“Back so soon?”

It wasn’t an unusual question which left the Baron's lips. After all, it hadn’t been more than a month since Sanctullator had handed the Citadel over to him for the foreseeable future. Alas, the land they were pouring their hearts and souls into wasn’t suited for the average bureaucrats. Long days in damp darkness; a far cry from life back in the Core.

Sanctullator snorted. “Are you disappointed? I couldn’t help it. There wasn’t much else left for me to busy myself with over there, and trying to keep up with all the paperwork’s a nightmare, so I came back here. Should the situation disintegrate, then I’ll return,” he replied. For a moment, it appeared as if one of the Baron’s eyes spasmed a little. “Something the matter?”

“No. I am fine.”

“What of your eye? Don’t tell me I didn’t see anything, because my own two eyes work just fine.”

“It is only a little itch,” the Baron said, pressing two fingers against the eye. “Nothing to worry about.” Oh, I’m sure of that. I expect an awful lot more sweat otherwise.

The two men, both dressed in garish grey uniforms with a medallion pinned against their chest, walked down the vestibule of the royal palace. Here, Lokahn’s puppets dangled, orchestrating life in the country. “I see,” Sanctullator replied. “Well then, has something transpired in my absence?”

The baron shook his head, a vague hint of revulsion present in the way he moved his neck. I’m sure he had a nice feel of the spear while I was gone. How unfortunate… looks like I’ll have to watch my back from now on.

“My apologies, but nothing of note has occurred in these past few weeks. Lokahn’s civilised provinces are as peaceful as they have been ever since hostilities came to an end all those years ago.” Eight years is a long time to Lokahn, interesting. “All imperial activity has proceeded as planned. The bureaucracy is doing fine, the civil services are doing fine, the Bailiffs are doing fine, the Inquisition is doing fine.”

Sanctullator stuck a hand into his beard, gently stroking it afterwards. “Hm, I see. I suppose by ‘doing fine’ you mean they’re not any different as to when I left, correct?”

“Yes, that would be correct...” For a second, the Baron fell silent. “...your excellence.” I see we’re getting along fine as well. Tsk. It’s not like I’m not one to make friends.

Sanctullator scoffed, one foot on the first step of a staircase on the side of the vestibule. “As slow as ever. Like the blind crawling their way through the bog. Wonder of wonders.”

The baron followed the general up the stairs, nodding along until halfway to the top. “Can you truly fault them though? Their work is not of particular high stature, is it? It almost makes me feel sorry for the fools, until I remember what caused their lot in life. Do you not feel the same?... your excellence?”

The general didn’t so much as look back, placing his brushing hand over his mouth like a cup. The higher one reaches, the harder one falls… and I won’t be standing at the bottom to catch. “I suppose. But one would expect there’d be a little more passion, or a little more effort. Especially from the Bailiffs. Ten percent of the capital brought over… lazy bastards.”

“Let them lament all they like. Hard work and knowing one’s place have been pillars of Lokahnian civilisation for generations.” As has worshipping dragons. “Perhaps a day will come when these newcomers will understand at last.” I still do not know which is worse, him betraying his country for a title, or us keeping our word.

With a quick shrug in reply, Sanctullator resumed climbing the stairs. His legs were stinging, and his mind was somehow exhausted, despite arriving in the Citadel a mere fifteen minutes earlier. Different year, month, day… always the same. No matter the fancy rug laid across the middle of its steps, nor the furnishings arrayed around the sides, not even the portrait or the silver-encrusted chandeliers looming above, it was still a staircase. A long one, at that.

Thirty steps more. Not such a difficult task on the surface. Thirty steps later, and Sanctullator was leaning against the wall, panting like a dog, pulling on the hairs of his beard. Stairs… how I never miss you. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see the Baron help straighten himself out. This is where the knife would come, wouldn’t it?

“Is everything alright, your, excellence?” the Baron asked. No glint. Yet.

“Yes, yes, I am quite fine. It’s just, you know, stairs...”

The Baron nodded in quick, bow-like fashion. “Bloody annoying things indeed.”

Sanctullator shook his head. “Oh, the daily struggle up the bastards is one thing. Try having your child tumble all the way down a long flight of one. Happened to my son once,” he said. He breathed in deep, and mustered a long, groan. “Hated them ever since.”

The staircase and its surroundings fell eerily silent all of a sudden, much as a lone village buried in the woods. Quiet enough to hear far away trees waver under the whistling wind. “Did… did something happen to your son, your excellence?” The Baron asked, fists clenched together before his chest. Sanctullator shook his head. He was allergic enough to the bureaucrats as was.

“No, don’t be silly. His head was in bandages for a week or two, but he was fine afterwards. That’s the catch with these damned stairs. They’re not deadly, they’re just a pain in the ass.”

The answer coming across as water on a burn, the Baron wiped imaginary beads of sweat off his forehead. “Thank goodness. It would’ve been such a shame to lose a child to such petty nonsense.” Awful lot of stress in him all of a sudden.

“Yes, yes. But stairs never go that far. Anyway, do you have anything else that I need to know of, Lord-Baron of the Citadel?”

The baron shook his head. “No sir.”

“Then it’s time we went our ways, eh? I’d rather get busy clearing the day’s busywork now than later, I’m sure you can agree with me on that.”

“Yes, your excellence.”

To not even a whimper, the two left each other’s presence. Sanctullator made his way past the patrolling guards to his study. The guard at the door raised his weapon skywards as the general approached.

“Sir!”

Sanctullator put one hand on the handle of the door, before freezing in place. “What is that?”

“Sir?”

“Your weapon, soldier. What is that ridiculous looking thing? Who told you to lug that thing around with you instead of something proper?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The soldier saluted. “Sir. It is a musket. Have you not heard?”

Thanks for not telling me... idiots. Eyes narrow and deadpan, Sanctullator folded his arms. “Heard of the design, yes. The geniuses... at the Institute sent me a sketch some time ago. But I wasn’t expecting them to have finalized the damned thing already. How does it work?”

A nod and a smirk emerged under the helmet. “Got weapon from Legion Commander , sir. How works is simple. Press lever down, musket fires,” the soldier said, gesturing at the little metal switch on the bottom. “Is extremely deadly weapon. Was at execution to demonstrate it. Bandit died in one shot. In one second, sir.”

Sanctullator nodded along. “Interesting, interesting. So it’s a cannon that fits into the hand, with no fuses or anything of the sort.”

“Has problems though. Putting new shot in takes time. half minute, or so. And blowback when firing hurts. But is effective.”

“I see, I see,” Sanctullator said. “I suppose I’ll have to see this weapon out in the field for myself eventually.” One shot per half minute? Hits back when you fire it? Justitia almighty, and I thought the flash bomb was bad enough. What has gotten in their minds? They want to arm the elites with this trash?

“Will be target practice today in the evening, sir. You can see musket in action, there.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, having a look at this musket for myself.” Besides, I always liked comedies. “Anyway, I’ll be busy for the foreseeable future. Justitia be with you, soldier.”

“Justitia with you, sir.”

* * *

Six o’clock. Evening struck the streets of the Citadel. While a faint shimmer lingered on the westward horizon, the roosters went to nest, and the owls did come: Labourers went home, merchants closed their stores, and members of the city watch took to the streets. An exhausted Sanctullator closed the inkwell, and pushed the papers aside. His head throbbed as if he’d drank well into the morning, and his stomach tugged away at his mind. His limbs were lazy, his fingers stung, and he couldn’t help but daydream.

“Urgh... maybe I should have some time away from this mess. Take a nap... go back home... yes, that would be nice. Get to see my wife and children, get to work on my garden and all... It’s been such a long time,...”

The door of the study flew open. “Sir!‘

The general threw himself upright in the chair, hoping to Justitia he hadn’t been exposed to unwelcome eyes. “May I ask why you’re breaking down the door, soldier?”

“Sir. Is time for firing practice. You said you would come.”

Sanctullator bit his lip. Never promised anything, you damned merc... Then again, any place besides this office would be an improvement. “Ah yes, I do have time at the moment. Would you be so kind as to escort me there?”

“Yes sir!”

The soldier guided the general over the dimmed streets of the Citadel, and past the vast defenses arrayed around it. The general’s limbs still struggled, like a toddler whose parents had said no. Sitting upright was difficult enough as was, let alone walking.

“Argh...”

“Sir? Something wrong?”

“Oh, I’m fine, it’s...” Sanctullator sighed. “...I haven’t had the chance to eat for half the day. Had breakfast and that was it.”

“Want some bread, sir?” the soldier asked, presenting a hunk of bread from his rations. It was intact, spare a dent or two on the sides. Sanctullator was all too familiar with foods such as these; he wasn’t one to bark orders from afar.

“Thanks for the offer, but are you sure of this? This is a part of your ration you’re giving away here.”

The soldier nodded. “Of course I am certain, sir. Have eaten well in the day. You have not. And there will be dinner after the practice.”

Sanctullator nodded. “Alright,” he whispered, gently accepting the bread with a single hand. It had gotten a little stale, but it did its job well. A few bites in, he felt a little revitalised, enough to last him until tonight’s dinner at the very least.

“Thanks for the bread. I truly appreciate it, soldier.”

“You are welcome.”

Sanctullator grumbled under his breath. Should I or should I not...? Ah, who cares. The baron, maybe. Or that bastard Gallie. But if he wants to throw me under the chariot over it...

“So, where do you hail from, soldier?”

“Why ask? Am a soldier in imperial army, am I not? I care for my duty, sir.”

“Well, all men have names, and all names have stories that need telling. There’s a disconnect when you merely refer to people as soldier. You’re more than just a rank,” Sanctullator said. “I always shake my head whenever I see a corporal from some lesser House treat his men like dirt. Hoping to earn respect without your own contribution’s a fool’s errand. Not a chance in the abyss it’ll ever happen.” Too bad they only learn the hard way.

The soldier grunted. “If you say. My name is Fil. I come from Magol town, Boursk province.”

“Boursk province... that’s in Easgandia, correct me if I’m wrong,” Sanctullator replied.

“You are correct. I come from miner family. Hard work, but only work available, other than joining army. Hated mining from the day I was born. Father was always covered in filth, as were other miners in family.”

Sanctullator nodded along. “I see, I see.” Not a surprise he fled that mess, ugh. Seen that mess once in my life, never again I swear to Justitia... “And, do you have any regrets over going into the army?”

Fil shook his head. “No. Some in town didn’t like it. Older people, mostly. Warned me it was a risk. But I went regardless. Pay is good. Family is happy with money I send back. Magol is getting better, they say. Life is getting better. I hope to see for myself in some years.”

Sanctullator gave him a slight smirk. “We’ll both see. I think you and I have the same plans for when this is over.” No place like home.

* * *

A handful of minutes later, the general and the soldier reached an open field next to a town large enough to have it’s own wall. Some fifty-odd people had come out, half of them soldiers, the other half bureaucrats from all over, given their uniforms. The troops with their muskets were already in place, eyeing their targets with a hawk’s glare. Fil hastily joined them without so much as a word.

So much for a goodbye.

Sanctullator had nary time to breathe once he’d reached the side of the group of bureaucrats, before the calls rang through the air.

“Ready yourselves... aim...”

“What are they doing, exactly?”

“Quiet, Sanctullator-”

“Fire!”

Thunderous blasts shook the air. Before he realised what was happening, Sanctullator had fallen onto his knees, ears ringing. Most noblemen had gone so far as to lie down. Most weren’t familiar with the sounds of war.

Sanctullator quickly picked himself off the ground, and as he dusted off his uniform, he saw for himself what had been done. One, no, all of the canvas targets weren’t merely pierced. They were blown apart. As if someone had driven the world’s sharpest lance into them. But no, it was worse. No lance could’ve shattered a target so violently. Each block of canvas was in at least five pieces.

“Alright, good work men!”

Justitia almighty... those fools actually managed. Sanctullator studied his surroundings. Half the crowd had yet to recover, but those who had were flabbergasted. Their eyes were focused on the shattered pieces of canvas strewn over the field, almost peacefully so. The air clogged up with an odd smell of ash and iron, carried by the wind.

“This is unbelievable...”

“Captain, how long before we can equip the entire army with these weapons?” an exasperated Gallie asked. As inconspicuous as a blade of grass, Sanctullator shuffled a step away.

“General Gallie, these are but prototypes. Their prowess in an actual battle has yet to be tested. And there is only so much ammunition to go around," the captain said.

“Nonsense! We can see for ourselves! It is downright malicious to not equip our armies with these weapons as soon as possible!”

“They are being tested as we speak. Once the enemy strikes, we can see for ourselves what these bastards are capable of. But the early results are very impressive. Trust me, I’m dying to watch those beasts get blown to bits myself!”

“Ah, there you all are!”

A courier came running up from behind, clutching onto a wrinkled letter in one hand. His forehead was covered with sweat, despite the night’s cold. “Who are you?” Sanctullator asked.

“Just a courier, delivering a message to, uh, you, your excellence...? Yes, your excellence, this is for you.”

Without so much as asking, the courier pressed a letter into the general’s hand. Sanctullator wanted to scold him, but a quick glance at the bold lettering on the letter’s wrap put an end to those plans in the blink of an eye.

*URGENT - ACTIVITY OUT WEST*