Simon lifted his sword above his head just in time to deflect the blow. He ignored the shockwave of pain that ran through his arm and quickly stepped forward, ramming his shoulder into the bulky man’s chest. The man stumbled and Simon thrust his short sword forwards. To his dismay, the man regained his footing and swiftly parried the thrust, leaving Simon’s off-hand defence wide open. Before he could react, Simon watched the sword arc toward his neck. He closed his eyes and waited for the seemingly inevitable blow to land.

When it didn’t, he opened his eyes and saw his grinning cousin holding the blade a few centimetres from his neck. He was breathing heavily as a mess of hair clung to his sweaty face.

“You got lucky,” Simon said as he pushed the blade from his neck with a nervous smile. Simon knew that his cousin was a much better swordsman, but he wouldn’t admit that to him.

“Well, perhaps I should head to the gambling house, because this is the fifth win in a row,” Garret said. Simon laughed and wiped his sweaty face with his shirt.

“What a pathetic display of swordsmanship,” a voice startled Simon and Garrett and they spun around. A well-dressed man, wearing an assortment of chains and rings, was sitting on a large, equally adorned stallion.

The cousins instinctively assumed a defensive posture, unsure of what to expect. Simon could hear Garrett’s baritone growl next to him. It wasn’t often that someone was bold enough to sling insults at the ill-tempered giant, but this was a new place, maybe they hadn’t heard of Garrett’s reputation yet?

“Who the hell are you?” Simon spat. He scowled at the man.

“I suspect people of your— standing, are oblivious to the political landscape around here. I’m Curtis Hargrave. My family owns all the land around your pathetic estate. I don’t know why you Martel rats decided to bring your lot into Bravoria, but we shouldn’t have to share a border with thieves and vagrants,” Curtis said, looking down his nose at the cousins.

The Martel family recently purchased a small family estate in the Bravoria province, pulling themselves out of poverty and into middle-class society. They hoped to unite their fractured family in one place and sustain their new lifestyle by taking advantage of the fertile farmland, to grow and export tobacco.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue. Could be dangerous for your health,” Garrett said, in a dangerous tone. The leather of his sword handle creaked as he squeezed it.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Curtis said, folding his arms and smiling.

Garrett took a step forward but Simon put his arm out to stop him. “He’s provoking you, Cousin” he said as Garrett glared at Curtis.

Curtis chuckled. “Well damn, you got me. This is a civilised place. Violence isn’t tolerated, even from savages like you. It’s a pity, I would have loved to bankrupt you in the courts. My family employs the best lawyers on the continent,” he said.

Simon plastered a smile onto his face. “Fancy lawyers, huh? It’s a pity they can’t take your mother to court for giving you that face," Simon said, as he swirled his finger at the man's face. Garrett spat out with laughter; the tension melted away. Simon knew it was a childish insult, but he couldn’t resist putting pompous jerks in their place.

Curtis’ face turned a shade of pink when his smile faded, replaced with a frown. After a few moments, he recovered his composure and said, “You’ll regret that.”. He pulled at the reins and kicked his horse into a canter towards his estate.

When the man was out of sight, Simon let out a long breath. He felt exhausted. He was beginning to doubt his decision to insult the arrogant man, unsure of the trouble he just brought upon his family. Lawyers didn’t provoke fear in him, but he knew of the audacity of powerful people, and that seemed to frighten him more than anything.

The cousins slowly made their way across the unkempt fields until they reached the compound. The vine-covered wall was only two-metres high, with iron spikes on top—more for decoration than defence. The inner compound was a large one-hundred acre space, littered with various buildings. A buzz of activity surrounded the men. Carriages and wagons clattered through the gate as Martel family members arrived at the estate. They streamed towards their new homes, where porters helped unload wagons, carrying furniture into the villas. Clanging tools and shouting workers echoed through the compound. Simon crumpled his nose when fresh manure whiffed from the stables, where the horses whinnied and stomped as the men passed.

They soon arrived at a three-story building, where a dozen stone masons and carpenters were working diligently on repairing the new cornerstone of the Martel family. They entered the main hall and gawked at the space. It was an extravagance that they’d never seen. Ornate carvings covered the pillars, and colored glass windows gave a dream-like atmosphere to the hall. A massive, expensive-looking round table dominated the centre of the room, where twenty equally well-crafted chairs surrounded it.

“It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” Grandfather Ray said, after noticing the young men from the other side of the room.

The men nodded and greeted the old man. “It doesn’t feel right,” Simon said with a smile. “I’m used to the tiny dining room table we used in Praso.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, it’s quite a stark difference from the city, but now our family can finally unite under one roof.”

Garrett playfully slapped Simon on the back and said, “I must say, it’s bloody great to be with my favourite cousin again.” He grinned broadly and then frowned. “Also, I don’t think I could have lasted another year in those god-damned mines. My entire hand is one giant callous!” Garrett showed his hand and wiggled his fingers.

“Everyone in the family who contributed to the purchase of the estate will be remembered for generations,” Ray said with a slight bow. “Tonight, we will celebrate those who made this happen,” he pinched his nose. “But you two better go get cleaned up, you’re starting to stink up our new meeting hall.”

***

The meeting hall had a jovial atmosphere when Simon entered that evening. He looked at the sea of people and smiled. One of Simon’s cousins plucked a melodic tune on her instrument, adding to the cheery atmosphere. A drone of conversation filled the room, as long-lost relatives were reunited and excited members discussed their future in Bravoria. The playful screams of children echoed around and they ran and weaved through the crowd. Simon smiled. It’s great to have everyone together, he thought.

Three loud bangs echoed through the room. The murmur quieted down as all attention was turned to Ray, who placed the mallet back on the table. He smiled broadly as he scanned the room.

“I am humbled and honoured to witness this milestone in our stalwart family’s history,” he said. Cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd. Ray raised his hand and the noise faded to silence. “Tonight is a night of celebration and—” the heavy wooden doors opened suddenly. An important-looking soldier walked confidently through the door. His golden armour glinted in the torchlight and his red cape fluttered at his legs. Behind him, a contingent of soldiers, in contrasting silver armour, marched in two organised columns. Gasps and shouts came from the crowd. A small gang of family members moved to the front between the approaching soldiers and the crowd.

“Settle down, settle down. These are Empire soldiers. Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Ray announced, while glaring at some of the more unruly members. He stood up and walked over to the gold-plated soldier.

The man stopped in front of Ray and placed his fist on his chest—a soldier’s salute. “Are you the headman of the Martel estate?” the captain asked.

“That, I am. What’s this about?” Ray said. The captain handed Ray a scroll with a wax seal.

“It’s all in there, but I can sum up the main points, if you prefer?” the captain said. Ray frowned and said, “Please do.”

“The Hargrave family have used their right to register an ancestral land claim for your land.

“The Bravoria magistrate has acknowledged the claim, but since you have purchased and registered the title for the land, it can’t simply be taken away from you, so the magistrate recommended a war footing between Martel and Hargrave to contest the claim. The victor of that war will receive this land. The emperor has approved the recommendation,” the captain said.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Ray frowned and looked at the scroll. “But we only purchased this land three weeks ago. Don’t we have a royal peace guarantee?” Ray asked.

The captain pursed his lips and then softened his expression. “Typically, yes. In this case, the Hargraves have found a loophole. Since this is ancestral land, they can bypass any protections,” he said.

Ray scowled. “Ancestral land, huh? I’ve looked into the history. The Hargraves sold this land! How can they make such bold claims?” he said.

“Like I said. Loophole. I’m just following the Emperor's orders. I wouldn’t start questioning a royal decree, otherwise, things could get a lot worse,” the Captain said.

Ray sighed. “Very well.”

“Thirty days from now, you’ll need to submit your Dimensional Vessel so that it can be merged with the Hargrave’s vessel. Once that’s done, the war will commence,” he said.

“Dimensional Vessel?” Ray asked.

“You probably know them as Bottle Empires,” the captain said.

“Right, I’ve heard of them, but never actually seen one,” Ray said.

The captain pursed his lips. “Really? Well, that’s not a good thing. The Hargrave’s are a wealthy and powerful family. You Martel’s really have a tough fight ahead of you.”

The captain regained his bulwark expression and continued, “But that’s none of my business,” he gave the tiniest hint of a smile and looked into Ray’s eyes, “But I wish you the best of luck.” He saluted Ray, spun on his heels and marched away, his contingent following after him.

The crowd stood in silence. “Alright, stop sulking,” Ray said, rubbing his forehead in thought. He looked up and said, “We earned our place in this world and now we will have to protect it. Does anyone know anything about these—uh—Bottle Empires?” he asked.

Simon spoke up. “I do.” Simon watched a sea of heads all turn to look at him.

Garrett spoke up, “You do? What are they?” he asked. Simon took a deep breath and walked to the front where Ray was standing and faced the crowd.

“You already know that war is outlawed on the continent, so the only way to settle disputes or—in our case— land claims, is to resolve them in these pocket dimensions, more commonly known as Bottle Empires. They’re like tiny worlds, except they’re not tiny at all,” Simon said.

“But, how?” another family member spoke up. “How do we fight the battles?”

Simon let out a breath and looked up thoughtfully. “There are other people that live in these worlds. Some say they’re actually the souls of the dead. I don’t know much of the specifics though. What I do know is that time is much slower in these worlds and we need to cultivate an empire inside of the vessel and create an army that can stand up to the Hargrave’s.

“The only reason I know this is because I was a guard in Praso city, where the wealthy lords recruited their commanders from the upper echelons of the guards,” Simon said.

“Very curious,” Ray said while he stroked his beard. “Do you think you can purchase one of these Bottle Empires for us?”

“I can try. I heard that there are Bottle Merchants in most major cities. Although it’s probably not going to be cheap,” Simon said.

***

Limora city, the Bravoria province capital, hummed with activity. Merchants yelled about their wares, porter’s hauled their goods around the city and office workers ran their errands. Simon was amazed by the chaotic, yet seamless movement of the citizens.

He pulled his cloak tightly around him. In his hand, he held almost the entirety of his family’s wealth. Even though he was a little knowledgeable about these Bottle Empire’s, he had no idea what they cost to obtain. What if it wasn’t enough? Simon shuddered at the thought. Losing their family estate would tear them apart.

Simon broke off from the main stream of traffic, and turned onto Plumeria Crescent, a less-frequented commercial area. The smell of perfume and spices filled his nose. He looked at each of the wooden signs hanging in front of the shops on the street until he recognized the one he was looking for. The emerald teardrop-shaped bottle engraved on it seemed to emit a faint glow. Under the image golden letters spelled Gita’s Bottles & Baubles.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped inside, was the neat rows of pedestals, each topped with a unique bottle made from different colored glass and inlays. The walls held shelves, from ceiling to floor, filled with an assortment of decorative vases and trinkets.

From the sales counter, Simon could see through a door that led to what, he suspected, was supposed to be an office. The odd thing was that there was little furniture in the room. Only a small writing desk took up a tiny portion at the backside of the room. In the remaining open space stood a metal contraption that resembled a torch sconce . A violet bottle sat atop the sconce.

Simon tapped the call bell on the sales counter and was surprised when a wash of energy pulsed from the bell, rustling a few pieces of paper scattered on the surface. Simon saw the violet bottle, in the office, flare brightly, as tendrils of the energy swirled and coalesced into a humanoid shape. It solidified into a middle-aged woman with dark skin. She wore a leather breastplate over a long-sleeve cotton shirt and brown pants. Around her black belt, various tools and pouches were attached. She was holding a red, leather-bound notebook, which she placed into a desk drawer before smiling and walking to Simon. Her raven-black hair was tied up into a bun and her, almost luminescent, amber eyes acknowledged Simon. “Welcome, my friend. I apologise for my absence, we only get a few customers a month, so I tend to use that free time cataloguing the contents of my newer purchases,” she said, her modulated voice putting Simon at ease.

“That’s alright, I understand,” Simon said. “If I may ask, what do you mean by cataloguing?”

Gita nodded and said, “These—” she gestured at the pedestals behind him, “—are not simple magical devices that can be crafted on a whim. It takes many powerful sorcerers decades to create a single vessel.

“Each one has a lineage of owners, ranging from a single owner, to hundreds of owners. Some have cultivated militaristic empires where billions of souls reside. Some simply create lavish holiday destinations. It’s my job to assess what the current state of these worlds are and assign an appropriate value,” she said while scanning Simon’s clothes. “Speaking of which, what is it you’re looking for?”

“My family has just purchased an estate and we’ve run into some trouble with greedy neighbours,” Simon said. Gita nodded her head in understanding.

“Ah, war. That’s a shame,” she said, giving Simon a pitiful look. “But you’ve come to the right place. Let’s see what I can do for you.” Gita tapped her chin in thought. After a moment, she walked out from behind the counter and picked up a silver-colored bottle from a pedestal, handing it to Simon, who carefully held it as if it was going to explode. She quickly retrieved two more—emerald and gold— and returned to the front. She placed them on the table, gesturing for Simon to do the same with his one.

“I think one of these will be suitable for your needs,” Gita said.

“What do the colours mean?” Simon asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just decorative flair that their creators use to make them unique.

“But don’t make your decision because it is ‘pretty’,” Gita said. “What is your budget?”

Simon tensed and carefully untied the coin pouch from his belt. “This is all we have. Our entire family’s wealth. It’s about two-thousand platinum, maybe a little more,” he said, gingerly placing the pouch on the table.

Gita let out a breath and shook her head. “You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here. These are way out of your price range,” she said, indicating the three bottles. Simon’s gut churned and his mood sank.

“Well, how much are they?” he asked.

“This one—” she pointed at the golden bottle, “—is fifty thousand platinum. It contains a mighty empire with a militaristic government. There’s a permanent standing army of two-million troops and is completely self-sufficient—if you don’t mind the slavery part, I mean.

“The emerald bottle is a little cheaper at thirty-five thousand. It also has a sizable empire, but their government uses a military reservist policy. When a call-to-arms is called, it can be quite costly to maintain a standing army, so a smart leader will need to nurture the economy for that purpose.

“The last bottle costs twelve-thousand. The empire is split into hundreds of tribal nations, loosely ruled by the owner of the vessel. When you require an army, concessions would need to be made. A tribe will usually accept land in exchange for their army, which may, or may not, effect the happiness of rival tribes. So there’s a ton of political micro-management, that’s why it’s so cheap,” she said.

Simon scratched the back of his head, trying not to show his shock at hearing the prices. “Can you tell me what will happen if my family doesn’t have a Bottle Empire to fight the war?” he asked.

Gita gave him a sympathetic look. “It will be an unconditional surrender. All war goals are conceded to the victor, I’m afraid.”

“Dammit,” Simon whispered. “Is there anything we can do with the coin I have?” he asked hopefully.

Gita pursed her lips for a moment and then suddenly jumped with realisation. “Maybe,” she said, quickly retrieving the violet bottle from the office. She grinned at Simon. “I recently acquired this bottle from a family who were defeated in a colossal multi-vessel war,” she said, smiling at Simon. “Can you imagine the scope of a war like that?”

“Oh, I didn’t know wars could be fought with more than two bottles,” he said.

“You certainly can, as long as the Emperor approves the war,” Gita said. “Anyway, I’m getting distracted. The war ruined all the infrastructure in this bottle, and I really do mean scorched earth. There’s no cities, no souls, nothing.

“I was going to turn it into a small leisure destination, but this cultivation stuff isn’t my favourite thing. So I’ll let it go for cheap, because I like you and sympathise with your situation.

"With a bit of effort, you’ll be able to put up a decent fight,” Gita said.

Simon’s hopelessness started to fade away. He placed his hand over his heart and lowered his head. “I greatly appreciate that.”