1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Chapter 220 Imperial Camp Vodka

On the southern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, the capital of Africa, Carthage.

It was late at night. On the road south of the city, Jerome Sfranchis leaned his head out of the carriage and looked at the dark city with a little surprise.

As a member of the Sphrancis family, the second richest family in the Eastern Roman Empire, the eldest son of Foreign Minister George Sphrancis, and the cousin of Prime Minister Isurus Sphrancis, Jerome naturally received a good education and easily obtained degrees from the University of Florence and the University of Constantinople. He also relied on his family connections to thrive in official circles and was able to get along with everyone.

Two years ago, the post station system in Africa was basically organized and improved. The settlements were connected to each other by roads of different standards, and post stations were set up at certain distances to govern them.

Most post stations were set up in villages and towns, and were usually open to the public in the form of taverns and inns. In addition to road maintenance and horse rental, postmen were also responsible for collecting intelligence and conveying information. Together with the priests sent to various villages by the central government, they formed the empire's lower-level intelligence network.

Jerome was also recommended at that time and was appointed as the general manager of the western post stations, in charge of the post stations and road systems from Tripoli to Carthage.

After excitedly moving into the official residence in Carthage, Jerome was immediately shocked speechless by the mountains of documents.

Because the empire has always had strict restrictions on the number of officials, the chief manager of the Western Post Station has less than 20 subordinates. There are quite a few postmen under him, but their work is equally heavy and they have no time to spare.

There was no other way. Jerome, who was determined to achieve results, invited several housekeepers from the family who were good at clerical work. He spent half a year integrating the originally chaotic and complicated western post stations. He made a roster for every postman and every post station. The postman's background, the size of the post station, the means of transportation whether it was horses or camels, the number of people coming and going, and the profit were all recorded without omission.

The post of postmaster was a lucrative position. Over the past two years, countless people came to Jerome, offering him money and women, hoping to gain benefits through his personal connections.

However, Jerome always scoffed at this and never bought into it.

Send money? Do you think I need money?

Over the past two years, he has visited almost every node of the western post stations, trying to present the most realistic situation of the post stations to his superiors. Unsuitable post stations were demolished and profitable ones were immediately expanded.

Not only that, he also drew inspiration from the Imperial Parliament and held meetings every six months to listen to the suggestions of businessmen.

These merchants travel around all year round and are very familiar with the trends of trade routes. They know which roads are difficult to travel, which post stations are too small, where the tolls are unreasonable, and where the postmen are partial and break the law.

The post stations of the Eastern Roman Empire were open to everyone, but not everyone could get free food and accommodation, and the emperor's messengers were no exception.

After the messengers paid the money, the postman would issue them a document, and when they arrived at their destination, they would use the document to collect travel expenses from the higher authorities.

Jerme also tried to make some reforms, improving the accommodation conditions of the inn and promoting local cuisine and culture, which not only boosted the local economy but also turned the inn into a more high-end hotel rather than a simple rest area.

Some people jokingly say that if you take a tour of the Western Post Station, you will have a general understanding of Western Africa.

After two years of hard work, the Western African Post became the first profitable post system in the Eastern Roman Empire, and Jerme was highly praised by the emperor.

Now, Jerome has been ordered to expand the western post station, with the aim of connecting the post station network southward to the southern border region and westward to Constantina. He is also very busy.

It is said that the Empire will soon appoint a new Minister of Transport, and Jerome is the strongest contender.

As the carriage approached the city gate, Jerome jumped out and handed his identity documents to the guards guarding the city.

Today's guards seemed different from before. When Jerome returned to Carthage last time, the city's defense was jointly handled by the Second Legion of the Guards stationed in Carthage and the Carthage City Guard. The soldiers defending the city always had the emblem of a desert fox painted on their chests.

And now, these guards were all wearing light yellow robes and light leather armor, with leather hats that were very common in the local area on their heads, a scimitar slung across their waists, a heavy musket on their backs, a gunpowder pot on their chests, and a plank axe commonly used by the Russians in their hands.

If it weren't for the Carthaginian emblem still painted on their chests, Jerome really wouldn't be able to tell whether they were enemies or friends.

"Everyone, what are you doing?"

Jerome stepped forward cautiously and asked.

"Are the City Guards responsible for defending the city now? What about the Second Legion of the Royal Guards?"

"Master General, we have changed our uniforms now. We are no longer called the City Guards, but the Carthaginian Archers."

A captain of the shooting corps recognized Jerome, glanced at the identification document casually, and handed it back to him.

"As for the Second Guards Legion, they have also changed their equipment and are now rushing to Constantinople to assemble."

"There's going to be a war, and we might go to the battlefield."

The captain sighed.

"You will also go to the battlefield?"

Jerome was a little surprised.

"Yes, Carthage and Constantinople are the first cities to complete the reorganization of the shooting army. If we go to the battlefield, I don't know how many of us can return home alive."

The captain nodded.

"If we don't go to the battlefield, where will we get the money?"

The other officer snorted.

"With all this equipment on our backs, our usual wages have only increased slightly. If we really want to get rich, we still have to go to the battlefield."

"When I followed Emperor Isaac to capture Bianlinchi, I was shot by three arrows, but I gritted my teeth and refused to retreat. Are you afraid? If you are afraid, don't join the army!"

"Okay, okay, I'm just talking."

When the former captain saw that his colleague was about to reminisce about the past again, he quickly stopped him with a smile.

"We are all your Majesty's veterans. We guard the city in peacetime and serve as officers in war. The slaves do the work of sending people to die."

Jerome was stunned and shook his head. He didn't want to care about these things that were too far away from him, so he walked away.

"My Lord, let me go with you. Curfew is back in place so you don't get stopped again."

The captain said kindly.

"Another curfew? That's weird."

Although Jerome was confused, he didn't care too much and followed the captain into the streets of Carthage.

The streets were dark, but there were lights on on the hill southwest of the city, and the sound of heavy hammers hitting iron could be faintly heard.

"Oh, that's the Carthage Arsenal. They have been very busy lately. The workers work in three shifts and keep the lights on even at midnight."

Jerome nodded, not too surprised.

The industrial zone of Carthage was formed earlier than the industrial zone of Constantinople. Caliph Yahya of the Hafsid Dynasty was a wise ruler. As early as during his reign, the city of Carthage had already planned an area specifically responsible for handicraft production, and the system was more mature.

"My lord, where are you going?"

"I want to see Basilius, the Carthaginian administrator. Where does he live now?"

"Him,"

The captain was stunned.

"He is no longer the administrator of Carthage. His Majesty has directly removed the title of the administrator of Carthage and changed it to the Minister of Carthage, responsible for assisting the prince."

"Oh? When did it happen?"

"It's something that happened recently. Carthage has had a lot of new officials come in recently, and the tribune has also been replaced. The new tribune is Count Yergubai, the former chief of the personal guard of His Majesty. He is now also the first commander of the Carthaginian archers."

"There have been a lot of things going on lately. Carthage is not peaceful. You must be careful."

The captain kindly reminded.

Jerome didn't answer, his brows furrowed.

Basilius, the Carthaginian minister who remained in the garrison, lived in the administrative palace, where the lights remained on until night.

There were quite a few shooting corps soldiers in front of the Administrative Palace. They were all tall and strong, leaning crookedly against the pillars, holding a large hatchet in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, drinking and talking and laughing loudly.

"This is……"

Jerome's eyes narrowed in surprise.

"Making trouble."

"make trouble?"

"It's about the wine."

The captain was also somewhat helpless.

"As you know, Carthage is an immigrant city. Many of the new Romans here are Slavs who migrated from the Black Sea. They are addicted to alcohol and feel uncomfortable if they don't drink for a day."

"It's strange to say, the fighting power of these northern barbarians after drinking is surprisingly strong. They don't care about anything at all. A hundred of them dare to chase a thousand people and fight."

"Last month we went to the west to wipe out a group of Berbers who sneaked down the mountain. After drinking, these barbarians rushed up with their muskets without even using a stand."

The captain rubbed his hands with a wry smile.

"They didn't aim at all, they just rushed up and shot at the enemy's chest."

"So what's going on? No alcohol?"

The captain pointed at the administrative palace and shook his head in a taboo manner.

"That's all I can say. Please go in."

Jerome walked into the administrative palace with a puzzled look on his face, but the shooting soldiers at the door did not stop him.

Led to the study by the servant, Jerome saw Basilius who was handling official business.

Basilius was reviewing official documents and there was a cup of steaming coffee on the table.

"Such a big thing has happened outside, and you still have the mind to do your work here."

Jerome said unhappily, and sank down on his chair.

"There are too many things to do. I can't finish them without working overtime."

Basilius looked a little haggard, but when he saw Jerome, he stood up with a smile.

"Isn't this Carthaginian consul a sinecure? You are restless all day long."

"Others don't dare to do it. Others care about feathers, but I don't."

Basilius said firmly.

"Since the Senate and the Roman people are willing to give me this position, I will not ignore it like my predecessors did. If I see something bad, I must change it!"

"What are you doing lately? Is there anything that needs your attention?"

Jerome snorted.

"There are so many things to do, I can't just ignore them."

Basilius picked up the document on the table and began to read.

"The city of Tripoli is plagued by locusts, and local estate owners are taking advantage of the situation to annex land and hoard food. Do you think I should intervene?"

"The situation in the Atlas Mountains is unstable, and some Berber tribes have started to come down from the mountains to plunder. Should I do anything about it?"

"The assimilation process in some remote areas was not successful. Many Romans who migrated there actually started to speak Berber. They were assimilated by them. Do I care?"

Basilius ignored Jerome's shocked look and continued talking.

"Also, the village community system I was planning to implement near Carthage encountered unprecedented resistance. The serfdom owners did not want to hand over the peasants in their hands at all, and they also disdained my orders."

“The road ahead is long and arduous, so take your time.”

"You're crazy! You're really crazy!"

Jerome looked at Basilius in disbelief.

"You are the governor of Carthage, not the governor of Africa!"

"You have no business dealing with the locust plague in Tripoli! You have no business dealing with the Berber tribes! The serfdom owners are the supporters of the emperor and the princes. They only obey the emperor's orders and will certainly not listen to you!"

"If you continue like this, you will offend the entire Carthage, including the emperor and the prince!"

"Why, do you regret asking your family to recommend me to be the Minister of Retention?"

Basilius smiled.

"Of course I regret it! Our family should have cut off all ties with you!"

Jerome's face turned red with anger.

"Don't worry, I didn't overstep my authority."

Basilius shook his head.

"In fact, the division of duties of Carthage's administrators is very unclear. In theory, this consul has the same duties as other regional consuls and is responsible for managing all government affairs in the Carthage region."

"However, since Your Majesty and several princes are always stationed in Carthage in person, the consuls have actually lost most of their autonomy and can do nothing."

"The same is true for the current Minister of Remain. The appointment document His Majesty gave me was very general. It only said that I would assist the prince in managing government affairs, and nothing else."

"So you're in charge of all these things? Isn't teaching enough to keep you busy?"

Jerome was very upset and stood up and walked around.

"The prince doesn't care about anything, and the queen is preparing to hold a banquet recently, so I have to take charge."

"It's just unbearable to leave some things alone."

"So, what did you find out?"

“It’s very difficult.”

Basilius sighed.

"Your Majesty has not properly managed the civil service system and has been too preferential to the military. A large number of soldiers have become lower-level officials and militia captains after retirement or transfer. They are indeed loyal, but their governance capabilities are indeed limited."

"Your Majesty has woven a huge network of relationships in North Africa centered on interests and emotions. This phenomenon was greatly deepened during the reign of Prince Justinian in the past few years."

"In the short term, this phenomenon helps stabilize the situation, but it also leads to the deepening of the dynasticization of North Africa. They believe in Orthodox Christianity and speak Greek, but their loyalty is completely directed to the Palaiologos family represented by Your Majesty, and they have only a vague impression of Rome."

"From a long-term perspective, this is probably not a good thing. Talents won't emerge and culture won't spread."

"You know that this is what His Majesty and the prince intended, and yet you still do the opposite?"

"Your Majesty has great prestige. As long as he is here, North Africa will remain an integral part of the empire. The huge wealth brought by the gold and salt trade and ocean trade will still flow into the treasury of the empire. Why should you worry about this?"

"Crazy, really crazy..."

Jerome muttered to himself and shook his head.

"Your Majesty has great prestige, so naturally everything will be fine. The prince has some tricks, so he should be able to calm things down."

"But have you ever thought about what will happen to North Africa and the Balkans if they are no longer around many years later?"

Basilius stared at Jerome.

"What do you think will happen?"

Jerome was silent. He had not thought about such a long-term issue.

"Split."

Basilius said slowly.

"The military nobles, manor owners and tribal sheikhs in North Africa will most likely elect a Palaiologos prince to represent their interests, and the Roman people in the Balkans will elect another."

"Then Africa would become a Christian, Greek-speaking, culturally diverse, Palaiologos feudal state, not a Roman state."

Jerome was unconsciously attracted by Basilius's point of view and asked:

"So what are you going to do?"

"Your Majesty has obviously realized this problem, but out of pragmatism, he has always tried to use interests to deeply bind the Balkans, North Africa and overseas colonies, making it difficult for them to leave each other."

"But this is obviously not enough. People don't just live for profit. Above profit, there is also a sense of family and country."

“If I come to power, I will focus on culture and completely Romanize North Africa, so that they can realize the essence of this nation and country.”

Basilius said firmly.

"And this is not just a North African problem. Bulgaria, Serbia, Anatolia, and even Egypt and the Levant in the future, are all facing this serious problem."

After that, the two fell into a long silence.

"Your Majesty has given your permission?"

"I reported everything I did, but there was no response, which means they acquiesced."

"Then do you know that no response also means that if something goes wrong, you will be the scapegoat?" "When the time comes, His Majesty will abandon you, just like abandoning a chess piece!"

Jerome asked angrily.

"so what?"

"Who would say Belisarius wasn't great?"

"Okay, okay, I know you have talent and great ambitions. I'm a mediocre person. You do it yourself. Don't drag me into it."

Jerome was about to leave after a disagreement.

"By the way, you haven't told me yet, what's going on with the shooting army outside the door?"

"This problem is more urgent. I've been so busy lately. You have to help me."

Basilius sighed repeatedly, pulled a chair over and asked Jerome to sit back down.

"After all, this is the consequence of the empire's rapid expansion."

"Your Majesty's policy of governing the country is very simple: make money, raise troops, fight wars, immigrate, preach, and increase the population by reducing taxes. That's it, nothing else."

Basilius spread his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"The downside is that the military officers are completely superior to the civil officials. They only listen to the emperor. Among the other civil officials, only the old prime minister has the qualifications to make them obey."

"That new tribune, Yelugubai, who thinks he is a close minister to the emperor, ignored my decree and claimed that I had no right to command the emperor's army."

"Now that the Shooting Army is causing trouble, he probably didn't directly participate, but he definitely condoned it."

"Then are you qualified to give him orders?"

Jerome asked.

"No."

Basilius admitted it openly.

Jerome opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

"That's why I said the system needs to be improved. There is no direct superior-subordinate relationship between the regional administrators and the tribunes. After the tribunes take charge of the shooting corps, this situation will definitely become more serious."

"Due to military needs, this system is not convenient to change for the time being, but once the situation stabilizes, restrictions will definitely be imposed on the military."

"So you're starting to serve as His Majesty's scout again, right?"

Jerome said with great regret.

Basilius smiled but said nothing.

"Speaking of which, why are the Shooting Army causing trouble?"

Jerome asked.

"Well, that's why."

Basilius pulled out a glass bottle from under the desk. The surface of the bottle was covered with luxurious stickers with the emblem of a crowned double-headed eagle.

"Imperial Camp Vodka, the latest liquor produced by Galata Distillery, is very strong."

“The establishment of the Galata Distillery District is the most important step in your Majesty’s spirits monopoly, which mainly produces three types of spirits.”

"Imperial Camp Vodka, Royal Brandy, Marmara Whisky."

"Since vodka is the easiest to produce, with a short production cycle and a simple and crude production process, this alcohol soon began to flow into the market in large quantities and was very popular in North Africa."

Basilius stared at the transparent wine in a trance.

"I understand that the Slavs like this thing, but I am very curious why even the converted Berbers are particularly fond of it?"

“Our local wines don’t sell so well here.”

Basilius shook his head in confusion.

"Lord Basilius, you haven't spent much time in the desert. Carthage is fine, but the nights in the desert can freeze your fingers off. When it's the coldest, water turns to ice. There must be a reason why they like this kind of thing."

"Besides, they may have never drunk anything so strong before, so it's normal for them to be obsessed with it."

Jerome shrugged, clearly understanding what he was saying.

"In any case, the drinking situation in Carthage has become so serious that I have to intervene."

"Alcohol abuse will not only greatly increase violence, but also reduce people's labor efficiency, which is not conducive to the development of the city."

"Winemaking requires a lot of grain. The more wine is brewed, the higher the grain price will be, which is also not conducive to the stability of the grain market."

Basilius frowned.

"Besides, drinking and gambling have always been inseparable. During the Classical Republic, the drinking trend in Rome spread from top to bottom. Everyone drank heavily and rushed to throw their hard-earned money into taverns and gambling tables. This led to the subsequent alcohol restriction."

“That’s why I took action against Imperial Camp Vodka and restricted alcohol consumption.”

"I'm afraid there's more to it than that. Didn't you re-issue the curfew?"

Jerome said.

They all knew that the city of Carthage was like most cities, where people were not allowed to go out at night and there was a curfew.

A few years ago, when Prince Justinian was in charge of the city, he saw that the consumer market was booming, so he built a large lighthouse in the central square of the city, lifted the curfew, provided lighting every night, and built a night market around the lighthouse to provide consumer services.

Not only that, Justinian also often organized beer festivals at night, bringing citizens together to drink and have fun.

This plan is also known as the "City That Never Sleeps".

"You are talking about the city that never sleeps created by Prince Justinian, right? I admit that he is also very good at making money and winning people's hearts, and he is no less capable than Your Majesty."

"The City That Never Sleeps has indeed directly raised Carthage's fiscal revenue to a higher level. The people are also very surprised by this and have praised it."

"However, this also led to instability in the city. Apart from the decline in the labor force caused by alcoholism, gambling, theft, robbery, rape and other behaviors occurred frequently."

"Your Majesty agreed to Justinian's approach because of the increase in finances, but now the impact of alcoholism is too bad, I can't just ignore it."

"In order to show the citizens my determination to reform the city's customs, I first took action against Prince Justinian's two taverns and a casino, and strictly regulated their business practices."

When Jerome heard this, he was so angry that he immediately stood up and prepared to leave, but was pushed back by Basilius.

"Do you know how big the wine market is? If your Majesty's monopoly plan goes well, the funds obtained will be even more than the gold and salt trade!"

"Of course I know. Not only do I know that the liquor business is very profitable, I am also very aware of your majesty's other plans."

Basilius finished his coffee, his expression serious.

"Your Majesty is using strong liquor to play a big game. The chaos in Carthage is just a side effect."

"What big chess?"

Jerome asked, and immediately regretted it.

This Basilius always managed to accurately grasp his interests, and every time Jerome was about to leave in anger, he would always come up with another attractive topic.

"Three months ago, a fleet filled with Royal Camp Vodka sailed to West Africa and dumped it in Queen's Harbor, Platinum Harbor and Chrysostom Port. Guess how much money they made?"

"Four thousand solidus, I tell you!"

Jerome opened his mouth, speechless with shock.

“The black West Africans had never tasted such strong liquor before, and they were madly buying these special drinks packaged in oak barrels and beautiful glass bottles.”

"According to the captain's records, they sold dozens of oak barrels of Imperial Camp Vodka in Chrysostom Port, and they were snapped up by a group of Congolese nobles."

"That night, dozens of bodies were found in Chrysostom Harbor. They drank themselves to death."

Basilius' voice was a little heavy.

"However, this did not arouse their opposition at all. The Congolese people, who had drunk strong liquor before, were no longer willing to taste the bland and muddy liquor they brewed themselves. They went crazy and scrambled for it, even selling their wives and daughters."

"Jerem, I'm telling you, this stuff is addictive and can kill people!"

Jerome licked his cracked lips, shocked.

"So, so your Majesty wants to use this thing that they can't produce to turn them into alcoholics, and then... and then..."

“So as to achieve control.”

Basilius said coldly.

"For a true drunkard, his wife, children, property, everything can be sold, anything can be exchanged for a moment of intoxication."

"Just think about it. When all these West African blacks become alcoholics, they will have to exchange their gold, ivory and slaves with us for this Royal Camp Vodka. A lot of wealth will flow out, and productivity will decline due to alcoholism."

"One is Imperial Camp Vodka, the other is inferior cotton cloth. They are not as expensive as glass, but the production is huge. They have completely controlled the economic lifeline of West Africans. Once they form a habit, they will never be able to turn over."

"In the future, there will definitely be more such consumable commodities, such as coffee, in order to better harvest their wealth."

"I have also heard Your Majesty mention that there is also a very profitable consumable drink in the East, tea."

"The Arabs, Persians and Mongols had some tea leaves, and some people loved to drink it, but their attempts to grow it were unsuccessful, so it never spread."

"The world is big, and your majesty's heart is big too. We will find a place suitable for growing tea."

Basilius looked far away.

"What if their wise men discover our conspiracy and are ready to ban our products?"

Jerome raised his question.

"What conspiracy? This is an open conspiracy. And it's not that easy. Do you think His Majesty's fleet is just a toy?"

"If they dare to ban it, we will fight a trade war until they open their market."

Jerome slumped on the stool, stunned and speechless.

The amount of information today was too overwhelming, and it caught him off guard.

"Fortunately, Prince Justinian never touches vodka."

"He really doesn't like strong liquor or beer, but he loves sweet wines like wine and fruit wine. Maybe he just likes sweets."

Basilius shrugged.

"However, this also varies by race. The Slavic barbarians are strong and seem to have some special resistance to this. Anyway, I rarely hear of people drinking themselves to death, but there are cases of people freezing to death after getting drunk."

"Strong liquor is indeed useful in wartime. It can boost people's courage and relieve pain. Civilian restrictions are strictly enforced, but battlefields can be opened up. That's my opinion."

Basilius commented.

"Then what does this have to do with the Shooting Army's riot? Their wine seems to be specially supplied by the royal family, right?"

"I didn't attack the army, but they are not satisfied with what Your Majesty has provided. They usually spend their wages on buying alcohol. Now that it's hard to buy alcohol, they are going to cause trouble."

Basilius was somewhat helpless.

"This is a blatant rebellion. Report it directly to His Majesty and let him handle it!"

Jerome suggested.

Basilius looked askance at Jerome.

"Did the city guards relax when you came?"

"No."

"Did they do anything else besides sit in front of my door?"

"No."

"That's it, they didn't do anything wrong."

Basilius sighed.

"They are all shooting soldiers on rotation, and the curfew does not target them. They are in a public place, drinking the wine provided by the emperor. What's the problem?"

"Yergubai managed the city's defense very well and was strict with his subordinates, so there was nothing he could do to catch them."

"They just think I'm controlling too much and want to make a protest."

"We are about to go to war now. They will fight on the battlefield in the future. We cannot let them down."

Basilius paced back and forth, thinking.

"But it's not a solution to keep going like this. I have to resolve this matter before they leave, otherwise it will be a huge political stain."

"The Shooting Army will soon recruit temporary soldiers to fill the vacancies, and they will need the help of the post station system. This is also the main reason why I called you here."

"I thought you didn't care what the Emperor thought."

Jerome laughed.

"Don't underestimate the emperor's generosity. He will not punish officials who dare to do things, but will only hate bureaucrats who just eat and wait for death."

"In fact, he has also been cultivating talents who have the ability to think independently rather than just follow others."

Basilius smiled as well.

"What are you going to do?"

"It's almost dawn. Tomorrow morning, we will talk to Yelugubai and discuss the solution to the alcohol restriction and the recruitment of the shooting army."

"If this matter really gets out of hand, neither Yeer Gubai nor I will get any benefit at all."

"Okay, let's do this."

Jerome nodded.

"Prince Alexios must be present at the meeting, otherwise Yeer Gubai may not listen to me."

Basilius sighed heavily, rang the bell, and called the servants.

"When it's daybreak, go find Prince Alexios and ask him to wait in the palace while we go to see him."

The servant was about to go out when he suddenly seemed to remember something and turned around.

"Sir, where can we find it?"

"Same as always, south of the city, headquarters of the Knights of Saint Simon."

"Also, remember to be polite to Grand Commander Conti. He is also a royal relative, has outstanding military achievements, and he dislikes me very much."

The servant nodded and walked out the door.

Basilius turned to Jerome.

"You see, it's really hard for me, the minister who stayed behind in Carthage, to take every step. I can't let go at all."

"That's what happens when you expand too quickly. The forces are intertwined, the interests are complicated, and it all depends on your Majesty to maintain it."

"Your Majesty himself will not be involved in these matters. In addition, the military affairs are complicated and he does not have much time to sort out these matters."

"You dare to do it, and His Majesty is willing to promote you because no one else is willing to do it."

Finally, there was a hint of smile on Jerome's face.

As the two were talking, footsteps were heard outside the door. The servant came back and handed a letter to Basilius.

Basilius read the letter and remained silent.

"what happened?"

Jerome asked.

Basilius handed the letter to Jerome, who took it and looked at it, and his expression became serious.

War is on.

(End of this chapter)