White snowflakes, colorful Christmas trees, and brilliant decorations reflected off countless celebratory banners, making this Christmas especially dazzling. As the bells of the New Year rang out, Franz fell into quiet reflection. Looking back on the decades he had walked, step by arduous step through cold mountains and harsh terrain, there were simply too many stories to tell. This Christmas, there were no guests at all. Aside from the necessary guards, even the servants had been given leave by Franz himself. The ones organizing the celebration were all juniors. On such a rare day of reunion, it only felt meaningful if they did everything with their own hands. There was meaning, yes, but the execution was somewhat out of control. These pampered youngsters were clearly not used to manual work. Looking at the so-called dishes placed on the table, Franz seriously doubted whether they were edible. Still, seeing everyone eat so happily put him at ease. In any case, he had no intention of touching them himself. At his age, late-night meals were no longer appropriate. The fact that he had stayed up this long already spoke to how well he had taken care of himself. A glance at the empress beside him showed she was already yawning nonstop. If not for tradition, she would probably have gone to bed long ago. Then again, tradition was only an excuse. The real reason was that days like this, when the family could truly reunite, were becoming fewer and fewer. With victory in the world war secured, the final round of enfeoffments was about to begin. After laying the groundwork for so many years, it was finally time to reap the harvest. As the greatest victor of the war, the Habsburg dynasty naturally had its own share of the spoils. The Holy Roman Empire was already vast. Now, after seizing another twenty million square kilometers of territory from the British, excluding the uninhabitable Antarctic continent, it effectively controlled close to two-fifths of the Earth. Unless colonial rule was maintained, the central government simply could not manage such an expanse. As the times progressed, the cost of colonial rule continued to rise, and its eventual elimination was only a matter of time. This was especially true for Holy Roman territories, most of which were sparsely populated. From an economic standpoint, colonial governance there was even less worthwhile. Since the Holy Roman Empire had always relied on federal structures and enfeoffment, there was no reason not to continue along that path. Especially in distant regions, once meritorious subjects were granted their lands, all that remained was to dispatch a prince or grandson of the imperial house. Just like that, another constituent state would come into being. Aside from the eldest son and eldest grandson, who were destined to inherit the throne, Franz had already made arrangements for all his other children and grandchildren. Because of the limits of transportation in this era, a single round trip would take an enormous amount of time. That alone meant that, in the future, family reunions would be rare rather than frequent. But there was no alternative. The House of Habsburg had reached its current height, and if it wished to continue growing and prospering, it had to branch out. The opportunities were already in their hands. If they failed to seize them now, what future would there be to speak of? “A parent who truly loves their children plans for them with the utmost foresight.” On this point, Franz and his wife were in complete agreement. Time spares no one. By the standards of this era’s life expectancy, Franz and his consort were already long-lived. Christmas gatherings like this, with the whole family together, were clearly becoming few and far between. Once the enfeoffments were complete, the next reunion might be years away. Perhaps it would be Franz’s eightieth birthday, or the twentieth anniversary of the restoration of the Holy Roman Empire, some grand occasion celebrated by the entire realm. In a way, this was a fortunate kind of worry. Countless people spent their lives scrambling for a single fief. Many families poured in the efforts of three generations and still failed to get what they wanted. Noble families at least had an advantage. From a young age, their children received military training. As long as their aptitude was not too poor and they worked hard enough, entering a military academy was not difficult. Graduating from an academy meant starting out as an officer. With the connections left behind by their parents, their chances of earning military merit on the battlefield were far higher than those of ordinary people. If luck favored them further, and they happened to fight in a great war like this one, earning some merit and surviving, they could secure a lasting foundation for themselves. For those at the bottom of society, it was far harsher. Starting from nothing, the few who managed to rise were truly darlings of fate. Although, on paper, most of the newly ennobled officers came from commoner backgrounds, many of them were in fact collateral branches of noble houses, or the children of the middle class, capitalists, or bureaucrats. On the surface, these people seemed to lack roots within the military. In reality, their economic foundations were solid. In the German lands, parents were famously willing to invest heavily in their children’s education. With the world in turmoil and universal conscription in place, military knowledge was not something one could afford to neglect. In terms of theoretical learning and social conduct, the children from these families were in no way inferior to those of ordinary noble households. Even many who aspired to earn titles through military merit, or planned to build a long-term career in the army, had already completed basic recruit training before they ever enlisted. With such advantages, their chances of promotion within the military were clearly higher than those of ordinary commoners. In fact, among the truly outstanding soldiers from the lower classes, most had fathers who themselves possessed rich military experience and could pass down relevant knowledge and skills. Was it unfair? Undoubtedly. But the world had always been cruel, and it was never shaped by individual will. As emperor, Franz only needed to ensure the army’s combat effectiveness and loyalty. The social origins of the officers beneath him were of little importance. If there was anyone to blame, it was simply that the World War had been too short. It ended in less than a year, leaving ordinary people no time to grow and rise through prolonged struggle. Of course, this was not something that could be openly discussed. Even if the odds were slim, probability was still probability. Those who leapt straight into the nobility were few, but those who received land were many. British Africa, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, British Indochina, and numerous islands—there was simply too much land available for distribution. And this was only the legacy left behind by Britain. The other defeated powers might not have left such rich spoils, but each still had a few scraps of meat to offer. No one would walk away empty-handed. Newly occupied territories needed people. Granting land in exchange for military merit was the best possible way to attract settlers. It not only brought in migrants, but also conveniently provided troops to defend those lands. At times, Franz even wondered whether playing the game this way was a bit too ruthless. But when he saw how eagerly the public flocked to the opportunity, he decisively dismissed such dangerous thoughts. After all, it had only been a few years since serfdom was abolished. This was precisely the era when people were most obsessed with land. Especially at this time, farmers earned more and lived better than industrial workers. Ordinary people had their own kind of wisdom. The facts were plain to see: higher income, a better life, and an estate that could be passed down to future generations. If this was manipulation, then let there be more of it. No one minded having a few extra plots of land. As for using them to defend the territory, that was hardly an issue. If you did not defend your own land, who would? … Some people rejoiced, while others fell into despair. While Franz was quietly saddened by the thought that family gatherings would become ever rarer, Buckingham Palace was shrouded in gloom. Even though he had long prepared himself mentally, when Britain truly surrendered, Edward VII still could not help but feel deep grief. With such sorrow weighing on his heart, this Christmas was destined to be bleak. Even Father Christmas seemed less cheerful than in years past. Reviewing lessons learned, seeking countermeasures, preparing for a comeback—none of that held any real meaning anymore. An island nation could not afford failure. Britain, cramped in land and limited in population, had an extremely low margin for error. Defeat meant losing everything. Worse still, over the past several centuries, Britain had accumulated hatred from across the globe to the maximum. That alone made any hope of revival far more difficult. Even if, through backroom dealings, Britain managed to preserve the British Isles by buying off the Holy Roman government, it still could not change the reality of Britain’s decline. The more Edward VII thought about it, the more stifled he felt. He had done nothing poorly and by any reasonable standard, he had even performed well, yet he ended up as the man who brought the Victorian era to its end. Fortunately, Britain was a constitutional monarchy. There was still a cabinet out front to take the blame and absorb public anger. After all, everyone knew the king was already advanced in age. His health had been poor over the past year, leaving him unable to handle state affairs. Naturally, the war had nothing to do with him. Of course, the most important reason Edward VII emerged unscathed was the will of the Continental Alliance, or rather, the deliberate leniency of the Holy Roman government. The deal between the Holy Roman and the British governments had only just been concluded and was still being carried out. What was needed right now was a stable Britain. Compared to replacing a prime minister, changing the king would have far greater repercussions. Mishandled, it could plunge Britain straight into collapse. As the victor of the war, the Holy Roman Empire had far too many interests to absorb. In the short term, it simply had no time to waste on Britain. Beyond that, there was another key reason: preserving Britain’s decayed bureaucratic system itself. Any old, established empire is riddled with problems. Reform is often harder than tearing everything down and starting over. Once the colonial era ends and internal conflicts can no longer be exported overseas, reform becomes even more difficult. This was an open strategy, but Edward VII and the British government had no way to refuse it. As members of the vested interests, how could they possibly reform themselves out of existence? The current Prime Minister, Campbell, was the leader of the reform faction. During his term, he patched up many of the British Empire’s structural flaws. His achievements were undeniable. If not for this war, his historical reputation would never have been low. He might even have gone down as one of Britain’s greatest prime ministers. Yet the irony lay precisely in how capable Campbell was. Had a mediocre, do-nothing prime minister been in office instead, the world war might never have broken out so quickly. History is always filled with dark comedy. If this story were turned into a film, people would probably find it unbelievable, completely at odds with common sense. A capable king and a capable prime minister managed to pull a declining British Empire back from the brink, only to send it plunging straight into an abyss by another path. It sounded absurd, yet it happened all the same. If Campbell had not pushed for reform, Britain would likely have continued muddling along within the free trade system, oblivious for quite some time to the fact that its own markets were being steadily eaten away. If the British Empire could have been replaced gradually, like boiling a frog in warm water, the Holy Roman government would never have resorted to war. After all, war costs money too. It was destined to be a sleepless Christmas night. Edward VII suffered, but the British government suffered even more. No one was in the mood to celebrate. There was not even a Christmas tree at the prime minister’s residence. As a tragedy of the times, the Campbell government now had only one final mission left: to sign the instrument of surrender and shoulder the responsibility for defeat. And after that, there would be no “after.” Once the dust settled, it would be time for a new government to take office and actually carry out the terms of the treaty. Listening to the New Year’s bells, Campbell said with a bitter smile, “After Christmas, the Vienna Peace Conference will begin. Have the Foreign Office send representatives as soon as possible.” No holiday for Christmas, only state business. Thinking about it was enough to make one dizzy. But as a defeated nation, the Campbell government had no choice. The war had just ended, and troubles of every kind were already piling up. There were countless loose ends to deal with, leaving no time for rest. Even international events that people once fought tooth and nail to attend now attracted no volunteers at all. The Foreign Office had no choice but to pick an unlucky soul and send them off. In this regard, the Holy Roman government was actually quite easy to deal with. It did not matter who was sent, nor how high or low the representative’s rank was. As long as someone showed up and could sign on behalf of the British Empire, that was enough. For the Campbell government, this was critically important. Their reputation was already in tatters, but fewer charges were still better than more. The public is forgetful. Time can wash away almost anything. Especially for the other cabinet members, as long as they kept a low profile, there was a good chance they would be forgotten after a few years. The ones who would truly be remembered were only the prime minister and the man who signed the documents, especially the representative who signed the surrender papers. The label of “traitor” was almost guaranteed to stick. This could also be seen as a reward for the British government’s pragmatism. Just like in the First World War, because the Germans chose to surrender proactively, the victors likewise abandoned the pursuit of war crime charges. Had the British government chosen to fight to the bitter end, it would have been a Second World War scenario. As the leaders of a defeated nation, none of them would have escaped a trip to the military tribunal. “Understood, Prime Minister. I will make the arrangements shortly. Nothing will be delayed,” Foreign Secretary Adam said calmly. In any case, the ceasefire terms had already been agreed upon in private. The Vienna Peace Conference would only be about adjusting details. As a defeated nation, Britain no longer had any real voice at the conference. Whoever went would make no difference. While those at the top were miserable, ordinary people had no better Christmas either. The war was over, but the trade blockade had not yet been lifted. The reserves on the British Isles had long since been nearly exhausted. Items like candy, coffee, tea, cigarettes, and alcohol had all become luxuries. Even with the government increasing supplies for Christmas, each person only received an extra liter of milk, a three hundred gram loaf of bread, and a small dried fish. Everything else was still potatoes, corn, soybeans, and other coarse grains. Not only were the quantities insufficient, the quality was equally depressing. It tasted more like animal feed than food. Combined with the decrees from half a year ago that forced livestock slaughter and banned alcohol brewing, the relief rations being distributed now were very likely what had once been meant for animals. Having something to eat was already a blessing. In wartime, there was no room to be picky. As long as the enemy blockade remained in place, supplies on the British Isles would not return to normal. … Deep in an alley, inside an ordinary little courtyard, James’s family was spending this unusual Christmas together. Staring at the food on the table, James forced a smile, but inside he was falling apart. In order to make this Christmas feel complete, he had visited three different black markets in a row. Unfortunately, his wallet could not keep up, and he had been forced to give up because of the outrageous prices. No candy. No cake. No turkey. Only a few pieces of bread, a carton of milk, and one baked potato per person. This was the standard of living for the poorest people before the war. A family like James’s, which had once been relatively better off, used to live at a much higher level. At the very least, every meal had sauces and seasonings. Watching his usually picky son eat happily, James felt nothing but bitterness in his heart.
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