A hope bathed in shame.

VIIIth Century, year 63, Brumáire. Day 14.

Somewhere in the Florenz Kingdom, Royal Palace

Ashkan was packing his backpack, which contained his robes, a small dagger, and his study materials.

"Ah. Can't forget the seal." The teleportation seal was a precious item capable of transporting him to a predetermined location in an emergency. However, he was interrupted by several hurried footsteps that echoed in his ears, the sound of iron tapping on the marble floor.

"What could bring so many gentlemen at once?" Ashkan wondered, suspecting the Knights' arrival.

After a knock, the room fell silent, as if waiting for a response.

"Ashkan, these are the King's orders, leave the room immediately!" The door opened slowly, without resistance.

Ashkan, the son of a concubine who died soon after his birth, couldn't inherit any talents from his Father. There wasn't much he could do except comply with the orders.

"Where are we going?" Ashkan asked sarcastically.

"How dare a bastard like you speak so casually to us First 

Line Knight?" The Knight's pride was deeply irritated by Ashkan's attitude, but there was little the almighty First Line Knight could do.

During the walk to the palace, Ashkan silently observed the black and dense fumes, each one representing a village being burned out. The bitterness of this massacre bothered everyone, making the walk quick and somber.

When they arrived at the court, knights with heavy and well-polished armor glimmered their pride also showing that none of them had seen any real battles once a life.

"My king, I have brought your son," the Knight announced.

The gaze of everyone in the court turned to Ashkan, as if the savior had arrived.

"Kneel down"

The King ordered, showing his superiority. It was a routine, the King always liked to demonstrate his power, even though he was just a puppet.

Ashkan bit his lips in disgust at such an order, but he knew he had no authority to oppose the current laws of this nation.

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Whispers among the nobles made it clear that Ashkan was a bargaining tool, and what infuriated him the most was how his Father let himself be manipulated so easily by these nobles. The kingdom's high expenditures on banquets, extravagant traveling, were all on the management spreadsheet that Ashkan occasionally glanced at on the sly.

Since the Kingdom of Florence had not participated in war for many centuries, this created a false sense of security, and

the recent vassalage to the Western Kingdom was just a simple one way protection vassalage. It would benefit Western Kingdom, but never Florence. In counter sense, this continent had been engulfed in war for millennia...

"How damn stupid can anyone be to forget that this world only work towards power..."

...

"My order will be fast...

Today onwards, you will be the rightful heir," the King announced, and everyone applauded in unison.

"Long live the new heir!" they shouted.

That didn't seem right to Ashkan. They didn't even say his name. It was as if they had found a use for the rubbish.

The king gestured with his hand, ordering silence, and was quickly obeyed.

"I would also like to announce that I will be retiring from my Status as King, and you, my son, will be the new regent. Congratulations."

Was that all planned? Was it a script, an act? A dirty game had been played.

"W-what?" Ashkan stammered, shocked at the news.

"Motherfuc***"

...

VIIIth Century, year 63, Brumáire. Day 14. Somewhere on the battlefield.

"And I swore you were more the Merciful type, you know? You didn't spare even one soul,"

...

"There's no point in sparing...not on people who has lost his will of life"

...

Her voice was reminiscent of that of a young girl. Some wondered whose voice that might be, but that reddish armour with a lot of very distinctived details and Especially his huge scythe that possessed twice his size.

"Isn't that the War Lady?"

"I- I think so."

…

As the two Generals continued their conversation, the atmosphere around them seemed to grow more tense by the minute. The soldiers, who had initially been excited to overhear the conversation, now felt a sense of foreboding.

“Hans scrubbed his blood- and dust-caked glasses, his mind miles away.

‘So, what do you think?’ the War Lady’s voice cut through his haze.

Hans sighed, wishing he had a more satisfying answer. ‘Anything I could say, Your Ladyship, you’ve likely already pondered yourself.’

…

‘I understand,’ the War Lady conceded. ‘For now, the major powers still slumber. We’re but a Kingdom, but our pace will soon brand us a Greater one, mark my words.’

A nervous silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant clink of armor and the rustle of wind-whipped banners.

‘And will that pose a problem?’ Hans ventured, dreading the answer.

A chilling smile crept across the War Lady’s face. ‘Not in the grand scheme, General. But they’ll watch us. Mark that, too.’

Hans, a man ill-versed in political chess, could only offer a strained nod. ‘Your Majesty,’ he began, then faltered. ‘I trust your judgment.’

…

A sudden, electrifying gust of wind ripped through the encampment, sending shivers down spines despite the heavy armor. The air crackled with anticipation, a stark contrast to the weary soldiers huddled nearby.

The War Lady, silent until now, spoke in a voice like polished steel. ‘No mercy for hearts devoid of nobility,’ she declared, her gaze cold and predatory.

Hans, startled from his uneasy pondering, locked eyes with her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Mercy to our enemies?’ she scoffed. ‘Forget it. Strike first, strike hard. Leave them no room to retaliate.’

Hans swallowed, unease churning in his gut. He knew the War Lady’s instincts were honed as a blade, but this felt…excessive. ‘Are you…certain?’

Her eyes, flashing with fury, bore into him. ‘Absolutely, General. The future hinges on this. We cannot gamble.’

Hans nodded, the knot of apprehension twisting tighter. He understood the logic, but a nagging doubt lingered. Something about the grand plan…

Despite his rank, Hans’ past in the Regiment honed his mind for foreign affairs. He was used to dissecting the moves of nations, allies and enemies alike. And as the two Generals conversed, the soldiers around them trembled, the weight of potential conflict pressing down.

They knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the burden of carrying out any decision, however perilous, would fall on their shoulders. And so, they waited, hearts pounding in the expectant silence, for the storm brewing above to break.

One soldier muttered, barely audible, ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have eavesdropped.’

Another hissed back, ‘Tell me something we don’t know.’

The only thing Hans couldn’t predict, the only wild card in this game, was the unpredictable move this fledgling kingdom was poised to make.