Empire
By decree of the Continental Law Commission, the publication of maps of the continent was forbidden.
This prohibition dated back to the end of the Valbanill War, ostensibly to blur territorial borders and prevent nations from clashing directly. But traveling merchants didn’t buy it, dismissing it as little more than an obstacle to their business.
Because of this, only a select few influential figures truly grasped the continent’s layout. The general populace, however, still understood the rough boundaries. In addition, some had taken to sketching the locations of key waystations connecting towns and borders, trading this valuable information with merchants or travelers for goods or coin. The Continental Law Commission turned a blind eye to such activities.
In reality, the continent was divided among three major powers.
To the northeast lay a cluster of small, independent states known as the Crowd Powers.
To the southeast was the militaristic force simply called the Militant Nation.
And to the west, ruling nearly half the continent, stood the Empire.
These divisions had held firm since the end of the devastating war forty-four years ago, and in that time, the continent had seen an era of relative peace, free from large-scale conflict.
Or at least, that’s what everyone believed.
Little did they know that the balance of power was about to shift.
In the western coast of the continent lay the Imperial Capital, the oldest city within the Empire and famed as a metropolis of water. At its heart stood a grand castle surrounded by the estates of distinguished aristocrats, their mansions clustered close.
Within that castle resided the Empire’s highest authority: the Emperor.
Today, in the grand hall where one might hope to glimpse the Emperor’s face, the space was instead dominated by cold, imposing figures.
A fully-armored group filled the hall, encased head-to-toe in black iron suits with visors down, leaving no part of their bodies exposed. Standing motionless, they resembled statues, encircling the throne with their sheer number that it could only be described as a siege.
Where lavish decorations once glimmered, only these dark, armored figures remained.
On the throne sat a decrepit old man. Draped in garments richly woven with gold thread, he bore no trace of the majesty one might expect from a person of his rank. His skin hung gaunt over protruding cheekbones, and his eyes, dim and lifeless, were buried within deep wrinkles. He was already in his twilight years.
This was the Emperor.
“…”
Under the watchful gaze of the armored figures—elite knights of the Empire—the Emperor pressed his gnarled finger, cut with a dagger by his own hand, onto the letter presented by the Chancellor.
As soon as the blood seal was set, the hall erupted into raucous applause.
“Long live the Emperor!” “Glory to the Empire!” “Long live His Majesty!”
The cheers came from the Imperial Knights, their iron gauntlets clashing together in harsh, jarring applause. The cacophony made the Emperor flinch. He hunched his shoulders, eyes darting around as though seeking an escape.
The chancellor handed the blood-sealed document to the woman kneeling before the throne.
Justina Albright swiftly reviewed the document, confirming the fresh blood seal alongside an older, dried one, before nodding.
“All is in order. The Continental Law Commission officially acknowledges this pact.”
Turning toward the assembled knights, the chancellor gave a nod to the person at the forefront.
This man wore no helmet. Though age had grayed his hair and marked his face, compared to the similarly aged Emperor, he exuded a toughness that belied his years.
He was Augustus Arthur, Commander of the Imperial Knights.
Surveying the room, Augustus raised his voice, commanding the attention of all present. “With this blood pact, the Empire and the Crowd Powers are now unified. Today, we establish the Imperial Federation! Together, we pledge to protect this continent as one united force.”
A thunderous roar of applause followed. The Emperor shivered in his seat.
“Long live the Imperial Federation!”
Amid the deafening cheers, Siegfried slipped out of the grand hall.
He was a tall, wiry man with sharply defined features and well-toned body. Beneath his black attire, he wore the same black armor as the knights, though he served a different faction. Siegfried was the commander of a private force known as the Imperial Warriors.
Outside the hall, two individuals—a man and a woman—were waiting for him.
“Isn’t the celebration still going?”
“Any more of this is just a waste of time,” Siegried replied with a shrug. “Too noisy for my taste.”
A soft chuckle came from the elderly man. His faded robe hung off his hunched frame like he was carrying some invisible burden. Leaning on his staff, he repeatedly stroked his gray beard with his wrinkled hands as a dark laugh rumbled in his throat. This was Lancelot Douglas, a representative from the Crowd Powers summoned for the current pact. He had also attended the Tri-Nation-One-City summit in the Independent Trade City.
“Shall we walk?” Lancelot suggested.
The old man led Siegfried down the bleak corridor. A few paces behind, a silent figure followed—Francisca, Siegfried’s right-hand warrior. Her skin was as clear as porcelain, her blonde hair and blue eyes giving her the look of a finely crafted statue. Clad in full armor, she carried her helmet under one arm, while a massive battle axe rested on her back. She moved like a shadow, wordless and without emotion.
Lancelot lowered his voice. “Word is, the Militant Nation had a visit from the blacksmith of the Independent Trade City. Looks like they’re making their move.”
“Oh?” Siegfried arched an eyebrow. “Is that info solid?”
“As you well know, the Militant Nation’s Law Commissioner was bought off ages ago. Plus, I’ve got my own contacts among their ranks. This came through both channels, so yes, it’s solid. I took precautions on our end, but… well, let’s just say things didn’t go as planned.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“It won’t change much. Most of the assassins who scurried home have already been dealt with.” Lancelot chuckled. Siegfried just snorted in response.
Still, something to keep in mind. That man was in the Militant Nation. And perhaps she was there too.
This could turn into a headache.
“What about the Inhumans?” Siegfried asked.
“Arranged according to your instructions.”
“Good. No more need for secrecy. You said you were running low on death row convicts for your combat experiments? I’ll see about restocking your supply soon,” Siegfried said casually.
“Much appreciated,” Lancelot said. Then, he flashed a sycophantic grin. “But oh, what a glorious day it is! Sir Siegfried, why not celebrate? Shall I arrange some entertainment for you? The Crowd Powers boasts a diversity of races. You’d be spoiled for choice.”
Francisca, trailing behind, didn’t bother hiding her look of disgust at Lancelot’s vulgar offer.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Siegfried replied indifferently. “I have no use for such pleasures.”
“Ah, ever the stoic.”
They parted ways halfway down the corridor.
As Siegfried continued on, he spoke without looking back. “How’s Evadne?”
“Restoration is complete,” Francisca replied. “She’s waiting in your quarters.”
“Good. As planned, I’m leaving the rest to you. I’ll join you later.”
“Understood. I swear, I will carry out this mission.” She paused. “Lord Siegfried.”
Siegfried caught the shift in Francisca’s tone and glanced over his shoulder. She was as emotionless as ever.
“I will fulfill my mission without fail, but… if I may, please don’t lend an ear to those types of people.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m talking about Lancelot Douglas and his vulgar suggestion about ‘arranging women.’ If I may be so bold, I believe it beneath you, milord.”
Siegfried valued Francisca’s skill. She was clearly referring to Lancelot’s earlier remark, but he didn’t see why it mattered so much.
“I refused, didn’t I?” he replied.
“Yes, I heard you say so. But I urge you to continue refusing such offers.”
“And I will. You know as well as anyone. I’m neither a man nor a woman.”
He was a “defective being,” incapable of creating life. That was what he was.
“I am aware,” Francisca replied mechanically. “But I’d like to hear it directly from you.”
“You want an assurance?”
“Yes. I want your word that you’ll never succumb to such temptations.”
“Why?”
“It would strengthen me,” she said without a hint of shame.
Siegfried found himself more confused than before.
“Very well. If that’s what you want, I give you my word.”
“If that’s what I want…” She looked away, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “Do you mean it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I have your word.” Her expression sharpened, and she gave a salute. “I shall proceed with my duties.”
She turned briskly on her heel and left. Siegfried couldn’t help but notice a slight spring in her steps. A trick of his mind, perhaps.
He paused for a moment, pondering the strange exchange, before continuing down the corridor. Upon reaching his chambers, he entered quietly.
There, by the window, stood a woman draped entirely in black.
“…”
She turned her pale, emotionless face toward him. Her jet-black dress trailed across the floor, almost as if it had rooted itself to the ground. Her raven hair cascaded down her back like foliage. She was like a fragile withered tree barely clinging to life.
This was Evadne, the flamberge Infernal Blade.
Siegfried reached out to touch her unblemished cheek. His face twisted with anguish.
“Why do you never break?”
Evadne’s stone-like eyes studied the man—the defective being spilling its emotions—before her.
“I wished you would just disappear,” Siegfried muttered. “So, I cast you aside. Yet, here you are, always coming back. No matter how chipped or cracked you become, you always revert back to your original form form. You never leave. My beloved sword? Don’t make me laugh. Why won’t you break? Why do you keep following me?”
“I am an Infernal Blade.” Evadne’s voice was as calm and clear as ever. “Infernal Blades are born from hatred of God. My flames exist to burn Valbanill. If you guide me there, I will remain by your side.”
They had repeated this conversation countless times, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. Even if her answer wasn’t the one he wanted, he’d ask again and again.
He understood the truth all too well. The bond between him and this woman could never be broken.
His alter ego would follow him wherever he went.
I’m beyond salvation.
Maybe for the rest of his life. That’s why he would destroy everything. Every last thing.
“Follow me,” he commanded. “I’ll let you rot in my care.”
Siegfried turned and left his chambers. The moment he stepped out, he came face to face with a grinning Augustus Arthur.
“I take it everything is proceeding smoothly?” Augustus asked.
“Who knows,” Siegfried replied. “But with this, the Empire is ours.”
“Indeed. Even His Majesty the Emperor is no more than a puppet in our hands now.”
As they walked side by side, Evadne silently trailed behind them.
Augustus declared, “Now, let us conquer the continent, Siegfried Housman.”
Clicking his tongue irritably, Siegfried quickened his pace.
Fools were eagerly awaiting news of the Imperial Federation’s formation.
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