Triumphal Feast

Outside, the cold wind howled, but inside Hofburg Palace, it was as warm as spring, and a grand feast was underway.

To celebrate the victory achieved in Italy, the palace's great hall was adorned with dazzling splendor.

Crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light, illuminating the exquisite tapestries on the walls, and the brocade shimmered with luxurious luster in the candlelight.

Guests, dressed in magnificent attire, entered the hall one after another.

Representatives of the Austrian nobility wore splendid velvet gowns, almost all of them in the latest Italian fashion, exuding elegance in every gesture.

The Hungarian nobles' style of dress was considerably more rugged; even indoors, many still wore furs, looking as if they were about to go hunting.

Nobles from Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia gathered, discussing the topic of eradicating the remaining Hussite remnants; only on this point could the nobles of the three regions reach a consensus.

Hunyadi, the Hungarian military commander, stood tall, his eyes revealing the steadfastness of a seasoned warrior.

He conversed with the equally imposing Prince of Transylvania, his nephew Hunyadi Laszlo, yet there was little joy on their faces.

Matthias, who had initially been overjoyed to meet his elder brother and uncle, also sensed that the atmosphere seemed somewhat off. Not far away, Prince Vlad of Wallachia, in a black, fitted outfit, appeared mysterious and stern.

His gaze swept through the crowd, occasionally meeting someone's eyes, to which he would nod slightly.

However, those whose gaze met his felt a chill from the bottom of their hearts.

The legend of the Impaler had spread across the entire continent, and some even demanded that the Emperor capture and execute Vlad, who was accused of being a demon.

Laszlo, of course, would not agree to such an absurd request; Vlad had impaled rebellious Wallachian nobles, captured Ottoman prisoners, and foreigners who broke the law.

These people had nothing to do with him; Vlad could kill as many as he wished.

Prince Stefan of Moldavia, full of vigor, chatted enthusiastically with those around him.

His hearty laughter occasionally echoed through the hall.

Everyone who saw him couldn't help but praise the young hero.

Within just a few years, this exiled prince had soared, personally slaying his father's murderer, reclaiming the ducal throne, repelling powerful enemies multiple times, and even becoming the Emperor's honored guest.

Frederick, due to his duties in Bulgaria, politely declined the Emperor's invitation.

Laszlo suspected he didn't dare to return to Austria, but he didn't pay it much mind.

He had barely managed Bulgaria, and it was truly a hardship for Frederick, that military good-for-nothing, to handle it.

As for his maternal uncle, King Ulrich of Serbia, Laszlo heard he had a severe case of the flu, and given that he was already over fifty, he might not survive this time…

Most importantly, he still didn't have a single legitimate heir.

Ulrich possessed the 'Withered Branches and Decaying Leaves' trait, meaning his fertility was extremely low, and his wife Catherine had long passed the age suitable for childbearing.

Thinking about what he would gain afterward, Laszlo, who should have felt regret for his maternal uncle's ill health preventing him from attending the feast, couldn't suppress the corners of his mouth.

Charles, son of the Duke of Burgundy, had become more mature and stable, at least outwardly.

This time, he came to Vienna with his wife Anne, the Emperor's sister, to represent Burgundy and celebrate the victory with Laszlo.

At this moment, Charles was conversing with Imperial Marshal Albrecht von Hohenzollern and Bishop George of Metz, leader of the Albanian city-states, who were invited to the feast in Vienna.

As soon as Anne returned to Hofburg Palace, she went to find her mother, Elizabeth. Before the feast began, Elizabeth appeared in the banquet hall, arm-in-arm with her daughter.

The protagonists of the feast, Emperor Laszlo and Empress Leonor, stood in the center of the hall.

Laszlo wore a magnificent golden robe, embroidered with the black double-headed eagle symbolizing imperial power.

His face radiated majesty and joy as he frequently raised his glass to the assembled guests.

Leonor, like a blooming rose, was graceful and elegant, openly displaying her beauty.

For Leonor, who had a natural love for socializing, this kind of occasion was her favorite.

She smiled, chatting warmly with every guest who came to greet her.

Music began, and a lively melody echoed through the hall.

People raised their glasses in celebration; the clinking of glasses was a cheer for victory and a hope for peace.

Laughter and joyous chatter intertwined, and on this cold winter day, the palace hall became an ocean of joy and glory.

Everyone was immersed in this rare joy of victory, momentarily forgetting the cruelty of war, and simply enjoying the beautiful moment.

During a break in the feast, Eyczing suddenly found Laszlo, who was holding the Empress's hand, preparing for another dance.

Though his enjoyment was interrupted, Laszlo was not annoyed; Eyczing would not disturb him without good reason.

"Leonor…" Laszlo turned to look at his beautiful and captivating wife, showing a slightly apologetic expression.

Leonor smiled, released his hand, and whispered in Laszlo's ear, "I'll wait for you."

Laszlo followed Eyczing to a place without guests, then asked, "What is it? Is there something urgent at a time like this?"

"Your Majesty, the Count of Holstein-Schaumburg, whom you asked me to keep an eye on, has passed away. His family is now extinct."

"Oh?" Laszlo rubbed his chin, "Has King Christian of Denmark made any moves?"

"Some Danish diplomats have been frequently interacting with the nobles of Holstein recently, seemingly conducting some financial transactions," Eyczing reported the intelligence he had gathered to Laszlo. "The King of Denmark seems to want the nobles to elect him as the new Count of Holstein. The news just came back, so I estimate their transaction has likely already been completed."

"What? Do you think we shouldn't interfere in this matter?"

Laszlo detected the doubt in Eyczing's words.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Eyczing sighed softly, "Milan is right in front of us, so using such an excuse is naturally fine. But Holstein is at the northernmost tip of the Empire, right on the Danes' doorstep. Our rash interference would only create more enemies, and it wouldn't be worth the effort."

Laszlo nodded slightly upon hearing this: "You have a point. I remember that the union of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway currently seems rather unstable… Never mind, let's just wait and see. The King of Denmark is from the Oldenburg family. What is his relationship with the Count of Oldenburg?"

"The Count of Oldenburg is the King of Denmark's younger brother; their connection is quite close."

"Is that so… That means he can exert some influence on the Empire. Is it possible for us to earn a sum from the King of Denmark? We won't take his money for nothing; I can issue an edict, granting him a Duchy of Holstein.

Maintaining good relations with Denmark is necessary."

"Your Majesty, this is entirely feasible."

Although Eyczing felt that His Majesty the Emperor seemed a bit too fond of money, earning this kind of money seemed to be no problem.

After all, Holstein has long been a de facto vassal of the Danes. Now that the King of Denmark wants to buy the imperial count title, he can't bypass the Emperor.

"Eyczing, handle this matter and find out how much he paid the Holstein nobles. We won't ask for too much, just half the value of that money."

"Your Majesty's generosity will surely impress the King of Denmark."

Eyczing and Laszlo exchanged glances and couldn't help but laugh.