Despite deploying his troops as quickly as possible to the borders of the Kingdom of Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire in an attempt to hold the line, and prevent the Turkish Army from mobilizing into Bulgaria’s eastern borders, Bruno himself remained in Sofia, waiting for the representative parties to arrive to discuss the terms of surrender.
It would naturally take a while, as each monarch representing their own nation’s interests, and their highest ranking generals were busy elsewhere. This would, after all be a discussion between the Kingdom of Bulgaria and the Central Powers as a whole.
Neutral ground was unnecessary as the Royal Bulgarian Army had surrendered in totality, and had accepted their fate as it was.
Bruno, having spent his time refraining from engaging in excessive drink, and from taking the slightest puff of tobacco, no matter how much his body may crave it, mostly spent his time in the Royal Palace, speaking with King Ferdinand about the ancient history of their lands, race, and culture.
Despite being a German nobleman, a Russian Prince, and Hungarian Grand Prince, the last of which was known only to Ferdinand by whispers, as Bruno had yet to officially receive his rewards from the Habsburgs.
Bruno remained respectful in a way which Ferdinand did not expect, and perhaps even eager for learning more about Bulgaria and its history than anyone could have anticipated.
The enemy was defeated, and had accepted an unconditional surrender, knowing that he was at fault for this war. And as the two men conversed in the following days, Ferdinand was surprised to see that Bruno was more than just a talented general, but a student of history, science, and the arts as well.
As Bruno gazed upon a mural which dated back to the ancient Thracians of which Bulgaria claimed some descent from, at least geographically, Bruno couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head as he made a comment about his own inadequacies in the field.
“I must admit, I am quite envious of those ancient who were able to make such a grand piece of art… Though I have studied the history of art, and its development throughout our history as a species, I must profess, I have never quite been able to depict my thoughts into reality in a way that remotely could be considered acceptable…
The fact that men over 2,000 years ago had the means to produce such murals, which I could never replicate if given a hundred years to learn is truly a testament to my own failures…”
Thracian art was by no means a masterpiece when compared with the Greeks and Romans during their prime. But it was vastly superior when one held it up against a variety of other cultures, civilizations, and styles throughout the millennia of human history.
In fact, he would rather gaze upon the rather rudimentary designs of ancient Thracian murals than the absurdity that was modern and contemporary art from his past life. Something Bruno could not help but hold disdain for, as he felt was not remotely worthy of the title.
As for King Ferdinand, he could not help but laugh at what he perceived to be a jestful comment from his conqueror, one that was believed to have been made to save face for the defeated and their talent as artisans.
“Surely, you joke… Though I appreciate your praise, there is no need to be humble. A man of your talents must be much better suited towards art than the ancients who did not even understand point perspective that even a rudimentary art course would teach you today!”
Bruno however shifted his glance to the King of Bulgaria, almost offended on behalf of those artists who came long before them both. Oddly enough, he quoted scripture as he responded to the man in a way that got his point across.
“Blessed be the lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle… Psalm 144:1”
King Ferdinand gazed upon Bruno’s figure with curiosity as the man quoted scripture to him in a way that he perceived to be irrelevant to the current conversation at hand and was naturally curious in his response as he tried to piece together how it fit with their discussion. “I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand what does that have to do with your ability to create art?” Bruno gazed upon his own calloused hands, forming fists as he did so, while wearing a grim expression on his face as he explained in exact details of what he had meant.
“I all have ever known in this life is this… I’m a soldier, first and foremost. My duty is to wage war against the Kaiser’s enemies and to defeat them on the battlefield.
These hands of mine are better suited to strangling a man, or breaking his neck than they are to the precision and loftiness of art. Any stroke of the pen which I have made has always been for the sake of blueprints, most of which have been designed with the intent to take another man’s life.
I am no artist; I don’t have the soul to create such beauty which transcends generations, and inspires future youth to achieve greatness… But one day I hope a man who is so creative and capable can depict the story of my life in a way that encaptures a tenth of the greatness which is on display here in your homeland.
You have an ancient and grand history here, one that rivals our own in Germany, and perhaps even eclipses ours by virtue of chronological order. In the coming days I will do what I can to preserve this, even if the Greeks will demand blood for the death of their Prince…
Such history should never be brought to ruin because of the wrath and folly of what will soon be a bygone generation…’
Bruno then turned his attention back to the murals and remained silent, as he contemplated more than the legendary feats of ancient men whose names and legacies had been preserved through the art standing proudly before him.
Ferdinand, perhaps inspired by Bruno’s reverence for the past, and the arts, decided to leave the man be in silence as he went elsewhere within the exhibit that was on display. “Feel free to take as much time to observe the ancient pieces. I think I am going to go search for my daughters who should no doubt be running amok at this moment.”
King Ferdinand then scurried off without saying another word, nor did Bruno even deign to perceive his departure. It was not until a young woman stepped forward, no doubt in the midst of her teenage years, and began to question Bruno’s statement, which she had observed while watching him from afar.
“The Wolf of Prussia, the Red Scourge, the Butcher of Belgrade, and I believe in the far east they refer to you by the name of a particularly venomous serpent. Legend has it you are a terrifying and dreadful figure, a man without conscience, and a murderer whose list of victims is so great he may as well be the personification of death himself.
But that is not who I see before me, you act as if you are a mere servant of greater powers, and a man who would much rather be a patron of the arts, I can’t help but ask, had fate not forced the role of a warlord upon you, who would you really be?”
The teenage girl who stood before Bruno was the youngest daughter of King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, or I should say the youngest child. Princess Nadezhda of Bulgaria, and Bruno recognized her immediately.
He did not immediately reveal this though, despite the fact that few women would be bold enough to come to meet him in private and approach him with such an aggressive line of questioning. Even so, Bruno did not actually meet her gaze and continued to gaze upon the mural in front of him.
Despite this, there was a somber tone in his voice, as he revealed what he truly desired out of life, had he been able to choose his own fate? And had he not been chosen to save Germany and its people from what he perceived to be a path of total extinction?
His response was short and succinct, but carried enough sincerity that it caught the royal
scion completely off guard.
“A farmer…”
The Bulgarian Princess was so astounded by Bruno’s words, she thought perhaps she had misheard, or maybe he was joking with her, and was quick to call him out on this.
“Surely you are bluffing!?! You are a Prince, no, a Grand Prince!?! And a generalfeldmarschall of the world’s single greatest military power! Why would you ever want to be a lowly
peasant?”
Bruno turned around and looked at the young princess with an almost pitiful gaze as he spoke his honest thoughts before walking off as if he had said nothing at all.
“Well… who wouldn’t want a quiet and humble life away from all the worries of modern society, with a plot of land to call their own, and a family that genuinely loves and cherishes them? Had I been given a choice in life, this is the path that I would choose.
But alas, I was born to bear the burdens of the Reich and its people. And I will not stop until nothing remains that threatens our place in this cruel world of ours. Unfortunately for you, Princess, fate put you and your family in my way… Hence why I am here today…”
After saying this, Bruno had walked away without paying another attention to the young princess. Having had his fill of drama regarding the daughters of Monarchs over the course of the past decade, the last thing the man needed was to be entangled in another of such
circumstances.
However, his remark had left the Bulgarian Royal completely stupefied. She could not believe such a man existed, nor that Bruno had been honest in his answer.