Huh... Thing about dead cities is they tended to get messy. Well... Juniper could honestly say he'd never seen nor heard of a dead city, but... Y'know, villages on the periphery in some of the less safe nations had a mishap here and there. City must've been worse, right? And yes, if one must know, Juniper is a man's name, too...

Back on topic... Taur had been wiped out overnight. Not 'practically overnight', but literally overnight. Cities stayed in touch in the Successor States, especially given all the church folk riled up for a crusade. He didn't really get it, who wants a war? But the big boss with the fancy hat did, meant more money for them, whatever the case.

Creeperfolk. What they called scavvers and gutter rats, all that. People liked to think all those adventurers and warriors making a mess of one another just ran off and the world puts itself back together. Not so. See, there were custodians, janitorial engineers and all that – whatever they liked to call themselves. Juniper weren't no mage, got a mallet and a stick to pick through the dead and bonk any one of them that picks itself up, getting all chatty. Liked to groan, the undead, seen a lot of those in his home of the Republic every time there'd been a guild war and a what for needs cleanin'. No undead here though, kinda creepy if you asked ole June, but who's complainin'? Not him, gold in his pocket at the end o' the day.

Poke through the bodies, be off with any valuables lest they can be confirmed as a noble, signet rings says all that. Mages come through, tag em up, following those paladins who came all loud like to slay some undead – finding nothing and moving along. Gotta go through the papers pasted to their foreheads if there was anything left to identify.

Thing was... Lots of foreheads about, not too many bodies. Just a mound of rotten meat all stacked up real neat like... Not the best, digging through all that flesh left in the moist heat of the citadel. Whole city slaughtered. Red King come to take 'em, that son o' Jartor, churches all up in a tizzy trying to war with a Primus. Fools, June thought – what kinda idiot would do that?

Juniper shook his head with a wry chuckle. Job makes a man dull to the sight of it, not so bitter was he but well accustomed to the mess. Hard word but honest, body cleaners and sweepers. Jannies come repair the roads and buildings and all that, scavvers come do what else. No room for the squeamish in this line of work, no sir. Odder thing is, though... This time, bodies weren't stinking. All neat like, no blood to them, just piled up and all pale, heads separated in their own stack leaving the identification bit a bit tricky to say the least. Gotta mix and match em, but the pay weren't bad, billable hours and all that.

Weren't needing any draining neither, didn't really understand it none. Maybe that's why they called him the Red King now, because he made off with all the blood? Eh, Primus a Primus. June loved the gods and all their children, even a mean bastard like that, a good one though. Man who did the freeholders a lot of good when all those fancy knights weren't too keen on doing much of anything.

Then again the White Wolf was a king now... And a prince, all the same, Primus too. Knight, adventurer, fancy magic man. Kid worked hard, Juniper imagined it was like that for all the high lords, didn't envy em in the slightest.

“Y'know...?” June craned his head back to his old pal Joe. Different strokes for different folks, but the jannies came to the same scene as all'um. “Be a lot easier if the whole dang city and all lands afield weren't a stinkin' jungle all of a sudden...”

“Better than endless sand in my book,” Joe snorted, looking out over the balcony at a hundred mile radius of dense growth in all directions. A near perfect circle of verdant life and no animals whatsoever to keep it all in check. Odd thing, that. Magic. Work of some gods, maybe. As for the tens of thousands of corpses filling the place up in that big pile of theirs... Not sure. A demon, maybe. “Better hush up or you'll wake the Lady.”

A Vestia preacher man once told Joe the ole Red King was chosen by the gods and about their righteous work, so must've been no evil here.

“The Lady?” June craned his head back to his old pal with a bemused expression. “I ain't seen a dang thing except your soddin' mug for the last eight hours. Better than the corpse eaters, but not by much.”

Joe chuckled softly. There were old legends, rumors among northmen. The winged lady who walked the battlefield, looking for the worthy. The watcher, dead god, whatever they wanted to call her. He wasn't much for superstition, but as far as things like that went... He didn't see it as superstition at all, she was standing ride beside June picking through the bodies same as him, eyes closed and smiling all gentle. Walking through a dead city cracked and withered, replaced by that new forest in the arid badlands known as Baccia.

He hurried on. Lovely lass or not, it was best not to wake the keepers of the dead.

–

Arthur Fournier was a north Varian man. Had been. Now? He was just the Pope of the Eight Pillars. That papal kingdom of theirs within Milanese borders that had grown so massive in influence over the last few centuries or so. The House of Light had been at the helm of mankind for as long as he'd lived, but any Cardinal could take the reins if they had the support. As time went on, humans had looked away from the elements and where they rightfully should, to the true divines. The stars and all the light they provided to man.

Naturally, Arthur didn't give a single toss about any of it. That's not how he'd gotten his power, and not how he'd stayed in control either. Faith had always seemed irrelevant.

And now... Everything was falling apart.

Decades of experience all ruined by one man. That bastard Cortus who'd gone and stirred everything up. Then again, a war was novel, Arthur understood the necessity for it but could've gone without it all regardless. Wars were expensive and he tended to like keeping the churches coffers as full as possible, instead of wasting it on the ridiculous idea of a crusade. However, he agreed that the monstrous spawn of Jartor needed to be stopped. First he'd done... Too many things to list, too many crimes. And now he'd gone and wiped out an entire city, killing approximately 135,030 people, they said.

Stolen novel; please report.

Using forbidden magic to spawn a forest out of ground that had been long dead for generations.

Mankind didn't need the Primus' anymore. They'd be stronger without them. Not one of their number stood in his council chambers debriefing him on the war effort. All they did was wield authority they'd never earned and prevent him from achieving his dream, killing every last demihuman on the continent until only men remained. The way it should be.

“The southern legion has arrived, waiting for the northern crusade army to make their way through Brotherhood lands.” Some... Arthur had no idea who the man was, some posh fop of a noble named Pericles or something of that nature. Western named for the Varian coasts who'd so disgustingly took after the telurian way of building and naming things. All pillars and arches, a common style in this region of the world but no less vile for its origins. “As stated, the central legions have been slaughtered practically to a man. Meeting resistance from the elements of some orcish horde that seems to be in league with Tyr Faeron. We have petitioned his father yet again but have received no response, as expected. Currently, we estimate proper landfall and mobilization on the furthest edge of Amistad within six days.”

“Six days...” Arthur felt a twitch pulling at his left eye. Things should be proceeding faster than this, in his opinion. “We have how many hundreds of thousands of crusade forces?”

“Including reinforcements from the Krieg and the Baccian army that is already in place, about 450,000. Your eminence.” 'Pericles' bowed, whoever he was at least he had some proper manners. “The majority of which are infantry, but we expect this to be to our benefit given the nature of a mage state. Our operational command is being joint led through efforts by Marshal Dominic Thadwick and Brotherhood generals with experience in handling mages.”

Arthur nodded. Once, Amateus had been the glittering jewel of the successor states, a larger nation than Amistad and far wealthier. But for all their power as the 'sorcerer kingdom', they'd fallen quite summarily to cunning strategy and a ruthless mindset. And, of course, a healthy dose of cooperation from the church. Man had begun to worship magic, and Arthur couldn't have that. “I expected it to proceed faster, this nation is weak and unprepared for war. We have more men, more mana engines, and adequate Heroes in support. Why have we not seen a single victory yet?”

“With respect, your eminence...” Pericles finally lifted his head. A handsome man, someone who might be a hero one day, but faith vindicant's and hopefuls were a dime a dozen. Nobody knew how to truly take that last step, calling it all 'luck'. “The northern crusade elements have seen supply lines cut, their water supply poisoned, fourteen commanders have already been assassinated – and the Harani have not been helpful. However, Lord Commander Aurelius has successfully captured several high priority leadership targets, including all of the living queens of Amistad. However false that title might be, your grace.”

“Captured...?” Arthur repeated disapprovingly, a sour look on his face. He was a noble first and foremost, keeping the princesses alive had been the only demand that Hastur had accepted. 'Accepted'. And then his men had taken Astrid Stalvarg, daughter of Ragnar, off to the Baccians who did god knows what with her. She was dead, and Tyr Faeron had butchered an entire city in vengeance. Not that he was necessarily wrong to do so... Arthur loved his own wife, and if possessive of that level of power might've done the same, if a gang of thugs raped and murdered his highborn lady. Treating her like a tavern wench, he wasn't much for sympathy either but that made him sick. Allowing a commoner to touch a highborn at all had gotten the Gran Taurus killed, and he'd deserved it. “I was explicit in my command that all apostates should be killed when incapacitated. Tell them immediately that all these targets are to be killed except those of highborn blood. Let the princesses of the foreign kingdoms live, they are poor souls manipulated into a scheme, as for the peasants you can do as you please with them.”

“Indeed, your eminence, I have already taken the liberties of communicating your most auspicious plans for our glorious endeavor. Archmage Hastur... He's refused.”

“This is my crusade!” Arthur's normally composed face split into a snarl of rage. Smashing an amphora aside and flickering rapidly between emotions. All of the glory and all of the rewards besides were being ripped from his hands time and time again by that bastard of a man. A Primus who had lost and 'died' to a five year old boy! Thinking he could command the Pope? There were many Primus', as far as he was concerned, but there was only one Arthur Fournier. “I am swiftly growing more exhausted by the day with that wretch. Tell Aurelius to ensure that he understands the hierarchy before I march on them myself!”

“As you wish, your eminence.”

Arthur calmed himself. Not only respectful, the man before him understood how to speak like a man and not dance around a topic. “Why have the Heroes not located and eliminated Tyr Faeron?”

To be frank, although he'd never say as much – Arthur quite liked that man. He'd watched the Trials and what occurred after, finding it all greatly amusing. From his perspective, Tyr Faeron must hate the Primus' and might have even ridden them of him in better circumstances.

The other churches had condemned the son of Jartor, and Arthur hadn't cared enough to deny them. Then Tyr had done something amazing and not altogether 'bad' in consideration of the churches, either. He'd killed hundreds of cretinous nobility, inadvertently exposing more money laundering outfits through the chapels than the pope had ever thought possible. His crimes were clear, but ultimate he was nothing. Just an example that needed to be set both to the people of the world and the varied sovereigns above them.

What was a Primus? They were nothing. They were not the gods' chosen, nor invincible, they were relics of the past who needed to be put to heel. The Eight Pillars was the only true authority this world needed.

“That...” Pericles pursed a handsome and rosy pair of lips. Almost effeminate in appearance, with a sturdy neck and body belying his delicate features. “To be blunt, because I know how much your eminence appreciates chasteness in communication--”

Arthur wanted to slap the man in the face. “Just. Say. It.”

“We have no idea where he is, by all estimates he has fled the field entirely.”

“...What?” If that psychopath was anything, it wasn't a coward.

“Indeed, your eminence – against all expectations he did not arrive to rescue the children. We have searched high and low for him but he seems to have completely vanished. None of our mages, Ordo Arcane contacts, or Inquisitors can find him. Even after his apparent friends, colleagues, and even his wives were being tortured he just... Vanished.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. The nepotism that had filled higher seats might have made the Inquisition incompetent at times, but they had a God's Eye artifact of their own. Able to find any single individual on the continent, and they'd used it to survey Tyr Faeron's activities for some time. If he was gone now... It couldn't be a good sign. It was well documented that the young man was capable of blinking around the continent, every time they'd looked he'd been somewhere else.

“Tell them to hurry up,” Arthur sighed, turning his back on his war council. Most of which remained pale in the face and sickly looking, as if Arthur were some cretin that would murder them off. Perhaps he would've, but even if the benefits were clear the instability it would bring was common sense. “You said six days? I expect four, inform the men that they are to march faster.”