Re: Blood and Iron

Bruno’s eyes and ears were everywhere in the Reich. Nearly twenty years of seizing power and control over intelligence networks—or building them from scratch—had given him an unprecedented level of access to threats inside and outside the Reich’s borders: to himself, to his plans, and most importantly, to his family.

And there were always those among the ranks of the discontented who knew that selling out their comrades could secure a better outcome for themselves. The fact that a lower prince of the von Wittelsbach Dynasty had orchestrated a little meeting did not go unnoticed by Bruno’s agents.

Not one bit.

In fact, it was the King of Bavaria himself who alerted Bruno to what one of his distant relatives was plotting within the halls of a family palace. Not just as a way to bury the hatchet between their ancient lineages—or the wrongs done to Heidi in her youth—but also to reassure Bruno that the royal house of Bavaria had no part in the conspiracy.

Bruno’s response was simple:

“This is your house. Put it in order as you see fit.”

And that was the end of it—at least from Bruno’s perspective.

However, the moment the young prince said the words, “Bruno von Zehntner must die,” silence followed. Then, one by one, the other aggrieved old houses threw their lot in. An agreement was made—witnessed not just by one another, but by hidden operatives of King Ludwig III.

Retribution didn’t come with the crash of glass or the roar of flashbangs. No elite forces rappelled from the windows. Instead, it came with boots—polished, deliberate—clacking across the tile.

And then King Ludwig III himself appeared. There was no sneer, no smirk. Just cold judgment. His tone was as dreadful as the expression on his face.

“Pardon my intrusion, but it would appear I was not invited to this little gathering—in the comfort of my own home. Now, what are we discussing here today? Conspiracy to commit regicide? Acts of high treason? I’ve heard enough to know that you’re all guilty.”

He raised his hand.

“I, King Ludwig III of the house von Wittelsbach, hereby order the arrest of everyone present—and the investigation of your houses for the crimes so plainly spoken of today in my domain. Guards, arrest these fools.”

Panic broke out instantly. The conspirators shouted and blamed one another. Armed guards in regal Bavarian uniforms stormed into the room and began securing the nobles.

“You damn bastards! Of course, it would be a minor prince from some insignificant domain like Lippe that betrayed us!” shouted one.

Julius, having been kicked to the floor and tied up, howled in fury.

“Liar! Don’t you dare slander at my house! You’re just groveling now to save your own skin!”

His wife, Klara, shrieked as she was dragged away.

“How dare you accuse my ancient lineage of scandal! This is all lies! I’ll see you hanged, you traitor!”

Ludwig III, now visibly weary of watching grown men and women behave like children, sighed deeply.

“You’re all going to hang, you damned fools,” he muttered.

And just like that, the weight of their situation fell on them. Whatever fury they had toward one another was extinguished. Fear replaced it.

Then, the young prince—the same one who had summoned the conspiracy—was brought before King Ludwig. But rather than being forced to his knees, he dropped out of his own accord, revealing himself as the bait.

“Your Highness,” he said, head bowed, “Did I perform the task to your satisfaction?”

For the first time since entering the room, Ludwig III allowed himself a brief smile. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“You exceeded my expectations. You have a bright future in intelligence. We’ve rooted out the last remnants of a bygone age—men who would rather destroy the Reich than see it move forward. You played your part perfectly.”

Then, raising his voice,

“This one is to be released. The rest—send them to holding. We’ll wait on the Kaiser’s permission to search their estates.”

The final obstacle in Bruno’s path—those clinging to privilege by blood alone—had been removed. The ancient vampires were no more.

And the future? It belonged to those who earned it.

—

Bruno was notified of the successful operation in the same way he had granted permission to conduct it, a single sentence, on a secure line, between two monarchs. And after hanging up, he dialed another number entirely.

It was the line of Grand Admiral Henning von Holtzendorff. The admiral was slightly surprised to hear from Bruno so soon after their last meeting. He was already planning how to deal with the admirals of the old guard who stubbornly refused to give ground to new doctrine which unproven came from a reliable source.

But when he heard Bruno’s voice across the other line, he was stunned into utter silence. Still as the dead as he stood there waiting, almost for something more than the simple phrase he was told.

“Our obstacles have been dealt with accordingly. Proceed with the introduction of the new doctrine we have planned, and make the necessary preparations to design and develop the new fleets. I will be waiting to hear from you once you have made some progress in this regard.”

And then there was a click, nothing more, nothing less. The orders had been given, and though Henning was not below Bruno in terms of authority in the slightest, somehow, someway he still moved to fulfill them without the slightest hesitation, or afterthought.

The old world had truly died on this night, not in glorious fire and fury, but silently in the darkness, the last flame of resistance from a distant era forever extinguished, never to return.

The trap which had been lain at Neuschwanstein would never become a matter of public record, the crimes committed by these houses forgotten entirely within a generation of two. And those who remained standing within these ancient dynasties would never recover to a point where they could ever challenge the new order again, nor would they have any desire to.