Why destroy your enemy when they can destroy themselves?

—The Tactics of Thanatos, Chapter 3, Question 4. Year of publication unknown.

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Ewan Hart knew he would make the perfect duke. He had the cunning, the ruthlessness, the ambition...

All he lacked was the blood.

Despite his numerous achievements both martial and courtly, he’d been trapped as a mere castellan for years. At minimum, anyone else would have been given a barony for all he’d done, but since he was the bastard child of a second son, all he received was governance of a single castle.

And you should be happy you get even that, the duke had said.

Your very existence sullies the family name, the duke had said.

You’re nothing but an upstart fool, the duke had said.

Be glad I suffer you to live.

“Who’s the fool now, uncle?” Ewan demanded, pressing the tip of his blade against the kneeling man’s neck. “WHO’S THE FOOL NOW?!?”

“Please, please Ewan. Don’t do it,” his uncle begged, a rivulet of blood flowing down from where Ewan’s blade pierced his flesh. “You were always like a son to—“

“LIAR!”

“It was the marquises and the barons!” the old man screamed. “They recognized your talent and feared you! They demanded I suppress you, or else they’d revolt! I had no choice! I swear it’s true!”

Ewan hesitated. Every muscle in his body was tense as a bow at full-draw. Sweat trickled down his forehead as the heat from the burning throne room assaulted him from every direction. His uncle’s pitiful green eyes looked up at him, the color of those verdant irises the same as Ewan’s own.

Ewan swallowed. He couldn’t do it.

He took a step away and lowered his blade. He suddenly became aware of his heart pounding in his chest, the fire crackling in his ears, the acrid smoke burning his lungs and stinging his eyes. He looked around at the flames engulfing his family’s ancestral home, and knew this was all his fault.

“I-I’m sorry,” he blubbered, closing his eyes as a tear flowed down his cheek. “I never should have listened to—“

CLANG!

Ewan snapped to awareness and fell backward in shock, dropping his sword and landing on his ass.

Above him stood his uncle the duke, a stiletto in hand, its blade an inch away from where Ewan’s face had been but a moment earlier. All that held the blade in place was the gauntleted hand of a raven-armored figure who’d appeared from nowhere.

Ewan hadn’t seen any of it happen, but it didn’t take a genius to put it together. His uncle had tried to kill him, and a Daemon had saved his life.

“E-Ewan! This isn’t what it looks like! I didn’t—“

SMACK!

The Daemon’s fist smashed into his uncles face, knocking his uncle out cold.

“I’m disappointed, little one,” the Daemon growled.

“A-Autarch Melpomene!” Ewan shouted, jumping to his feet. He picked up his blade, but kept it lowered at his side. “I was doing just as you said! I-I swear!”

“Then why is this one still alive?”

“I-I, I was—“

“Was I wrong about you?”

“No! I have what it takes to be the duke!”

“Then prove it. Earn you place.”

The Daemon casually kicked Ewan’s uncle a few feet into the air, the way one would kick up a ball. She caught him by the collar of his doublet and held him up like a toy.

Ewan locked gazes with the Daemon through the slits of her helm, and her eyes were the blue-grey of a lifeless sea. With her free hand, she reached up and tapped his uncle’s chest directly over the heart.

“Do it.”

His uncle began to stir.

Ewan grit his teeth. He was done with hesitation. His uncle had tried to kill him the first chance he had, and it would only be right for Ewan to do the same.

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“Wha?” his uncle mumbled, rousing from stupor. “What’s going—ucgh!”

His words were cut short by a sword through the heart.

Ewan twisted his blade, and his uncle let out another breathless scream.

Ewan removed his blade and the Daemon released her grip, allowing his uncle to fall to the ground in a heap. His silent screams slowly morphed into a bloody gurgle as he drowned in his own blood. He looked up at Ewan, his eyes full of shock and betrayal.

“Worry not, uncle,” Ewan spat. “You leave the duchy in capable hands. I have found an ally who values me, one who won’t throw me away as quickly as you did.”

His uncle’s shock turned to confusion. The man turned to the Daemon and saw her picking up the stiletto he’d dropped. He reached for her, eyes locked on his stolen weapon. He tried to say something, but all that escaped his mouth was another splatter of blood.

He shook once more, then stilled forever.

“You killed your own to take his place,” the Daemon observed matter-of-factly.

She walked toward an exit as if to brush past him, heavy metal boots ringing against the stone floor with every step, but then she stopped at his side and placed a gauntlet on his arm. The metal of it was sharp and angular, and he felt some pain as it pressed into his skin, but he made not a sound.

“I own you,” she said, whispering into his ear. Her voice was soft and lilting, but the words sent a chill down his spine. “Calm your breathing and leave this place. The smoke is bad for your lungs, and I don’t like it when my things get broken.”

The Daemon removed her hand and again began walking from the room, but Ewan didn’t dare follow her with his eyes.

“I’ll keep in touch, Dux Heartless.”

“Autarch Melpomene, I—!”

Mustering his courage, Ewan whipped around, but the Daemon was already gone.

Unsure what else to do, he slowed his breathing as the Daemon asked him to do, then began making his way to the door.

Then he stopped. He turned around and walked back to the corpse of his uncle, the deceased Duke Reginald Hart.

He knelt down, and took from his uncle’s finger a signent ring. He knew it was unwise, but he took a moment to hold the ring against his chest and take in a deep breath. Again, the smoke in the air irritated his lungs and he felt the urge to cough, but he resisted.

“Dux Ewan Heartless…” he mused, tasting the Daemon’s words on his lips. “I suppose the name fits.”

Without further delay, he rose and stole away into the night.

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Once the new Dux Heartless left the room, Melpomene slunk out from the pile of flaming rubble she’d been hiding behind. She removed her helmet and began casually strolling out using a different exit.

“Whew! Glad Eurymedon came up with that,” she muttered to herself, sheathing her stiletto back into its hidden sheathe. “Pretty convenient that he closed his eyes. Would’ve been annoying to find another puppet…”

When Melpomene made it far enough from from the epicenter of the flames, she began hearing the worried cries of people trying to put out the fire. Changing her posture, she silenced her steps and skulked away, unheard and unseen.

The late Duke Reginald Hart hadn’t attempted to kill his illegitimate nephew. In reality, Melpomene had sensed Ewan’s hesitation, and had taken the chance to frame Reginald for attempted murder in order to spur Ewan into action.

‘When rapidity is desired in conquest, consume local power structures instead of destroying them whenever possible,’ she quoted mentally.

‘Create native figureheads loyal only to you, preferably ones already familiar to the public. Stain the successor’s hands with the blood of the predecessor, but keep secret this truth. A knife at the throat holds greater leverage than a knife in the gut.’

When she made it to the tree line, well out of sight from any possible onlookers from the burning palace, she straightened her posture and again began strolling casually in the general direction of her army’s camp. She and they would officially arrive tomorrow, and she fully expected to be welcomed with open arms.

She would of course have to assign a powerful [Liege] to ‘advise’ the new dux, but that could be arranged later. For now, she allowed her thoughts to wander.

Conquering half of the [Solarian Courts] had been surprisingly easy.

As the name implied, the faction’s lands were split up and governed by a series of noble courts, each led by a duke or duchess. There was of course a single monarch who in theory ruled the entirety of the faction, but in practice, the duchies held more power than the crown would like to admit.

Melpomene had spent the last year conquering and solidifying her hold over twelve of the faction’s twenty-six duchies, and tomorrow would make it an even thirteen, exactly half. There’d of course been hiccups and obstacles along the way, but nothing too difficult. There hadn’t even been that many permanent deaths within her faction.

Not that she was complaining, but it was almost disappointing how easily the invasion was proceeding. When she’d first set out, she’d expected more excitement than this.

“This will all be over soon… and then what?” she wondered. “Let’s hope their [King] proves more of a challenge.”

Winter was once again in the air, and the acquisition of new lands would be put on a temporary hold until at least the middle of spring. The next target would be Soleil, the heart of the [Solarian Courts] itself. Once that city fell, the remaining duchies wouldn’t stand a chance.

Until then, winter would be an important break — a time to breathe, to reformulate plans, and to solidify existing gains. Besides, invading the rest of the [Solarian Courts] during winter wouldn’t be feasible.

Geographically, the [Solarian Courts] were originally bordered to the west by the [Despoiled Legion], to the north by a number of smaller factions including the [Wicked Coven] to the northeast, and to the south by loosely-defined monstrous factions. To the east, they had access to the [Shining Sea]. Right down the faction’s middle stretched the the [Titan’s Fingers], a gargantuan mountain range that were treacherous at the best of times, and impassable at the worst.

Up until now, Melpomene’s conquests had been exclusively in the west, and tomorrow’s conquest of Hart Duchy — soon to be Heartless Duchy — would mark the complete occupation of all Solarian lands this side of the [Titan’s Fingers]. Once that was done, she would need to wait for warmer weather before continuing.

“Maybe I can take the time to train that dragon?” she wondered aloud, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

Melpomene always craved a challenge, but taming the [Calamity Dragon] she’d captured was plain impossible. She had auxiliaries specialized in bestial recruitment currently dealing with the creature, but they were no closer to reasoning with it than the day they’d began. It had already eaten six of them.

Who could have guessed that dealing with an apex predator famed for its greed and arrogance would be so difficult?

“I could always kill it, but that seems like such a waste.” Melpomene shrugged, her army’s hidden camp coming into view. As she nodded to the sentries and began walking toward Eurymedon’s tent, a new thought popped into her head.

She looked to the northeast, scratching her chin. “Would a dragon make a good present?”