Chapter 22: A Mismatched Union

Ambrosius paced the long corridor alone, the surrounding scenery failing to stir even a flicker of interest. Suddenly, a figure darted out from around the corner. Ambrosius focused his gaze, then hurriedly covered his face.

"My dear lady, please, strike anywhere but the face! I do not know how I have offended you, but I offer you my apologies." Ambrosius certainly possessed the manners of a gentleman.

"I did not come here for your apologies," Talia retorted, sounding entirely justified.

"Who is this?" Ambrosius asked.

Talia stepped aside, and Ambrosius caught sight of the young boy he had already encountered twice before.

"You must be Franz. I am Ambrosius. You should call me Uncle."

"Uncle Ambrosius, if you are truly looking for a princess to marry, I actually have a suggestion."

Ambrosius looked at the young child, then glanced at Talia beside him. "You must be joking with me. That is not how a well-behaved child should act."

"I am quite serious," Franz replied, wearing a look of profound sincerity.

Ambrosius pointed at Talia. "Is she a princess?"

Franz shook his head.

Ambrosius let out a long sigh of relief. Talia’s expression soured, as if she had bitten into an unripe tomato, and she glared viciously at Ambrosius.

"There is a real princess in Southeast Asia who needs your rescue. Her country is currently beset by internal strife and external threats. She is in need of a true knight to protect her."

"Once I save her, will she marry me? And if her country serves as her dowry, I could inherit it and then annex it into Austria. Wouldn't that bring glory to my family while expanding the frontiers of the Empire?"

Franz felt a wave of embarrassment; the Archduke’s way of thinking was rather eccentric, but perhaps that was for the best—it saved the trouble of brainwashing him. Beside them, Talia reaffirmed her belief that no one in this family had a functioning brain.

"Where is this princess?" Ambrosius asked, unable to contain his impatience.

"Chenla," Franz answered.

"My God, how am I to get there?"

"You could apply to serve as an army observer and then take a church ship."

At this time, the Austrian navy had barely ventured beyond the Mediterranean, let alone as far as Chenla in Southeast Asia. Furthermore, the Austrian navy would never dispatch warships to escort a minor Archduke. However, the Catholic Church had long since penetrated the interior of Chenla; they could not only transport someone safely but also provide firsthand intelligence on the region.

"Then how do I meet this princess?"

"That will depend on your own abilities."

Ambrosius was left speechless and took a deep breath. "Why do you know absolutely nothing?"

"I am merely a child passing by."

"Fine! At the very least, tell me her name."

"Ang Mei."

At this time, Chenla was effectively a colony of Siam and Vietnam. King Ang Chan’s last attempt to resist foreign aggression had been in 1816, eighteen years prior. Both powers had established countless fortresses in Chenla, intending to carve up the land, but as the saying goes, two tigers cannot share the same mountain. Siam and Vietnam were locked in constant, bloody conflict on Chenla’s soil. The combatants were the enlightened monarch Rama III of Siam and his opponent, the legendary Emperor Minh Mang of Vietnam.

While Siam and Vietnam were frantically invading Chenla, they neglected the importance of the popular will. Both sides aggressively conscripted the people of Chenla as forced labor, intensifying their plunder. This left the people of Chenla in misery, and those who longed for peace pinned their hopes on the king they had not seen in over a decade. Every uprising in Chenla was launched under the banner of saving the royal family. There were over a dozen rebel armies within Chenla, but they were far more interested in protecting their own property or playing the role of local warlords than in saving the monarchy.

King Ang Chan was controlled by the Vietnamese, while his brother, Ang Em, was controlled by the Siamese. The Chenla government was ostensibly loyal to Ang Chan, but the Vietnamese general Zhang Mingjiang was the actual ruler. Within the government, however, many high-ranking officials hoped for Ang Em to become king so they could borrow troops from Siam to expel the Vietnamese. Others, of course, hoped to bring back Ang Chan and drive the Siamese out. The rebel armies simply wanted to slaughter all officials and invaders alike.

Ang Chan’s cowardice was beyond comprehension. Emperor Minh Mang of Vietnam had once planned to send Ang Chan back to Chenla to join forces and reverse the unfavorable situation against Siam. Yet, Ang Chan refused, his reason being quite simple: he was afraid of dying. He boasted to Emperor Minh Mang that he could remotely command the armies of Chenla. He gathered a group of sorcerers to perform rituals in the palace, which ended up setting the palace ablaze. In a fit of rage, Emperor Minh Mang had all the sorcerers executed and imprisoned Ang Chan himself on a luxury pleasure boat.

A few months later, Ang Chan would die of illness. His eldest daughter, suspected of pro-Siamese leanings, would be assassinated by the Vietnamese. Ang Chan’s second daughter, Ang Mei, would then inherit the throne. As queen, Ang Mei received none of the proper honors; she was kept in the capital of Chenla merely as a figurehead. When Emperor Minh Mang felt he had everything under control, he had Ang Mei and her four sisters murdered.

However, his actions did not extinguish the resistance; instead, they ignited the fury of the Chenla people. Within a month, the fires of revolt against the Vietnamese swept across all of Chenla. The King of Siam seized the opportunity to send troops and install Ang Chan’s brother as the new king. In less than half a year, twenty years of Vietnamese efforts were reduced to nothing, and they were driven out of Chenla entirely. Subsequently, Chenla became a Siamese colony until the arrival of the French.

A month later, at St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

"Clang, clang, clang!" The heavy, ancient doors of the cathedral echoed with the sound of a forceful knocking.

Several priests grumbled impatiently, "Stop knocking, we hear you!"

Because Archbishop Rauscher resided at this cathedral, they were accustomed to seeing dignitaries and nobles, and they had naturally grown arrogant, looking down upon commoners. Anyone coming to the church this early was surely not a dignitary, but likely some sinner seeking confession. They were sick of hearing the confessions of such people and wished they could just call the police to haul them away.

"We come to spread the gospel of the Lord; why do you treat the children of God with such disdain?"

Archbishop Rauscher had appeared at the door, wearing his vestments embroidered with gold and silver thread. The Archbishop usually slept off his hangovers until noon; why was he up so early today? The priests suddenly realized that Rauscher only wore those specific vestments for major ceremonies or audiences with royalty. The once-arrogant priests were stunned, lowering their heads as they hurried to unbolt the door.

Standing outside was Ambrosius. He had changed into a clean uniform, and his hair and beard were neatly groomed. In truth, Ambrosius was not lacking in looks, but having been impoverished, lacking proper clothing, and habitually disheveled, he had possessed no presence. His former behavior had only invited mockery. Now, with his neat attire, handsome features, and extraordinary demeanor—compounded by his royal status—he commanded an air of natural respect.

Archbishop Rauscher was quite pleased with the young man before him. He was certain this man would be able to spread the Lord’s gospel, and he felt confident in handing the Combat Brotherhood over to him.