Chapter 119: Wilhelm
Inside the car, Jörg, who had deliberately skipped an international conference just to meet the so called Emperor, leaned quietly against the window.
The custom tailored black suit fit him with sharp precision. Its cut was slim, elegant, and severe in exactly the right way. The buttons were set with dark blue carved gemstones, their deep color almost identical to his eyes.
To others, it was an outfit of extravagant taste.
To Jörg himself, it felt ordinary.
He did not experience any of the dramatic transformations described in the novels of his previous life, none of that absurd sensation of becoming a different person the moment one put on expensive clothes. Perhaps that was because, ever since he had arrived in this world, he had never worn a truly cheap suit.
Beside him, Hindenburg seemed to be in unusually good spirits. From time to time, the old man's cloudy eyes swept across Jörg's sharply defined features with open satisfaction.
"Are the gifts ready?" Hindenburg asked.
Jörg nodded.
After a glance from Ethan in the driver's seat, a rectangular ebony box was passed into his hands.
"Do not be nervous," Hindenburg said, gripping his cane a little tighter than usual. "His Majesty is very approachable. I guarantee he will approve of you the moment he sees you."
As the car rolled to a gentle stop, Jörg gave a slight nod. His face remained calm, utterly composed, without the slightest trace of tension.
In contrast, Hindenburg's fingers tightened around his cane. The nervous anticipation on his face was impossible to hide.
It was the old instinct of a monarch's subject, a reflex forged in the first half of his life and sunk too deeply into his blood to ever be fully removed.
The former Jörg might have felt pressure before meeting the man who had once held the power of life and death over an empire, especially when only a few years had passed since that man's abdication.
Wilhelm II's name still lingered in German memory like the aftersound of artillery.
But the current Jörg was no longer that somewhat naive, half broken young nobleman who could barely keep his subordinates in line.
He was Deputy Commander in Chief of the Weimar Wehrmacht.
He was the man steering Germany's major policies.
He was the executive core of the Foreign Ministry's most important operations.
He was the leader of the Progress Party.
He was Jörg von Roman.
What he felt toward Wilhelm II was not fear, but curiosity.
As they entered Doorn Manor, Jörg quickly realized that Wilhelm's post abdication life was nothing like the tragic image of some fallen monarchs who vanished into obscurity and merged into the masses.
The manor lay deep among the woods, quiet and secluded.
Wind moved through the leaves with a steady rustling sound. Birds called here and there across the grounds. The entire estate seemed wrapped in the stillness of old Europe.
And yet, through that calm, another sound repeatedly broke the harmony.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of an axe biting into wood.
A servant hurried forward to greet them. After bowing in a restrained, practiced manner, he handed each of them a warm towel.
"Herr Hindenburg, welcome. And this must be Herr Jörg von Roman. If Herr Hindenburg had not informed us in advance, with your bearing and appearance, I would have thought you a prince stepped straight out of an old painting."
He gestured respectfully.
"Please come with me. His Majesty is waiting just ahead."
After wiping his hands, Jörg handed the towel to one of the maids who stepped forward to collect it. The head servant then led them along the gravel path.
Bathed in the autumn afternoon sun, they walked deeper into the manor grounds. The sound of the axe grew louder with every step.
Soon, the source came into view.
Stacks of chopped wood were piled everywhere.
It was immediately obvious that Wilhelm II had once again taken it upon himself to increase the global total of trees personally felled by emperors.
When he saw his guests, the old emperor with the unmistakable upturned mustache lowered his axe, accepted a towel from a servant, and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. Then he turned toward Jörg with a keen, searching gaze.
"Young man, come here," Wilhelm said. "Closer. Let me have a proper look at you."
Jörg stepped forward.
A clear expression of approval appeared on Wilhelm's flushed, sweat streaked face.
"Indeed. You resemble your father very much. I only saw Roman once at an investiture ceremony, but I still remember those eyes, deep as the bottom of the sea. The men of your family all seem to carry that look."
He studied Jörg a moment longer.
"And the temperament is the same. Your family always placed the nation above personal survival. If more men had been like the Romans back then, perhaps that war would not have been lost."
He gave a dry laugh.
"But history has no use for perhaps."
After taking a long drink of water, Wilhelm fell briefly silent, lost in memory.
Though the empire had long since collapsed, the years when he ruled Germany and commanded armies still seemed to live vividly within him. The abdication decree, by contrast, remained a nightmare he had never truly escaped.
"We did not lose, Your Majesty," Jörg said evenly. "Compromise is not the same thing as annihilation. The fact that I am standing here is proof enough that Germany has not sunk into oblivion."
Such words might have sounded overly bold, even impertinent, in front of another elder statesman.
Wilhelm, however, laughed with genuine pleasure.
"Good. Very good. You have spirit."
He tossed the towel aside and looked at him with renewed interest.
"I will not waste time praising you. Hindenburg, and those useless sons of mine, have already praised you enough."
Then, abruptly, he asked, "Can you chop wood?"
Jörg had been about to present his gift and stopped halfway through the motion.
He opened the ebony box and handed it over.
Inside lay a beautifully crafted short handled axe. Golden lines ran across the metal and woodwork like delicate ornamentation, making it look more like a collector's piece than a tool.
Wilhelm took it, weighed it a few times, and immediately frowned.
"Too light," he said bluntly. "A decent ornament, perhaps. Not a proper axe. Too short, too light, and completely unsuitable for chopping anything thicker than a servant's finger."
He handed it back with a grunt, then called out, "Pooh. Bring a real one."
The head servant quickly fetched a full sized felling axe and placed it in Jörg's hands.
Wilhelm grinned.
"Take off the suit. No man chops wood dressed like a diplomat. Come, let us compete. We will see who cuts more before the afternoon ends. The loser must grant the winner one request."
He lifted his chin.
"Well? Are you in?"
Jörg hesitated for the briefest moment. Then he saw Hindenburg's look and understood exactly what was expected of him.
He nodded.
"I am."
A short while later, his coat, tie, and waistcoat were set aside.
Thanks to the system, Jörg's physique was not the result of heavy physical training, but it was still striking. His build was balanced, clean, and well proportioned, more like the body of a classical statue than that of a laborer. Every line existed where it should, neither excessive nor weak.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sounds of their axes rose and fell across the grounds.
Not far away, a young woman dressed in fitted riding attire sat astride a horse, silently watching the unusual contest.
At first, her gaze rested on Wilhelm II.
Then it shifted, inevitably, to Jörg's face.
After that, to his shoulders, chest, and abdomen.
"Who is that?" she asked.
The attendant at her side lowered his head respectfully.
"That is Jörg von Roman, Your Highness. Twenty five years old. Deputy Commander in Chief of the Wehrmacht."
The young woman's eyes lingered on him a little longer, clearly more interested now than before.
.....
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