Authors’ notes: This was an excerpt from the journal of Imperial Prince Avalon of House Artorius.
‘Why me?’ I sadly thought to myself as I walked toward the darkness within my mind. This pitch darkness could only mean one thing- I’ve been summoned to meet with the Imperial Pantheon in the Hall of the Round Table. I should feel honored- after all, not just anybody gets a summoning from the Pantheon. But it is likely that they have a quest for me- a quest that’ll probably send me far far away from Caliburn and waste months of my life on some seemingly-pointless errand.
For a prince in the middle of jostling for position in the Succession, being absent for that long is disastrous. There are over 42 legitimate Imperial Princes, and I am confident that at least half of them are more competent than a hunting dog. Why choose me, Honored Ancestors? Why?
After waiting in the darkness for a while, a light suddenly shone on me and the 15 members of the Pantheon. I knelt down and placed my right hand over my chest in one graceful motion. After years of training in Imperial Court etiquette, anything less than a perfect execution of the salute was shamefully unacceptable.
“Prince Avalon of House Artorius greets Honored Ancestors!” I intone as I kneel before the Pantheon.
“Rise, my worthy descendent.” Artorius I, the leader of the Pantheon and the man sitting furthest from me, greets me in return.
I stand up and scan the Round Table. Nothing appears to have changed since my last- Wait, is the Pantheon missing a member? Well, I suppose that was not my place to ask.
“How can I serve your Divine Majesties?” I respectfully ask. Please be a local fetch quest. Heck, I’ll settle for an assassination quest as long as it doesn’t waste more than 2 weeks of my time.
“Armageddon approaches, my descendent. And we have chosen you to be the hero in this battle. Rejoice!” Artorius I announced. Oh Gods, this is a worst case scenario. Not only will this kind of quest burn years of my life, I might even die from it!
“Please tell me more about my quest, Honored Ancestors.” I intone, desperately trying to hide my displeasure.
After a small sigh, softspoken voice from the Pantheon emerges. “Perhaps it is easier to show you.”
An apocalyptic vision sears into my mind. The skies are red with fire, and the ground is black with ashes. Caliburn is in ruins, and charred corpses litter the once-proud streets of the Imperial capital. I look up and see the sun blotted out with a flock of giant red dragons flying over me. The biggest ones were the size of mansions! Gods, even if I had all the arrows in the continent at my disposal, it’d take me several winters to shoot them all down! As I sat there, awestruck by the sheer might I see before me, the cursed swarm descends towards me and breathes streams of fire right at me. The vision violently ends in darkness before I’m back in the Hall.
Primal fear gripped my heart. I kneel on the cold granite floor of the Hall, still shaken by what I saw. Gods, I could still feel my heart trying to jump out of my chest. “What… what was that?!?” I exclaimed, adrenaline clearly flowing in me.
“Do not forget your etiquette, Prince.” A gravelly sound scolded me. That must be Artorius XIII, also known as Artorius the Stern. How he can think about etiquette at a time like this is beyond me.
“Apologies, your Divine Majesties.” I replied. “But how is this possible? This continent simply does not have enough mana to sustain that many giant dragons.” It is common knowledge that dragons, although nigh indestructible, need to breathe in mana like humans need to breathe in air. The only dragons we had ever seen came from the mana-rich South, and they were nowhere near the size of the red dragons I saw in that vision.
“I suspect this vision is one of the distant future, when the mana in the air is thick enough for that many giant dragons.” A softspoken voice answers my question with cool headed rationality. That should be the ever-steady Artorius II.
Well, considering the stakes, my complaint about losing crucial time to prepare for the Succession now seemed childish and petulant. What’s the point of becoming the Emperor when there’s a good chance I’ll go down in history as the last Emperor who allowed his realm to burn? I don’t know why I was called to serve. But I was called, and I shall serve.
But something still didn’t add up. Why me? Why only me? Shouldn’t all 42 Princes be mobilized for this kind of threat? Better yet, why wasn’t my royal father consulted on this? It’s an open secret that the current emperor spends most of his time in the bedroom, but surely the apocalypse would be urgent enough to rid him of his legendary indolence? “Your Divine Majesties, what could I do to stop this calamity? Surely you don’t expect me to slay them all by myself?” I ask.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“No, your quest is to retrieve somebody who can.” Artorius XIII said, with a bitter tone.
Well, that’s great! It’s just a fetch quest after all! Most Paladins are right here in Caliburn. At worst, the farthest Imperial Paladin Academy is at Perceval, which is only a week away on a fast horse.
“What is the name of the Paladin who shall deliver us from this catastrophe? I shall bring him to Caliburn posthaste!” (And if possible, make him the Consul for my Legions).
“It is not a Paladin you seek, young Prince, but a forge-smith.” Artorius I says.
The softspoken Artorius II rejoins. “His name is Adept Rummy of Carnwennan. And he is capable of building weapons that could fell dragons out of the sky.”
“A peasant with a funny name in the frontier? And on top of that, an Adept? Not even an Expert or Master?” I scoff. Is this a joke?
“I would rein in the arrogant attitude if I were you, young Prince.” Artorius II scolds. “Your quest is to convince him in person to leave his home and serve under you as your forge-smith. It is a quest that unfortunately only you can accomplish.”
Artorius XIII’s gravelly voice cuts in. “And failing that, you are to march your Legions and the 626th Legion to his town, capture him and his women, and bring him to Caliburn bound and gagged.”
Artorius II glares at Artorius XIII. “Hopefully, it won't come to that. I’m convinced that your commoner-friendly policies and the might of your Legions would persuade him to willingly serve under you. I advise you to emphasize that when you introduce yourself to him.”
Based on this tense exchange, I infer that this Rummy had already spoken to the Imperial Pantheon? If so, I don’t imagine it to have gone well.
“Your Divine Majesties, if I were to succeed in my quest, I would need more information than what was given. I beseech thee. Please tell me more about this Rummy and if he was previously summoned to the Hall.”
***
Well, it’s official. We’re doomed. For the record, this was exactly the reason why I pushed so hard for the public works program for peasants, an increase in state-run orphanages, and the adoption of the agrarian reforms. I’m no lover of the filthy masses, but any wise and dutiful statesman would tell you that a starving peasant would sell out his country for a loaf of bread without a single shred of remorse.
I was shouted down as a “lily-livered class traitor” for my troubles by the muscle-headed fools in the palace. And Fate rewarded my wisdom in the worst possible way! As it turns out, the man with the forge-smithing gifts to save the Empire starved as an orphan and resented the Empire for it. So he used his gifts to shack up somewhere in the Wilds with a bunch of women. On top of that, a previous attempt to bring him back into the fold was… wildly unsuccessful.
The imperious attitudes of the Pantheon probably didn’t help either (Artorius XIII, if anything, antagonized the man even more). This is as bad as I had feared. Perhaps there might still be a way to diplomatically salvage the situation with sufficient concessions, but I considered it a long shot. Unfortunately for Artorius II, I was never that good with a bow.
Which leaves the military option, and that option is somehow more grim than the diplomatic one! Asking my Legions to march across the Empire and through the Wilds is an act of lunacy, even with the Rangers of the 626th supporting us. How many good men will die before a single battle is even joined? This is madness… utter madness!
Unfortunately, I am an Imperial Prince of the Holy Artorian Empire. I do not have the luxury to wallow in self-pity. Duty calls, and it waits for no excuse.
“Archmage Shuma and Ser Pallusi , please come in.” I shout. Moments later 2 men entered my study. Shuma, my advisor, is dressed in a black magician’s robe. While Pallusi is in his Master-level Imperial Paladin armor.
“How can I serve your Grace?” Both of them ask.
“Ser Pallusi, call the banners and summon our Legions for an Imperial Expedition. Archmage Schuma, support Ser Pallusi in his task and organize the logistics.”
“Yes, your Grace. Where are we going?” My Paladin asks.
“The frontier city of Carnwennan and the Wilds beyond its city gates.” I grimly reply as I look down at my desk.
They look at one another in confusion. My Paladin advisor clears his throat before asking. “Your Grace, how many Legions should I summon?”
“All... all of them.” I answered with a pained expression, as if the act of saying each word caused a stabbing pain to my chest.
Both of them have an understandable expression of pure shock.
Shuma, after a moment of hesitation, finally asks. “Your Grace, the last Imperial Expedition to the Western Wilderness ended in a massive disaster. So I hesitate to ask- what is out there in the Wilds that warrants 4 Legions marching across the Empire to subdue?”
An excellent question from an excellent advisor. Regrettably, I cannot offer a good response to said advisor. Is this what it means to be a dutiful Emperor? Is this the true burden of leadership? To be forced into the least awful option for the sake of the Empire time after time? Is this why my royal father all but abdicated his duty to the Empire?
I let out a long sigh before replying. “A harem with superior firepower.”
***End of Book 1***