“Messenger, report!”

Duke Vermillion sat on his throne, rubbing his temple slowly, while his face was scrunched up in agonizing thought. Underneath his eyes, dark circles were forming from many sleepless nights and constant meetings with his war council.

Things were going much more poorly than he’d anticipated, and that bastard Horatio was proving to be just as wily an opponent as the rumors had suggested he would be. Shortly after he killed Asimore, he ordered all his troops near the border of Mournholm, the count’s realm, to launch a surprise attack. He was aiming to take advantage of the count’s preoccupation with the expedition to the Northsreach Mountains to keep him from discovering what had occurred until it was too late, and that the count would already be engaged in battle with various goblin and orc tribes, thus weakening his forces.

However, Duke Vermillion greatly underestimated Count Horatio’s intelligence network. The man was considered one of the four pillars of the kingdom for a reason, and instead of launching his subjugation force into the mountains, he immediately launched it into Duke Vermillion’s territory, and seized the farming village of Reims as well as the local barony, adjacent to the River Cairn which ran down the center of the kingdom. However, in a move shocking to Duke Vermillion and quite fortuitous, he stopped his forces there and had not advanced since.

Unfortunately for Count Horatio, the Culaine family was also considered another one of the four pillars of the kingdom. While he didn’t have the good fortune to have a ready-made army of adventurers already recruited, he did have a large population ripe for conscription, and a massive treasury to recruit mercenaries.

The messenger was dressed in plain military fatigues, sharply pressed and with numerous accents emphasizing the red top and bright white bottoms. He kneeled with precision and lowered his head, before speaking.

“My lord, General Napolitano is reporting that our forces are ready for deployment. They are only waiting for you to take lead of the formation. We have twenty thousand peasant conscripts, five thousand soldiers from the professional garrison and, counting the Band of Medina, which has just arrived this morning, we have up to ten thousand nine hundred mercenaries.”

“Excellent! Finally, some good news! Tell General Napolitano to have all troops stand by for departure. We leave the moment I arrive. Magister Hamlin, prepare my entourage! Also, send someone to Garland’s chambers. Its time my son showed his abilities by acting as regent while I lead the war effort.”

An older man, wearing layered black robes with long, hanging sleeves, stood up from his small desk in the corner of the room. Several other court attendants were busy transcribing notes and sifting through reports. The man bowed deeply and acknowledged the duke’s request with a simple, “Yes, my lord.” Then, he turned his head slightly towards one of the attendants who nodded once and hurried from the room, followed shortly after by the solemn magister.

The magister considered their adversary. Count Horatio was a man so terrifying, it may have been more apt to describe him as a hyper-intelligent monster. His skill with a blade matched his skill in magic, and both were refined to the point where he was considered peerless. The king had even tried to offer him a dukedom, then an archdukedom, but twice the count refused. Instead, he had focused on hunting monsters for the good of the realm, earning him incredible fame as a hero.

By far, though, the most unnerving part of the count was his intelligence network. He was always incredibly well informed of events throughout the kingdom, and seemed to find out things far faster than any other lord. But not one lord in the entire realm had been able to infiltrate the count’s network. Every single spy sent disappeared, never to be seen again.

However, the man did have a couple of weaknesses. His army lacked in numbers and he was said to only travel at night due to his eccentricity and paranoia. Hopefully, their advanced recon team would be able to shed some more light on these tendencies and perhaps find a hole in his defenses.

Having arrived at Magus Francois’s study, the magister had no more time to further reflect upon the state of the realm. Fortunately, the knight captain was also here, so it saved him a trip to the barracks. Ignoring the shouting match over strategy between the two, he readily inserted himself with the practiced grace of a longtime bureaucrat and administrator with a polite cough.

“Ahem, esteemed lords, the duke is preparing to move out. Gather your men and meet in front of the manor so his entourage may depart, posthaste. His lordship, Sir Garland, shall be managing the realm in our absence, so send your deputies to brief his team on any relevant issues before joining us outside the city. It is quite a large force, so it should be easy enough to catch up.

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Archion. The nightless city.

A metropolis dwarfed only by the imperial capital of Dyrrachion, the pride of the Rivellion Empire.

Over a million people called it home, and tens of thousands inhabited the lush plains of the surrounding area that provided food for its hungry residents. Through the power of magic, the city thrived, and people were able to work night and day.

Such a massive population made housing extremely hard to manage, and numerous towers of brick and stone filled the city, crammed with residents for the sake of efficiency. The lower floors of such towers were converted into small markets, which abounded with all kinds of local delicacies and foods. The major roads were crowded with people, often avoiding speeding noble carriages like a swarm of mullet evading a predator.

To separate themselves from the peasants and lower nobility, the great and wealthy nobles of the city had recently invested incredible sums in building the floating islands which dotted the sky. Servicing these islands were the nation’s first small fleets of airships, an extremely recent addition to the forces under the command of the king of Luthas, Lex Calrainne. Such an addition was made possible only because of a theft from the forges of Moeria.

A few years ago, a young, obsessive genius arrived in one of the small local villages. He claimed to have stolen the technical readouts for dwarven airships. After some investigation, not only were they confirmed to be the genuine article, but the young man claimed he was able to construct the airships. However, it was clear that such a talent also bore the signs of lunacy. When the king asked him why he would do something as suicidal as breaking in to Moeria and stealing from the dwarves, the man simply responded, “No fantasy world should go without airships; I would gladly stake my engineering degree on it!”

Many thought the king mad for funding such a ludicrous venture, however all doubters were silenced when, a year later, the king’s personal flagship ascended. It was a large ship, over fifty meters in length, with dozens of propeller engines. All of them were powered by an intricate grid of mana crystals which were attached to an orb at the helm which was used to steer the ship. The king named the vessel Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Soon thereafter, a massive workshop rose above the skyline of the city, producing new airships at an astonishing rate. Unfortunately, the dwarves assassinated the young genius who had filched their designs before more of his ambitious projects could be unveiled. For his contributions, the king allowed him to be buried in the royal mausoleum, a tribute to the unparalleled genius of one E.K. Adams.

King Lex Calrainne mentally groaned, skillfully hiding his annoyance behind a stoic royal expression. Today he had to deal with a truly disastrous situation facing his kingdom. He was old, very old, and since his first son died as an infant, he had no heir to carry on his line. He had wanted to retire peacefully, but fate had other plans for him, and now he had to resolve a titanic issue rapidly spiraling out of control.

Before him stood Antoinette Culaine, first daughter of Duke Vermillion, and Henrik von Krauss, second son to Duke Horatio. Both had come to petition the King to sanction the other party, each one claiming the other side acted first to declare war. Unfortunately, their untimely arrival resulted in their petitions devolving into a shouting match and accusations between the two guests.

Antoinette was a gorgeous young woman and was considered a prodigy for her age. She wore a tight pink dress, with silver heels, and a glittery red bow in her hair. She had already been accepted to the prestigious University of Sangkore when she came of age in two years’ time. Opposite her was Henrik, who appeared far more gaunt and pale, bearing an almost unhealthy look. He wore well-fitting dark leathers and had a short black and red cape trailing him, with an insidious looking longsword strapped to his side. In spite of his fragile appearance, he had an uncanny amount of energy.

“How dare you show your face here, scoundrels! Was murdering my brother not enough for you?”

“Hah! Murder? You think we wouldn’t have found out about your assassination plans? If not for our timely discovery, my father would be dead right now!”

“Brazen lies! One look at your surprise march into our territory would reveal your insincerity!”

“A surprise march? You were clearly readying an army to invade us. We have already lost Reims to your barbaric horde!”

“Hmph, and we have not gone a step further! We are waiting in good faith to negotiate before the king!”

“Hooooo, negotiate? What is there to negotiate while you are oppressing our people! You need to return Reims to us before we can even consider negotiation!”

The king’s agitation was slowly building. He was tired of dealing with this, and with all these petty, entitled nobles and their disputes. The only reason he held on was because of his younger twin brothers, both of whom claimed their son was the rightful heir to the kingdom. He was afraid his death would split the kingdom between each of them and their backers. Worse still, if he acknowledged either one as the rightful heir, he was certain it would split the kingdom anyway after his death.

The doors to the royal audience chamber were thrown open. In the midst of the chaos, a familiar pair of voices rang out in unison. “Brother, it is time we settled this issue once and for all! Make a decision. Whose son will inherit the kingdom?”

Entering the chamber were none other than Archdukes Guilford and Traxis. Both men were still imposing despite their age, and each twin was just as conniving as the other, having built a large coalition across the country. The only difference between the two was their outfits, with Traxis boldly wearing a bright cyan raiment composed of puffy accents over his arms and legs, while Guilford wore a deep crimson raiment more focused on frills and waves.

Neither Antoinette nor Henrik acknowledged the arrival of the archdukes, and continued their shouting match. The two archdukes looked at each other, and then back at the spectacle before them, each arriving at a similar conclusion. Manipulative smiles spread across their faces simultaneously.

Lex Calrainne’s grip tightened immensely, slowly crushing the golden arms of his throne and exposing the whites of his knuckles. His day was about to get much, much worse.