Alistair stood at attention, performing the imperial salute as the Perfect had taught him. Salute, then three taps over the heart. Everyone else did the same, only sitting again when Marcus Auror raised a hand.
“This satellite was loaned by the Pathfinder AI to my colleagues, Kazian Bromas and Johannis LeoForte.” Marcus pointed to Kazian for the huge elf, and Johannis for the human, who was wearing a pair of futuristic VR goggles. “For the Prime Initiates, these are the Mindaugust-Annalist duo that have been overseeing the initiation.”
Despite him just making introductions, Alistair already got an uneasy sense of smarminess from the man, like he had with Jackson Morley. How could anyone whose job was to announce things for others be trustworthy? Local sports announcers were notoriously biased.
“It is an unfortunate reality that the sanctified one, Grand Imperator Pratei Dai Kezlan, shall not arrive for another two months. On our journey to FX-14752, we encountered a setback in an uninitiated region of space. We were so besotted by the most barbaric pirates that Grand Imperator Kezlan decided to dock and vanquish their ugly civilization. They proved to be more hardy than first expected, but the most recent updates say she has crossed through the wormhole and will be making a straight line for our location.
“But before I continue, I must impress this fact upon you all. Empire is your lifeline. I would never impugn the spotless reputation of your sponsors, but it is possible that they have failed to imprint upon you the primacy of empire. The Final Frontier Empire is surrounded by barbarism. The pirates of deep space. The Republic of Stars to our west and the Fractured States to our East. Chaos behind us. Survival is a matter of imperial might. What is the Grand Imperator system if not for displaying the omnipotence of our beneficent Fell Emperor?”
Marcus Auror continued along those lines for several minutes. Alistair was rapt in attention at first, but he only provided very basic information, the majority of which he already knew. The substance of his droning filibuster was imperial propaganda.
“Look how great the empire is! Emperor Dragus is the best!” and so-on, yada yada yada. Alistair found it hard to believe anyone could buy such garbage.
The crazy part was that Marcus went on for over an hour. Alistair zoned in and out. Would the orb he was sitting on be good material for a [Carmela’s Happy Pie]? It looked kinda tasty now that he thought about it. Marcus might not like it, but he would understand, surely?
His attention came back to what the servant of the Grand Imperator was saying. “Thirteen of the holy Laketor line have stewarded the Final Frontier Empire to its current prominence. The immortal emperor is the linchpin of the imperium. When the stars dim and the void cries out, His Excellency will too appear to one day pass from this world to the next, for the ancient sages tell us nothing in this life is forever. However, fear not, my imperial subjects, they are wrong! The Emperor will live again through his son, Kai Dragus.”
Alistair turned to the Perfect, who the picture-perfect representation of reserved grace. Her hands folded into her lap, she had a slight, respectable smile.
Her soothing voice entered Alistair’s ear. “He’s stalling. If the Emperor wants to send a universal message, he does so through his mouthpieces, the thirty-seven Grand Imperators. The servant must be waiting to temporally align with his master’s compatriots, so that no section of the empire hears before any other.”
Couldn’t he have waited until the exact moment to call on us? Alistair wondered, but already had a theory. Power. It was the same reason they got taken up like kittens carried by the scruff of their necks.
As if on cue, Marcus Auror looked up for a moment and stopped his speech. “Alas, my historical lesson must come to an end. It is now time to release the proclamation handed to me by proxy from His Excellency.”
The background of the chamber switched from the depths of outer space to the foot of impossibly tall throne. The throne was carved out of solid gold, inlaid with so many runic inscriptions and gemstones that would have bankrupted a planet a million times over. On the throne sat a projection of the most regal man Alistair had ever seen.
This towering titan of a man had light red hair, bordering on pink. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, but lacked noticeable signs of aging like wrinkles. His eyes were silver with halos of light and he carried the immeasurable weight of rule with equanimity. He wore a simple cultivator’s outfit that carried the Seal of the Empire, an infinity symbol with cracks streaking across.
While he lacked a living aura, the sense of imperial might that Alistair felt was a thousand times that of the laurel on Marcus Auror’s head. His heart was steeled against the foreign sway, but his body was not.
No one’s body was, it appeared. Everyone inside of the now imperial hall knelt down. It wasn’t something Alistair could control. It was utterly beyond him. His heart refused obeisance, but his forehead grazed the ground. Not one person escaped kowtowing before the projection of Emperor Dragus Laketor.
“The first five months of the Crusade Against Usury have been monumentally successful for the crown and the people, for whom we labor to serve. Ten million Orichalcum drachma was renumerated to those who were saddled by unfair loans, with ten percent of that going toward to further efforts to stamp out corruption among the corporations and sects. Unaffordable rents were reduced by half on over a dozen planets, with the Imperial family negotiating on a hundred thousand more worlds to temporarily halt any increases over the next thousand years.”
Marcus Auror was an animated speaker now that he wasn’t talking about lines of succession and ancient disputes. In every word, he gave off an unshakable impression that House Laketor was breaking the shackles of oppression and standing with the downtrodden.
“This is not enough. We understand this, we hear your pleas. Therefore, the second phase of the imperial edict will address the deeper concerns. The second imperial decree of the Crusade, ratified by the Emperor and witnessed by the thirty-seven Grand Imperators and the Court of Infinity, states that 5.00% of all revenue earned by those under the Visionary realm for corporations and sects with assets of over 30 million and 10 million Orichalcum drachma respectively shall be confiscated to lay the groundwork for the Imperial Academic system, targeted at the most talented cultivators from the common folk.
“The third imperial decree of the crusade states that the core disciples of the top twenty sects and the investor’s chosen of the top fifteen corporations will be selected at random to join the holy conquests of the Fractured States, all overseen by one of our Grand Imperators. This number shall be set at 10% every cycle, with the first wave starting in three year’s time for the 1,956th Conquest. Participants who earn merit for the empire have the opportunity to become ennobled under the House Laketor banner.”
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While no one spoke, Alistair felt a dangerous current in the room. He doubted that anyone would outright attack the envoy—such a thing would be tantamount to declaring open rebellion. But those two new decrees sounded harsh.
If the corporations were anything like those back on Earth, taking 5.00% of revenue was massive. Companies were usually taxed after net income, so presuming they were already being taxed by the empire, this 5% was before everything else.
Visionaries being exempted likely reduced the 5% to a much smaller total, as Alistair imagined that the majority of their income was being produced by their Visionary executives, but also, it depended on how you counted who was making the money.
The second part… core disciples and investor’s chosen sounded like the most important of the youth generation of the sects and corporations. Sending them off to dangerous battlefields and then incorporating the survivors into the imperial family itself was a devious move.
A flash of anger passed over even the perfect face of Sect Leader Boswann, if for an instant.
Marcus didn’t say anything, but the fringes of his lips curled up into a smile. The bastard was enjoying his audience’s wordless reaction. “The Emperor always has the best wishes for the empire in mind. Remember my words, especially you young ones: empire is your lifeline. To go against us is to end your life. As long as you fulfill your roles, your eternity is secured within the tapestry of the Final Frontier’s Empire’s everlasting Dao.”
Marcus Auror dipped his head toward the Perfect, prompting everyone to look at her. “Given the physical presence of the Clear Water Sect, the Emperor thought it best for a Grand Imperator to deliver the message in the flesh. The traditionalism that the Clear Water Sect espouses is important to cherish in these changing times.”
He looked at the platinum puppet from the Corylon Company. “The corporations should look to her example. That is why they are the only sect that has been exempted from the first decree. We must turn to the teachings of Sect Leader Boswann in these trying times. Their orthodox formations are without a doubt meritorious.”
Before Marcus Auror could speak another world, the Perfect interrupted, standing up. The other sponsors followed suit, though Alistair found himself stuck still, not that he had the chutzpah to rise from his knees. “Thank you for this consideration, servant Marcus. You and House Laketor flatter the Clear Water Sect. However, this gift seems to be undeserved to my poor eyes. Such a Karmic debt would be difficult to repay with the vast divide between our power and that of the imperial family.”
“Nonsense, Lady Loroa,” Marcus Auror said. “Your services have been impeccable. It would be a shame to dishonor the Emperor’s personal gift.”
The Perfect and Marcus Auror locked eyes and Alistair felt a whole different conversation took place between the two of them than the one heard aloud.
“Then, there can be no option but to accept,” the Perfect said, bowing her head. “We are forever in the debt of House Laketor, if the decrees triumvirate last the million years we all hope for. The importance of uplifting of the mortal population cannot be understated. That is something we agree on, Marcus Hooknose?”
Marcus Auror smiled, showing off a set of golden teeth that were blindingly bright. “Forever is a long time, Loroa. Imperial authority extends everywhere and exists for all times, but there must be limitations on our interventions. How can the child grow if the parent never lets him fall?”
The elf on Marcus’s right coughed, a booming noise that could have come out of an industrial machine. “Sect Leader Boswann and Majordomo Auror, it might be prudent to talk about the Prime Initiates.”
“Thank you, Kazian,” Marcus said with a hint of sharpness. “The Grand Imperator used her authority to cancel the remainder of Kaiju Break. The fourth wave will start as normal in a week and three days. In addition, any Prime Initiate that reports an infraction of any of the three imperial decrees comprising the Crusade Against Usury will receive the full protection of House Laketor and an award commensurate to a third of the value of the infraction. With that, I conclude our meeting. Sponsors are to have no contact with their sponsees for the rest of [Armageddon], as Grand Imperator Kezlan wished.”
Alistair blinked, and he was back on the mountain like nothing had happened. No Perfect or Lazarene Minister. He looked at his hands, making sure he wasn’t seeing things. No golden light sucking us up this time.
Things outside his control were moving fast, it seemed. There was an electric feeling in the air. Everyone was saying now was the age of change. Mysterious beings like Purana of the Stratospheric Flames and the Pathfinder AI told Alistair that directly. The Crusade Against Usury was inflaming tensions between all four major factions of the empire and they were still trying to venture forth and invade other universes.
His sponsor was caught up at the center of it. It was obvious what the Emperor was doing. The Clear Water Sect would draw the hatred of all others for its exemption. Of course the one sect that had the Emperor’s attention was his.
Or maybe that’s a good thing, Alistair thought. Conflict breeds opportunity. Not that he condoned violence, but the situation was going to happen anyway, so why not get in there while the iron was hot?
“And if the Emperor wipes away the Clear Water Sect with a thought?” Dev’rox asked.
“Then my thread of Fate runs dry.”
Dev’rox gave him a look that was incomplete without a raised eyebrow—an item that an imp did not possess. “Don’t scare me like that. Kyraxadon was one of those Fate-crazy bastards always talking about destiny and prediction. I can’t lose you to the threads.”
“I’m joking,” Alistair said. “But it’s true, right? I can’t control where I go at the moment. I only have to make the best of things. It’s completely true that risk and reward are correlated in cultivation.”
“A proper outlook on life,” Dev’rox said. “Well on your way to old monster status. Just don’t leave me behind before you get there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
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The Perfect and the Lazarene Minister sat alone in their handcrafted cottage. The Minister, or in this company, Duan, modeled it after ones he had seen in the French countryside via the Pathfinder AI.
“Duan, I doubt myself,” Loroa said softly. “I ordered those drachma on the Fatewatchers. I spent that fortune and listened to the Oracular Troll and came to this planet in the flesh. It has all led to ruin.”
Mo Duan put his withered hand on his sect leader’s. Loroa’s parents had long passed, mortals from years distant. He had watched her go from child to woman grown, blossoming into the leader of his venerable sect that he had served from birth.
“This is not of your making. Fate is a finnicky thing. I cannot read it as well as some, but I know that you did not cause this. The decrees were always coming.”
Loroa shook her head. “Madness. I see no reason why the Emperor has turned his eye on us. No reason!”
“The Emperor has many eyes,” Mo Duan said, shaking his head. In his lifespan of twice that of a typical Visionary, he had seen many things. “Many hands and many ears. If he sees us as tied to the old ways, he will see us as tied to the Tiarvon.”
“I’ve never so much as met Prince Hoen.”
“Dragus believes as Dragus believes. The court doctor says in secret that the madness grows worse. There are some in the family who already believe that Kai Dragus should be regent.”
Loroa groaned, which coming from her was an elegant exhalation. “I’ve not a mind for politics. You and Sect Leader Wozhan were more suited for that.”
“My little dove,” he said. “You must be whatever the sect needs you to be. Strength can only you so far.”
“That wretch.” Loroa squeezed her fist. “He pretends to care of the people? If only they knew what he did behind closed doors. He should burn in hell for a trillion years. If we were in the same realm, I’d kill him myself.”
Mo Duan looked up, earning a look of consternation from his superior.
“I’m no fool, Elder Mo,” she said. “I wouldn’t let Marcus Hooknose feel my intent. On another topic, what do you think of Alistair and Evangeline? Would they betray us? Of course, we will never have any infractions. None whatsoever.”
“I think not,” Mo Duan answered. “But one can never be sure with such youthful souls. To think they had not heard of cultivation one year ago.”
“What did that troll say?” Loroa asked. “To find the terminus of my destiny, look toward Chaos on the frontier. Where the fist of the mortal meets falling Heaven, you shall find what you seek. That must be this Alistair, yes?”
“It is the most reasonable assumption,” Duan said. “Since I was the one that found them, do you think you could increase my stipend? An old man such as my—”
“No.”