in his study, writing a letter to Hungarian Prime Minister Count Tisza.
In the letter, he earnestly hoped the other party would release a batch of grain to alleviate Vienna's crisis, and promised that once the old Emperor's condition improved, he would persuade him to seriously consider the Kingdom of Hungary's demands for greater autonomy.
Crown Prince Karl felt he was saving the country, mending rifts with compassion and wisdom...
Until the heavy doors of the study were violently pushed open.
There was no fierce gunfight, nor any dramatic resistance.
When the fully armed mountain infantry burst into the study, the young Crown Prince, still holding his fountain pen, looked at the intruders with astonishment.
"Your Highness, authorized by the Imperial Parliament of Vienna and by order of the Imperial Army General Staff, please come with us."
The mountain infantry officer leading the team read the arrest warrant expressionlessly. Without even saluting, he brought his men forward to make the arrest.
"Are you all mad? I am the Crown Prince!"
No matter how good his temper usually was, Crown Prince Karl angrily threw down his pen and stood up: "I demand to see Conrad! I demand to see His Majesty!"
The officer ignored Crown Prince Karl and didn't answer his questions, merely stepping aside and signaling his subordinates to step forward.
Two burly mountain infantrymen walked up briskly and grabbed the Crown Prince by both arms.
Crown Prince Karl struggled while looking out the window.
In the garden, squads of mountain infantry were cooperating with General Staff military police to lock down all entrances and exits.
Everyone's actions were orderly, without any panic. This was clearly a meticulously planned operation...
Crown Prince Karl suddenly understood everything. He stopped struggling, his whole person slumping as if his spine had been pulled out.
This young Crown Prince, originally full of grand ambitions to save the Empire through "reforms," understood that the regime in Vienna was truly changing this time.
And having dealt with the Crown Prince, the biggest problem facing Field Marshal Conrad and the others was the one on the throne—that old Emperor whose mind had gone wrong.
Deep within Hofburg Palace, the Emperor's bedchambers had now become a heavily guarded "insane asylum."
Even during the day, the heavy curtains were drawn tightly shut.
Dim candles burned in the room, and the air was filled with a smell mixing medicine, incense, and the peculiar decaying scent of an old man.
In Morin's view, the fact that old Emperor Franz Joseph I had shown no improvement recently, and even showed signs of being driven mad...
Eighty percent of the blame fell on the atrocious setup of these bedchambers.
Who cares for a patient in this kind of environment?
Was there an Austro-Hungarian Emperor in the bedchambers, or had they locked up a monster?
"Don't come near! Stay away from me, all of you!"
Franz Joseph I huddled in the corner of the bed. His cloudy old eyes were bloodshot, staring fixedly at a chamberlain in the room.
"Your Majesty, this is your most trusted chamberlain, the one who has been by your side the longest..."
Several court physicians and chamberlains surrounded the bed, sweating profusely, trying to soothe the master of the Empire, but absolutely not daring to get too close.
Because just yesterday, a chamberlain attempting to feed the Emperor medicine was almost blinded by a letter opener hidden under the pillow by the highly "vigilant" Emperor.
Field Marshal Conrad stood in the outer sitting room, listening to the sounds coming from inside, his face so gloomy it could drip water.
Beside him stood several robed Austro-Hungarian mages with awkward expressions.
"This is what you call 'excessive fright'?"
Field Marshal Conrad lowered his voice, his tone carrying suppressed fury: "How many days has it been? You've even used sedatives, why is there no improvement at all? Instead, it gets worse and worse once the sedative wears off!"
The elderly mage at the front, recalled from the front lines, wiped the sweat from his forehead and said with a bitter face: "Your Excellency Field Marshal, we... we have done our best. His Majesty's condition is clearly not an ordinary mental illness. His mind should have been thrown into chaos by some kind of spell, which is why he has become like this."
"Are you certain it is the influence of some spell?" Conrad frowned.
"Yes, Your Excellency Field Marshal."
The old mage explained: "Ordinary fright... even dementia, wouldn't have such strong, targeted, and persistent hallucinations."
"His Majesty constantly feels there might be assassins among the people around him, and can accurately describe the appearance of those 'assassins'... This is very much like some kind of implanted psychological suggestion, or rather, a curse."
Since they had already learned that the Britannians provided assistance during the previous coup, and even sent over that new type of Armored Knight.
Then Conrad and the others naturally made the connection—did a Britannian Highland Mage intervene?
After all, the Highland Mage Order on that island nation was the undisputed strongest mage organization in this world.
"Can't you even make an accurate judgment? What exactly did the Britannians do?" Conrad growled. "Aren't you the top mages of the Empire?!"
The several mages looked at each other, the expressions on their faces becoming even more awkward. They certainly wanted to personally remove the spell effect for the Emperor...
But the problem was, the Austro-Hungarian Empire's attainments in spells and magitech, simply summarized...
Did not exist.
Although there were quite a few research mages... their "research" and the Saxon Imperial mages' "research" were entirely different matters.
The latter focused more on how to use mana better and more efficiently, combining spells with other industrial technologies to churn out a bunch of war behemoths and miracle weapons.
The Austro-Hungarian mages, in this regard, were like the Highland Mage Order—more conservative and "classical academic."
They basically focused their research direction on how to rub bigger fireballs and increase spell power, used to enhance their personal combat power.
So these spell-slinging brutes were obviously not very good at handling this kind of "intractable illness."
"This... Your Excellency Field Marshal, every profession has its specialty," the old mage braced himself and said.
The implication was, they couldn't handle it.
Conrad took a deep breath, fighting down his unrest. He knew he couldn't let the old Emperor stay mad like this.
They could barely suppress the news for now, but over time, paper cannot wrap fire.
Once the outside world confirmed the Emperor was completely mad, and the Crown Prince was under house arrest, the Empire would truly fall into chaos.
They had to cure the Emperor as soon as possible, or at least... make him look like a normal person.
"Since you can't do it, then find someone who knows what they're doing." A flash of resolve passed through Conrad's eyes.
After urgent consultations with other high-ranking military officials, they made a helpless but sole decision—to ask the Saxons for help again.
Although this was highly embarrassing, equivalent to admitting the Austro-Hungarian Empire's incompetence in the field of magic, they couldn't care about that right now.
When Field Marshal Conrad personally came to the door to request assistance, Crown Prince Georg and Morin were in their hotel room discussing troop deployments in the Balkan Peninsula. Hearing the news, the two exchanged a glance.
This was exactly the opportunity Crown Prince Georg had been waiting for.
"Since it is a request from an ally, and for the sake of His Majesty's health, the Saxon Empire naturally will not shirk its duty."
Crown Prince Georg nodded, speaking in a solemn tone: "I will immediately send a telegram to Dresden, requesting my father to dispatch professionals."
To be honest, hearing Crown Prince Georg say this with a straight face almost made Morin break character.
Are they truly professional?
Perhaps this is the self-cultivation of an heir apparent.
Even though the mages in their own country weren't much better off than the Austro-Hungarian Empire's, he could still put on an air of "My Saxony's magical attainments are invincible under heaven."
That afternoon, an urgent telegram was sent directly to the Grand Palace in Dresden. The core message of this telegram, if Morin were to translate it, would be: "The Austro-Hungarian Emperor's brain is broken, their mages only know how to throw fireballs, requesting our good brother Saxony to send an expert to save a life."
Dresden, the Grand Palace.
Upon receiving the telegram, Albert II was naturally happy to agree to send mages to assist, and summoned the Director and Deputy Director of the Imperial Academy of Magitech Research.
However, ultimately, only Director Planck arrived at the Grand Palace.
"Your Majesty, Deputy Director Einstein locked himself in the underground laboratory last week, saying he needed to verify a hypothesis regarding the 'critical point of mana conversion'."
"He's been in there since last week?"
Albert II was also somewhat baffled by the strange behavior of these Imperial mages.
"He sealed the door completely and set up spell wards. Unless we blow up the laboratory, no one can get him out," Planck replied somewhat apologetically.
However, Albert II didn't get angry over this, merely shrugging regretfully.
"I had originally wanted to have Master Einstein make a trip to Vienna. His magical attainments and understanding of magic are very high, but it seems that won't be possible now~"
"Your Majesty intends to send mages to Vienna?"
Planck was also somewhat surprised to hear Albert II's words.
Although he already knew a coup had recently occurred in Vienna and was ultimately suppressed by Morin's instruction unit, he still didn't know why the Emperor wanted to send Saxon Imperial mages over.
It must be noted that previously, the top brass of the Imperial Academy of Magitech Research basically never left the country.
Firstly, because the mages valued their lives and were unwilling to go to the front lines. Secondly, the Empire didn't want to send these researchers to dangerous foreign lands; their contributions in the rear were obviously much greater...
Albert II then informed Planck of Vienna's request, and the latter quickly understood the crux of the matter.
"Since Einstein is unavailable, does Lord Planck have a suitable candidate to recommend?"
Planck pondered for a moment, names from the Imperial Academy of Magitech Research flashing through his mind.
Finally, a seemingly more suitable candidate emerged in his mind.
"Your Majesty, based on the situation described by Vienna and their needs... I recommend Master Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen."