Charging into the command center of World’s Edge Citadel, a bald, square-jawed Imperator made his way up to the planning map that Legate Athriel and his lieutenants craned over, spurring onlookers to turn in his direction.

“Imperator?” The Legate’s bushy brows perked as his head rose, and a figurine he was about to place on the map was still in his hand.

“Legate,” the man saluted and waited for a reply.

“Speak.”

“The heretic, we faced him. Near the battlefield.”

“Heretic? That Imperator Eamon spoke of?”

“Yes, I believe so,” the man nodded. “The one that was rumored to have headed south. We spotted an ancient throne ship–the same as the reports. It was surveying the battlefield in the area marked off-limits to our ships. We trailed him and tried to shoot him down for questioning, but he managed to recover the ship despite us having stunned its mage heart. Then he turned to chase us down, forcing us to flee.”

“We?”

“Yes, I flew alongside Imperator Haste.”

“And where is he?”

“I–ah–”

“Legate, if it is true that this heretic is now attacking our assets, might there not be a chance that he is serving the wargs now?” One of the Imperators standing around the map said.

“Possibly,” Athriel said, scratching his chin. “Maybe they’ve caught onto our plan and are trying to break our forces up by tempting us to follow him.”

“What do we do?” Another Imperator asked. "If he managed to take down one of our throne ships..."

“We cannot be rash. Our enemy is no joke, and they keep the positions of their priests and giants secret. They might not have pulled it off yet, but they have the ability to take our ships down, and we don’t have the resources to take unnecessary losses. For now, there is no change of plans. The barbarians and wargs are whittling each other down perfectly, and I have every intention to keep it that way. If this is some desperate attempt to distract us, then it should be ignored. The wargs can’t just break off their siege, and if they attempt another massive attack to overwhelm the barbarians, I want our fleet to be on standby. We need to be ready to swoop in again to push them back. If we are forced to fight the warg army directly, our casualties will be far greater than a single throne ship.”

“And what about the heretic?”

“He’s one man. Once the wargs are dealt with, we can send a few Imperators up to deal with him.”

“And what if he retreats back to the Daggers with a throne ship?”

“A troubling thought, I admit. But what’s one ship in the hands of a broken enemy? One that was already lost to the Frontier, no less. That’s not something worthy of even the gossip circles of the Imperium. What we need to do is win. Once the Frontier is secured again, we can return to the Imperium victorious and with the honor of not needing to ask for additional resources.”

“Of course,” one of the Imperators nodded. “Brilliant as always, Legate Athriel. I will advise the scout ships to keep an eye out for this heretic but order that they avoid engagement unless he enters restricted airspace.”

“Good,” the Legate waved dismissively. “Victory is almost ours. We mustn’t lose sight. If the enemy plays these games, then it means they are getting desperate,” the board, mustached Legate smiled and placed down the figurine on the map. "It's all going to plan."

**Imperator**

“How are you feeling?” Mark said, trying to read the shaky boy as they rested beside their thone ships.

“It’s—been a big day,” Callum forced a smile. “But good.”

“Alright, well, if you’re up to it, we should probably make the last leg for home. Who knows when the enemy will come looking for us? The ship should have recovered enough energy now.”

“Yeah,” Callum nodded. “Good idea.”

“Alright, everyone,” Mark turned, waving his hand in the air. “Back aboard the ship.”

A few grunts trailed from the mercenaries and ferals as they pulled themselves up, but they were happy to return to safety—assuming the fort could be considered that.

The remaining flight to Fort Winterclaw was short but tense. Mark kept an eye out on their surroundings but spotted no sign of more throne ships following them.

Hundreds of people gathered in the fort as they brought the two ships down. The crowds bustled against each other to get a good look at the new ship in their fleet.

Henric stood at attention with a half dozen acolytes awaiting them as they walked down the ramps from the ships into the Imperial District.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“How did you,” Henric said, barely able to form words.

“Luck, mostly,” Mark grimaced. “Or at least it felt that way. But we might have a problem.”

Henric’s brow rose.

“Come with me to my cabin,” Mark waved. He needed to get on top of this. If rumor were to spread without him making the first move, sedition might grow.

Henric followed him, his expression twisting into concern.

“You too,” Mark added, pointing at Callum.

Inside his cabin, Mark sighed and rubbed his face. Henric, who stood next to Callum, was eyeing the Imperator suit that the boy wore, and Mark could only imagine the thoughts running through his head.

“What has…” Henric shook his head.

“This is going to be a lot to take in, but I don’t think I have much choice anymore.”

“What is?” Henric inched forward. "What's happened?"

What do I do? This devout fool isn’t likely to take it well if I tell him his religion is a lie and that the Lightning God has chosen me as his avatar to destroy the Imperium.

“We’re at war with the Imperium,” Mark said flatly, eyeing his right-hand man as his face twisted into disbelief and then anger.

“We’re what?” Henric staggered backward. “How is that even possible?”

“They attacked us en route to the barbarian camp in the south. That is how we got hold of a second throne ship.”

“But you said…”

“I didn’t choose this path, Henric. I have only ever sought to do what was best for the people entrusted to me. It appears that mission has run its ground with the Imperium, and I will not turn away from it. If you wish to leave, You’re welcome to.”

“If I,” Henric gritted his teeth. “But how… everything that’s happened. It doesn’t make sense. You win against impossible odds. You achieve things no single Imperator has any right to achieve. How,” Henric shook his head. “How is it possible that a heretic can do all this? Why has our god not stripped you of his powers?”

“Good question,” Mark said firmly.

“And you,” Henric said, turning to point at Callum. “You wear a suit you have no right to bear. What is happening? Have I been deceived? Has the Mad God taken hold of this heretical camp?”

“There’s no deception here, old friend,” Mark said, stepping toward his Arms-Master. “We’re all doing what we believe is right. If you cannot be a part of this, then that's fine. But we’re creating something bigger than us here. What you’ve seen so far, it’s only the beginning. Give me your loyalty, and we can create something bigger.”

“Against the Imperium?”

“What if the Imperium isn’t what it used to be? Does your loyalty to it know no end? Can you not be rational and see what is happening around you?”

“How can you even suggest such a thing? Look at us,” Henric flailed his arms to the side. “We’re a tiny camp of misfits. Men bed ferals and speak strange tongues. We've lost our way, and I was too blind to see it until now. What chance do we have when the Imperium comes marching with an army?”

“Look around, Henric. This place has been forgotten by the Imperium. Tell me, why haven’t they come already? An Imperial army shouldn’t be threatened by the scraps found out here in the Frontier. When they first defeated the wargs, they were but a shadow of what they’ve grown into today. So, why don’t they send their armies, Henric?”

“I–I… I don’t know. But the College of Legates is wise. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

“It’s falling apart. They’ve veered from the path that made them powerful, and now the Imperium is threatened from all sides,” Mark said.

Mark made up most of what he said, or at least based it on his own hunches, but unity was more important than honesty at this moment.

“No, that’s not possible. The Imperium is the greatest power in the world. When they’re finished putting out fires, they’ll come here and deal with you.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” Mark sighed. “If I cannot change your mind, you are free to leave Fort Winterlcaw.”

“Callum,” Henric said, turning to the boy.

Callum shook his head.

“Traitors, the lot of you,” Henric hissed and stormed out from the cabin.

Perhaps killing the man would have been wise, Mark thought, but he wasn’t trying to create the image of a dictator among his people.

Henric stormed out into the Imperial District, pleading with everyone and anybody to leave the fort with him. His desperation shone through.

Acolytes and mercenaries alike pulled away from Henric and turned to Mark, who followed close behind. It was clear that they chose proven leadership and tenacity over the decadence and nepotism of the Imperium.

“Have you all gone mad?” Henric hissed, turning in the street like a madman as he ran up to people and raved to their faces.

Even Radic turned away from his old master, raising a brow from Mark.

“You’d stick with this mad heretic to defend this puny outpost? Have some sense, people!”

“Go back to the asshole of the Imperium,” one of the mercenaries shouted. “I’m good here. At least I’m not treated as a second-rate citizen who can be spat on by my better because of some stupid law, that and the tax. At least the Imperator, or whatever he wants to be called, doesn’t tax every coin I make,” the man added, spitting on the ground near Henric.

I do probably need to introduce taxes at some point, but I’ll worry about that bridge when we have to, Mark thought with a guilty grin.

Henric marched to the stables to collect his horse but paused as two mercenaries drew swords from their sheaths.

“So, you’re leaving me with nothing?” Henric growled.

“I’m sorry, Henric. You’ve served me well; I didn’t want it to end like this. But I can’t give you valuable resources. Be grateful I let you leave with your life,” Mark said.

“I’ll be back,” Henric said, turning to point at Mark. “And with a legion of Imperial soldiers at my back.”

“Is it wise to let him leave?” Callum said at Mark's side.

“He has served as well. I can’t just strike him down. And who knows, maybe he’ll see sense out there,” Mark said, his gaze remorseful.

“And… what about his position?”

Mark cleared his throat as he watched Henric leave through the gates, trailed by several mercenaries with drawn weapons, and addressed the crowd that had come to watch the commotion. “I will be reorganizing Fort Winterclaw’s leadership going forward. I no longer consider Fort Winterclaw to be a part of the Imperium, and with that, we should no longer rule ourselves with their hierarchy. I will make a proclamation with how I intend to reorganize our leadership to be organized in the coming days.”

The crowd went silent, a million thoughts no doubt running through their minds, and then someone began to clap. Followed by another. And another. Soon, a cacophony of cheers and chants filled the Imperial District and, within minutes, had traveled to the other districts.

Mark was surprised. It was one thing for the ferals to want the Law of Hierarchy repealed, but Imperiums, who benefited from it? Then again, did they? Most of the people were mere citizens, the second lowest rank within the Imperium, and were treated only marginally better than ferals.

However, this was more than just relief over an unjust law. There was hope in his people's eyes. They believed in this mission to create something better. Something new. These were the eyes of revolutionaries, he realized.

Mark smiled; they were finally free. No longer in the servitude of the Imperium, even if it had been in name alone.

He had done it and committed to his conviction even if it created enemies he did not yet know how to deal with.

He had made Fort Winterclaw an independent state.

Now, he just needed to protect it.