Cent. Calendar 20/12/1639, Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 14:20
“Greetings, all!”
King Taara XIV, the undisputed king, and sovereign of the kingdom of Altaras, stepped out of the recesses from behind his throne and emerged into the grandiose opulence of the royal castle’s foyer-like throne room. Whether or not his usual jolly disposition when receiving guests compensated for the lack of fanfare and the entourage of royal guardsmen blasting the trumpets at his appearance was anyone’s guess. At the very least, though, one could easily tell that the so-called “guests” he was receiving were not at all pleased. Underneath the great shower of lights emanating from the windows that lined both sides of the throne room was a group of people in various dresses, often with a variation that evoked a feeling similar to a Halloween party. In this sense, however, their stern, stone-faced expressions were perhaps a bit scarier to look at–but that was not where their similarities ended: all of them were the representatives of a nation that had interests in the Altaras Strait and carried with them a certain pressing concern.
“If you could allow me to greet you all individually...”
Taara chuckled as he descended the steps leading from his throne, but with each step he took, the more his sweat entered his garments from his neck. He may have been a bit out of line with some of his actions as of late–he inwardly (and begrudgingly) admits–and he was smart enough to at least understand why this coalition of diplomats was giving him such piercing stares.
“I believe that that won’t be necessary, Taara.”
Standing in front of the coalition as if taking the mantle of leader, the Muish ambassador to the kingdom, Smithson, made awfully clear in his tone–and in his usage of the king’s personal name–that he was going to match Taara’s lighthearted disposition.
“I don’t follow–”
“Well, then, let me be straight.”
He was no-nonsense, too, cutting off the king in a clear-cut display of both sobriety and dominance. Uninterested as it is in involving itself too much in the east out of fear of escalating tensions with the Imperial Mirishials, the Muish realm was nevertheless going to exercise its command, something which even Taara was keenly wary of.
“Your decision to embark on a foolish errand to persuade the Siosans to accept your demands under the threat of naval bombardment is a blatant violation of the Asheran Charter, and we will have to remind you of the consequences.”
While adjusting his spectacles, Smithson made sure not to allow the king, who had overstepped his bounds, time to even speak.
“Effective immediately, we’re suspending the kingdom of Altaras from its participation in the Foreign Military Assistance Program indefinitely. The government of Mu would only lift the suspension under the condition that the kingdom of Altaras is to withdraw all of its forces from the state of Sios.”
A shock ran through the aging muscles of Taara–almost as if he had just been struck by a lightning bolt. The Foreign Military Assistance Program is a program opened by the government of Mu to provide aid in the form of surplus weaponry and equipment leftover from earlier wars to friendly countries, which are usually technologically challenged. Thanks to participation in this program, they were able to get their hands on advanced Muish small arms, which are a huge step up from earlier home-developed weaponry. The ambassadors from the other nations, upon hearing the thunderous statement coming from the mouth of the Muish ambassador, also shook in shock and disbelief. If they were in Altaras’s shoes, such an exclusion would have meant diplomatic isolation, certain loss in arms races with neighboring competitors, and the high likelihood of losing favor with the other Asheran great powers.
“I will not impose a deadline, Taara, but I do hope you reconsider your actions at once. If not, there’s no telling what other consequences are in store for your kingdom and your people.”
Ending his statement on a strong note and with a threat vague enough to have any diplomat scratching their head for answers, Smithson simply turned his back on the Altaran king and walked towards the exit. The other ambassadors crowding the throne room who were standing behind him gave way, cowering as if they had been the ones that had been reprimanded. The silence that followed after the end of the staccato of the Muish ambassador’s heavy leather soles on the floor understated the gravity of the atmosphere.
“Well...”
Breaking or adding to the tension–that depends on who you were to ask–was the voice of a man with a tinge of youth to his tone. All eyes went to the source of the voice: a man with features that indicated he was in his 30s and wearing a tuxedo that appeared to have been newly bought. Complimenting his sharp eyes and jawline was his jet-black hair, perfectly combed backward.
“You...”
Seeing the man approaching him with an uncomfortably nonchalant expression, Taara’s shoulders stiffened. In response to his cocksure display of power, he too put up the best facade he could muster.
“Ah, well if it isn’t–”
“Zip it, Your Majesty.”
Like the Muish ambassador before him, the man also cut off Taara’s attempt to improve the atmosphere. Forced to play by the man’s rules, Taara dropped his act.
“What do you want, Polezzi?”
The Siosan Ambassador to the Kingdom of Altaras, Polezzi was nominally a state politician appointed to the office by the Premier of Sios. However, his true allegiance lay with the Cantissi family, one of the major syndicate families that are the true masters of Sios. While typically fulfilling his duties as ambassador by relegating them to his staff, he was nonetheless understandably pissed at the Altaran government for bypassing him in relaying the so-called “terms” to Sios. Now, after having been given orders by the 5th Council of Noto on how to respond to the Altaran ‘response’, he was more than thrilled to take out his grievances on the diplomatic arena, especially against their hotheaded tyrant.
He put his fingers on his lips as if to signify that he was still pondering his next move, only that he already knew what it would be.
“This question is a bit personal, but how does it feel to be the one in the hot seat?”
The question, tone, wording, and delivery were all purposefully molded to be provocative to Taara. Judging by the man’s wide open eyes and relaxed facial muscles, his provocation was a success. From Taara’s perspective, his entire soul and psyche almost had him lunging at the Siosan diplomat to tear both the cocky smile and blue eyes out of the steaming pile of hot garbage that was Polezzi’s face. Nevertheless, he called up whatever reserves of self control he had left, chained his emotions behind his facade, and responded to him with a deathly stare.
“Get. To. The. Point.”
Taara growled, unnerving everyone else in the room, including the two royal guards posted on both sides of his throne. Polezzi, meanwhile, stood there defiantly, still wearing his smug disposition.
“That’s funny. Your threats here mean nothing, Your Majesty. Now, onto the good part: as per the orders of the 5th Council of Noto, the lease enabling the Altaran concession will be deemed ineffective starting on the 25th of Dessalinth, 1639. The council and only the council reserves the right and power to alter and repeal this order at its discretion.”
Like the Muish ambassador before, these retaliatory measures sounded like they would sting Altaras hard, causing the other ambassadors to gulp audibly upon hearing them. Meanwhile, Taara, still finding it difficult to reel himself from the brink after hearing the Muish retaliatory measures, felt his heart skip a beat at Polezzi’s statement. He almost tumbled backward as if he had been delivered a sucker punch.
I-Is this how it’s going to be for everyone else in this room?!
Looking at the faces of the other ambassadors in the room, some of which come from important trading partners such as the Lourian states, Riem, the northern alliance, Agartha, and many others, Taara couldn’t help but break a sweat. Oh, how he had gravely miscalculated the diplomatic sympathy Altaras still had from the Barezan tragedy... He could never have been convinced that this was how the international community was going to react to the simple deployment of a naval squadron to strong-arm the Siosans into his burgeoning anti-Parpaldian club. Now with basically everyone in that club coming to him with their grievances on how he played his hand, he had lost all the progress he had against Parpaldia. In other words, he fucked up.
As soon as Polezzi wrapped up his turn, the Rieman ambassador went next and presented his country’s response, much to the detriment of Taara’s aging heart.
・・・
After receiving what felt like hundreds of ambassadors and their equally many grievances and retaliatory measures, King Taara XIV looked as if his trembling legs were about to give away, a rough simile to the crumbling state of the kingdom once those measures go into effect.
“No more...” whispered an exasperated Taara.
He couldn’t control his trembling anymore. His vision was in a much worse state: everything appeared to be shaking, and the great throne room appeared to stretch further and further into oblivion. He was about to fall into a state of delirium, but whether or not it was due to the trauma of having to hear the different ways the other nations were going to beat up Altaras for his transgressions or because of some unknown physiological reasons was anyone’s guess. Then, as if to knock some sense back into his thick-headed skull, the sobering sound of a woman’s voice tickled his ears.
“Your Majesty?”
The voice was as enchanting as Yasmin’s, but the masculine urge to present one’s self in a dignified manner in front of a woman had him pick himself up from the brink and recollect his sanity. In less than a moment, he was back to projecting his spirited persona.
“Ah! Excuse my manners! And you–”
His reflexes had him speaking first but as soon as his eyesight followed suit and fixed itself, he was greeted with the image of a woman with a skin as white as the sandy beaches of a tropical paradise and wearing a formal gown that appeared to have been made out of the purest of silver. He immediately recognized her, but one feature was a stark contrast to his image of her in his memories.
“Ryllae? Is that you? Did you perhaps get a haircut?”
Ryllae, ambassador of the Holy Mirishial Empire, nominally the most powerful nation in all of Asherah (should you ignore their fall from grace in the last Great War and the crises that followed it), to Altaras, had her shining golden locks cut and styled into an inviting asymmetrical bob haircut.
“For your information: yes. But I am not here to be asked about my recent strides into more fashionable haircuts.”
Crossing her arms in an indication she wasn’t going to entertain any more comments, Ryllae went straight to the point as to why she had come.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. A certain little birdie had told me something interesting...”
Walking in a circle around the king, her tongue clicking matched the loud taps of her high heels on the floor, which, together with her ominous words, produced an unsettling mood for Taara.
“‘Altaras sends forth a squadron of warships in a shocking move against Sios,’ or so reads the headline of the newspaper I picked up down the street from the embassy...”
Taara, tired of being non-confrontational, decided to be upfront about it.
“And what of it?”
But Ryllae barked back at him.
“What of it?! Are you really serious?! That was seriously out of line, Your Majesty! The Emperor sends him his immense disappointment in your unnecessary escalation of the situation!”
Taara curled his fingers into a fist. He’s more than had enough of the bullshit he had been receiving the past hour or so. The Holy Mirishial Empire, one of his main sponsors and the same bastards that offered him their green light for changing the status quo “by any means necessary”, was now grilling his ass for it? He was not having any of it.
“But wasn’t it you who told us to change the status quo in your favor ‘by any means necessary’?! Right?! That technically falls under that scope, doesn’t it?!”
He lashed out at the Mirishial diplomat, but she was prepared for a tit-for-tat kind of exchange.
“Are you sick in the head, you deranged maniac?! No intervention or backing from us could ever justify the stupidity you pulled in Sios! That was way beyond what we could realistically support you! You’ve crossed the damned line!”
As soon as he heard the line “deranged maniac”, time seemed to have stopped for Taara, muting out the other parts of Ryllae’s statement. Never before had he been called such a name, much less something so immensely rude and offending, but he could not find it in himself to vehemently oppose this act of slander against his person. Squirm and gnash his teeth all he could, but he could not force a single word out of his mouth–his chest tightened as if to lock away his voice. Why? Why couldn’t the words come out–if any came to mind at all? For some odd reason, too, those two words uttered by the ambassador stung his already wounded heart greatly, like a scorpion delivering the killing blow to a prey that was as good as dead.
“This is it for you, Your Majesty! We’re withdrawing our support for you in the Barezan tragedy and will henceforth remain impartial in any dispute between Altaras and Parpaldia for the foreseeable future!”
That was the breaking point for Taara. Hearing those words leave the Mirishial ambassador’s mouth, he finally collapsed on his knees; he stared straight down onto the ground with eyes as dark and motionless as a dead fish’s. Ryllae, having said what she needed to say, simply fixed her bangs and walked towards the doorway. In all her time as ambassador to the kingdom, this was the first time she had seen Taara so crushed and defeated. As a longtime friend, she wanted to give him assurances, but her duty as the highest representative of the most powerful country around called on her to nip his aggressive tendencies in the bud. In short, there was nothing that she could realistically do in this situation without compromising her own standing.
As a gesture of pity, she looked back at the dispirited husk that was Taara just as she was about to leave and uttered a few neutral words.
“Make the right call this time, Your Majesty.”
・・・
Everything had gone to shit: his plans for an anti-Parpaldia coalition; his standing with their allies; the economic and diplomatic privileges they enjoyed that took him a lifetime of planning and maneuvering to realize; hell, even his relationships with the people close to him, most of which now either shun him, keep their distance away from him, deny him as a friend, or were outright removed from the picture. In this gigantic, spacious throne room, majestically constructed to be as beautiful as the riches of paradise described in their mythologies and to be a symbol of Altaran majesty and preeminence, he was all alone–not a single soul beckoned to him or called out his name. His so-called friends, family, and the people he could confidently trust were nowhere to be seen.
So this is what it feels like... to be left alone...
The stinging pang of loneliness hit him just as memories of his late wife, Queen Yasmin, surfaced, her lifeless eyes looking past him while her blood continued to stain his robes and his arms. Cornered at one end of the palace during a diplomatic reception, she was gunned down just as the gunnery exhibition took place in the courtyard. For ten whole minutes, she lay there, her blood streaming onto the cold stone floor carrying off her life force. For ten whole minutes, her pained cries of help must have gone unanswered–unheard of and muted by the fanfare. Was this similar to what she had felt back then? Did she really think of herself abandoned by her dear husband? Her friends? Her own daughters? If so, did she leave this world for the next with feelings of sadness... or anger?
Damn it all!
At this point, everyone had more or less laid down their cards against him. “The fools,” a thought grazed his mind, “they’ve picked their sides, and they picked the wrong one!” These idiots simply do not understand Altaran diplomatic prowess, even if it hit them in the face! If they did, then they must only be out to see the great kingdom fail! Yes! That must be it! With how economically powerful Altaras has become, everyone wants a piece of it once it’s been butchered and leveled to the ground–that makes perfect sense!
“I’ll make you all see!!! You’ve all made a terrible decision to side against me!!!”
After having cried out in rage about what he had wanted to say, Taara set about mentally marking his opponents for demise.
Cent. Calendar 22/12/1639, Senate Building, Esthirant, Parpaldia, 13:50
“Down with Taara! Down with the Altarans!”
“He’s a madman!!! Authorize the punitive strike already!!!”
Impassioned chants of “justice!” and “avenge Sios!” echo throughout the Villeurgues district of the capital Esthirant as a sea of people consisting of varying ages from young, breakeven journalists to political party leaders leading their blocks in the streets–all of them protesters–gathered by the thousands outside the great halls of the Parpaldian Senate. The scarlet red uniforms of the Imperial Guards, posted along the premises due to the Emperor being in attendance, had their weapons disengaged and their stances relaxed: a reflection of their sympathy with the protesters’ messages. Sure enough, however, this time, the protesters were not there to make their voices heard.
Inside one of the extensive chambers of the Senate Building, most of the Senate’s senators had gathered in attendance to witness a historic event in the making. At the center of the amphitheater-like arrangement of the chamber were a chair and table, replacing what was usually a podium in its place. Sitting on the chair was none other than the Emperor himself, Ludius, and standing all around him were his various appointed ministers, military commanders, advisors, and members of the Gallaire imperial family.
“I’d never thought I’d live to see this day... My doctor even let me off my prescription just so I could be in attendance!”
“Had it not been for that idiot Taara’s horrifying error, we would definitely not be here.”
“But this is so exciting! Finally, the empire is with cause to see those heathens put in their places!”
As the senators tremble in their cushioned seats with thrill and excitement at this wholly unexpected yet very much welcome development, they anxiously await for the event to begin. Just then, the chamber suddenly got quiet as everybody stopped talking; a page, dressed in eye-catching crimson garments, emerged from a door at the chamber’s far right. Carrying on his arms a velvet cushion, on top of which was a document written in the finest of sheets, the boy walked slowly and gracefully towards the table at the center in which the Emperor was seated. Arriving there, Elto, the First Foreign Affairs Department Chair, dressed in a gown dyed in the imperial red and gold, neatly grabbed the document by the sides and placed it on the table in front of the Emperor.
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“Presenting to you, Your Highness, Bill No. 2977.”
Given a quill and ink by Kaios, the Third Foreign Affairs Department Chair, the Emperor was now free to choose whether to sign the bill into law or discard it into the irrelevant annals of history forgotten. He looked down on the document, the contents of which he already read and knew–for he was one of the principal authors via several of his nephews in the Senate–but pretended to reread for ‘posterity.’ Everybody’s eyes–from the senators in the chamber to the hundreds of thousands of the empire’s citizens watching a live broadcast from afar–were on him, particularly the quill he held in his right hand. Is he gonna sign it, or is he not? The tension mounted in the hearts of the countless onlookers, anxious that the outcome won’t be what they had expected. To the men and women that surrounded Ludius, who very much knew about the innumerable strings he pulled to get this bill passed through the countless bureaucratic cogs of the swampland that was the Parpaldian government, they didn’t bother holding their breath–they’d bet their lives plus all of their possessions and collateral that he was going to sign it. As for Ludius, putting his signature on the bill would altogether fulfill one of his house’s greatest ambitions and cement in history his place–hopefully with the epithet the Conqueror, just like his grandfather.
“Heh... The Conqueror...”
Ludius chuckled as he repeated the epithet, the words tickling his power-hungry heart as they rolled off his tongue. With a couple of flicks from his wrist, he engraved his signature on the document in dark ink, setting in stone the inevitable. He then picked up the document and showed it to the crowd of senators and cameras.
“Ever excellent Parpaldia, I give you: justice!!!”
In the ever-strong and resounding tone of his voice, Ludius cried out what the protesters outside–and so many others throughout the course of this spat–had been repeating, “justice.” Almost immediately, all of the senators in attendance, their aides, the Parpaldian camera crews, the men and women surrounding the Emperor, the protesters outside, the policemen assigned to keep them at bay, and hundreds and thousands more clapped their hands in unison. Elsewhere, cheers of gale could be heard from those watching the broadcast as those who held their hats, canes, newspapers, and whatever else was in their hands at the time threw them high into the air in joyful exclamation. It was as if at this specific moment, all of Parpaldia rejoiced at what could be described as the most decisive point in their foreign policy.
Bill No. 2977, now signed into law as Imperial Act No. 1849, enshrined in its clauses the staunch Parpaldian condemnation of the Altaran act of aggression against the free, independent, and sovereign state of Sios–but that was barely the icing on the cake. The true filling came in the form of an official authorization by all relevant state institutions for the mobilization of the armed forces in preparation for an imminent war. Additionally, the Emperor was given the express power of imposing an ultimatum on the Altarans and declaring a state of war against them should the deadline, which the Emperor also has the express power of setting, come to pass or whenever the Emperor deems it logically sound.
Elsewhere, foreign nationals, particularly those from the great powers, who were watching the broadcast could only look at each other with worried looks. No amount of foresight or intuition could have prepared them for this sudden plunge in regional stability: from their perspective, they were now in the ‘warzone.’
“Well, shit...”
・・・
“Uh Huh... Yeah... Understood.”
Putting down the telephone on the receiver after the difficult call, a man with hair gray beyond his years closed his eyes as he heard the metallic chime of the telephone resting in place. He was hardly in the 60s, yet his wrinkled face and hands, alongside a ruffled voice told of an otherwise arduous and colorful life. Going by the rank standards on his shoulder, he was of rank Imposrion d’Corqueux (Admiral).
“Grrr... Lad!”
After struggling to pronounce his words in his ruffled voice properly, he managed to call out to one of his staff who was in the room.
“Yes, sir!”
“Take this green-colored one to logistics and the red-colored one to the communications section... discreetly.”
Taking out two thin strips of paper churned out by the manacommunications unit under his desk, the old man gave them to the young staff member.
“O-Of course!”
“You know the drill, boy...”
Reminding the still young man of newly established protocols, the old man waved him off as he humbly nodded in affirmation and left the room. Once he was completely left to his own devices, the old man groaned once more.
“Ugh... I’m getting too old for this shit!”
He pondered about the call and orders he had received as well as what he had kept hearing about the worsening crisis in the straits. As per the newly signed Imperial Act No. 1849, the armed forces, which includes the navy, are to be mobilized for an imminent war. However, he had been informed by the War Department that orders from the Navy Chief of Staff explicitly call on him to ready one of the flotillas of his unit, the 1st Armee Corqueuxima, for deployment within “4 hours.” On top of it being an extremely tall order, thanks to a recent visit from Interior Security, the counterespionage wing of the imperial government, they have to be more careful with their communications due to the confirmed presence of Altaran intelligence assets notifying the enemy of their movements. Fortunately for them, Interior Security is working to actively fool them into thinking they were preparing for an exercise, leaving them with enough leeway to stock for war preparations even before the signing of the law. Still, he personally found it a bitter pill to swallow that it was his unit leading the Parpaldian Empire into war, more so the fact that the Emperor is yet to set a deadline for the ultimatum. All in all, these developments did not bode well for his heart.
“Hngh... Can’t really do much from where I stand, can I?”
More or less accepting his fate and responsibility, the admiral stood from his chair and put on his officer cap. Under orders from the Navy Chief of Staff via the War Department, the 1st Armee Corqueuxima discreetly yet steadily readied itself for the upcoming clash against Altaras.
Embassy of Japan in Esthirant, 17:40
“Yes, this is the Japanese Embassy...”
“I’m sorry, but we will have to return to you in...”
“The government of Parpaldia and Japan have not yet come to an understanding. We will issue an announcement as soon as an agreement is reached... Yes, this is the Japanese Embassy...”
The cacophony of telephone rings, the clap of plastic made as the telephone is slammed back onto the receiver, and monotonously repeated set statements from dozens of embassy personnel engrossed in work defined the busy mood in the Japanese embassy. Beyond that superficial layer, however, lay a darker, more worrisome atmosphere: one of fear. Just hours ago, the Parpaldian Emperor and Senate signed into law a monster of a diplomatic headache, one which effectively sets into motion the Parpaldian war machine to respond to what can only be described as an imprudent and irrational move by Altaras. From the Japanese perspective, both sides were being uncooperative and thirsting for war, like little rascals shouting at each other while covering their ears and screaming, “lalalala! I can’t hear you!” To the embassy personnel, who had been receiving and putting off what must have been thousands of calls by now, the developments were highly irritating. There were thousands of Japanese citizens on both sides of the straits, unaware and assuming that Parpaldia and Altaras would come to an understanding “eventually,” now calling the embassy all at once and asking for assistance in being evacuated at once.
“Yes, this is the Japanese–”
“This is Yamazaki Tojiro! This is my sixth call!”
“I apologize, Mr. Yamazaki, but right–”
“Is it too fucking much to ask that we be given priority status at the port?! I’m a fucking representative of Shimamoto Corp., for crying out loud!”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Yamazaki, but we currently have no–”
“Ugh, for fuck’s sake! Useless cunt!”
Beeeeep
The embassy personnel taking the call, having just endured the 16th caller that called her offensive names, the 16th caller she had to turn down, and the 16th caller pleading for assistance in evacuation, clenched her fist as she tried to swallow her emotions. For all her effort, all she got was the fury of her countrymen and not a single raise in sight. After taking a deep breath and shedding a single tear, she took the next call as if nothing had happened.
“Yes, this is the Japanese embassy...”
Meanwhile, at the ambassador’s office, Ambassador to Parpaldia Hamakubo was standing by one of the tall glass windows of his building looking out to the bustling Esthirant harbor while holding the telephone in his hand to his ear. Speaking on the other side of the call was none other than Mugei, the Muish Ambassador to Parpaldia, probably at his office at the better-positioned Muish embassy in the administrative Villeurgues district. Engrossed in viewing the Parpaldian warships at one of the wharves being loaded with supplies by cranes and men, he suddenly snapped back into reality as his subconscious jolted him awake, having detected that the Muish ambassador just said something important that he didn’t manage to catch.
“Wait, what?”
“What I’m saying is that we’ve got our hands on credible intelligence that Emperor Ludius has already designated a deadline for his ultimatum to the Altarans for them to pull their ships back from Sios.”
Hamakubo wiped the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. He’d never been this apprehensive about a devolving diplomatic crisis, not at least since the incidents related to the Senkaku islands back in 2012.
“And when is the deadline? Did your source get their hands on the details too?”
He heard Mugei sigh for a good two seconds from beyond the phone. Judging by the nature of this world, this was probably not his first rodeo, but it nonetheless must have still been a stressful moment. A war between Parpaldia and Altaras will never not be difficult to deal with.
“Tomorrow. At noon, Esthirant time.”
Hamakubo took the phone away from his ears for a moment to try and process what he had just heard. He paced across the wide breadth of his room for a few seconds or so while scratching his head. Tomorrow noon?! There are only about 18 hours left! Having come to the undeniable conclusion that these bastards are asking for war, he so badly wanted to give Ludius a black eye. Doesn’t he know that he’s putting innocent lives from non-belligerent sides in danger?! Stressed and without any official word from either the Parpaldians or the bigwigs back in Tokyo, he felt like he was left in some powerless void, unable to do anything meaningful to stop the wheels of fate from turning.
“Goddammit, that’s not enough time!”
“Ease up on the language, Tatsunosuke. They’re likely to announce the deadline at the press conference at the Imperial Palace at 8:30 later, so we wouldn’t be in the wrong if we’re to expect official word from their foreign affairs soon.”
From beyond the call, Hamakubo could hear the audible static of wind blowing on the telephone, which might have been Mugei’s smoking.
“While our governments work out a response, I say we give these brats a piece of our minds...”
In other words, they were going to talk to them. Not exactly an unorthodox method, but with their respective governments yet to do anything, it was basically left to them to try and talk some sense into the Parpaldian leadership. Having redirected his rage into this newfound resolve, Hamakubo accepted Mugei’s beckoning.
“Let’s! While I work out the details with the Imperial Palace, I suggest you contact your ambassador in Le Brias, and I’ll contact mine so that they, too, could talk some sense to King Taara.”
“Excellent. I’ll call back in an hour to chime in.”
With that said, the two ambassadors quickly got to work on their makeshift attempt to try and stop the seemingly inevitable clash that was about to occur in the straits.
Cent. Calendar 23/12/1639, Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 9:30
“Father...? Can’t you really say something to us? Anything???”
“Yeah, this is what I’m talking about! Ugh...”
“...”
The three sisters of the Altaran royal house, as shown in their reactions, have not been having a terrific morning. In spite of the assuring presence of Semira, the eldest and closest to Taara, their old man just wouldn’t budge from his semi-vegetative state in which he had been since hearing the Parpaldian ultimatum and deadline last night. They would have been able to afford to ignore the king’s lack of presence had it not been for a pressing matter...
“I’m terribly sorry that you had to see His Majesty this way...”
Instantly changing her emotional persona into her stone-faced, diplomatic facade, Lumies bowed deeply to their guests as she apologized to them.
“I see that we’ve come at a rough time...”
“Well, this is certainly the most unfortunate of timings, If I may add...”
Standing side by side on the other side of the room were Fujinuma and Smithson, the ambassadors of Japan and Mu to Altaras, respectively, accompanied by several of their own aides. Having received a call from their counterparts back in Esthirant to hold an impromptu dialogue with the Altaran monarch while they converse with the Parpaldian emperor, they’ve fought tooth and nail with the royal house’s reception to get them to free up the next appointment with the king. Unfortunately for them, the best their efforts could reward them was an appointment at 9:30 the next day, which left them with less than three hours till the Parpaldian ultimatum expires–as misfortune would have it, their counterparts in Esthirant suffered the same dilemma, apparently.
On top of that, King Taara XIV was in a state one could only describe as a husk of a man after having his soul left him; either way, he was definitely not someone they could negotiate with. With less than three hours on the clock, a window of time that could hardly be called a “window” in this world, they were figuratively sweating buckets at the vexingly irritating developments.
Holding back the angry words that were about to burst out of her lungs, Fujinuma put up the best smile she could as she tried to get to the point.
“Thank you, Your Highnesses, for allowing us the opportunity to get to talk to His Majesty; Smithson and I offer our sincerest sympathies that he is currently not in the state to accommodate us...”
This time, Semira was the one to respond to them.
“I thank you for your kindness, ambassadors; once again, we are truly sorry that you had to see His Majesty like this.”
“I understand that he is currently in a state wherein he couldn’t accommodate us, but we’d like to ask if it’s possible that we could speak to Your Highnesses instead?”
Hearing Fujinuma’s question, the three sisters eyeballed one another. They haven’t had the opportunity to take the reins of authority from their father ever since they were born and while he had been preparing all three of them for the eventuality, the time never did come up that they had to act in their father’s stead, especially in such an emergency. Still, as per the Altaran tradition of succession, Semira should be the one to take authority should Taara be incapacitated for some reason. Stepping forward, the eldest of the three took charge.
“Of course. What is it we could do for you?”
Fujinuma and Smithson exhaled with a collective sigh, saying, “finally!” After such a long, pointless time waiting for things beyond their control to align, they could, at last, achieve progress. Just as the Japanese ambassador was about to speak, however...
“Catcher to Shortstop, priority message; please respond–”
The static-ridden sound of a voice followed by a louder audio cut echoed throughout the otherwise somber reception chamber, abruptly disrupting the neutral silence. Her uneasiness now having returned to her at this unscheduled call, she looked back towards one of her aides, who carried a military radio with him (there was no infrastructure to accommodate cell phones yet), responding to what was clearly an urgent situation. After what may have been the tensest minute she had ever gone through watching the aide turn pale, he finally turned back to her with what can only be described as the expression of a man who had just seen a ghastly apparition.
“Madame Ambassador...”
・・・
Everything was for naught. The reignited resolve he had days ago after meeting with the different ambassadors? For some reason, it had completely disappeared when he heard the news last night.
“My king! The Parpaldians have sent us an ultimatum to withdraw the squadron from Messina by noon tomorrow, or they will attack!”
He remembers the echoes of his foreign minister’s frightened voice bouncing all across his mind. He wondered where his bravado had all gone. He checked every nook and cranny in his heart and upturned every memory and emotion: alas, he found no trace of it.
Even as daybreak signaled the genesis of a new day, he couldn’t find it in himself to get out of bed. He knows fully well that if he did nothing, thousands of Altaran sailors–the men who would gladly lay their lives down “for land and king”–would end up at the bottom of the straits. Even with such information, which would have typically fed the nationalistic fervor in his heart and got him to act faster than anyone else, his muscles hardly moved an inch. Ah well, if everyone actually had wanted him dead, then it probably didn’t matter if he moved or not.
“Father, the Japanese and Muish ambassadors are here to see you!”
Even the voices of his daughters, which he loved so much, somehow felt like they were jumbled echoes. Whatever. He was convinced down to the core that even his beloved Semira, Alila, and Lumies hated his guts. After all, how could they not, especially Lumies? Perhaps that girl had a point.
“Well, this is certainly the most unfortunate of timings, if I may add...”
He recognized that voice–the voice of that bastard from the western empire of Mu. What the fuck was he doing here now? What more could his imperialist kingdom want from him? And what was the other guy? The one from Japan? The country that teased him with small arms offers only to turn him down with their disappointingly puritan arms export laws? What in the world are they doing here?
Ah, never mind. It’s all pointless. The deadline was approaching, and there was little meaning to moving forward. If only... If only Yasmin could appear in front of him and carry his tired soul away from this world...
“Ambassador... MoD has reported shots fired on Altaran vessels near Messina, Sios—it’s from the Parpaldians.”
What?
“Are you sure? Are you really serious?!”
They’re saying some gibberish... perhaps it’s in their native Japanese tongue?
“Yes, ma’am! We’ve also received an emergency memo from Tokyo to pack up and evacuate!”
Whatever it was, it sounded grave and serious. Wait, could it be...?
“Well... shit! Smithson! Our military’s assets are reporting clashes between Parpaldian and Altaran vessels near Sios! The Parpaldians started it, apparently! What the hell... but there’s still two hours to the deadline?!”
Wait, what?
“Son of a bitch! I should have known better! That imbecile Ludius!!!”
“Quick, father! We must get a hold of Admiral Gucer Nizam at once! We’re at war!”
Shock. Denial. Sadness. It was in this order that the emotions struck Taara’s heart. Almost immediately, his imagination went to the horrors that his sailors must have been experiencing at sea being shelled by the evil Parpaldian menace... For once, he started to feel regret–regret that he should have done something. However...
・・・
“Heh...”
A light chuckle, soft as it may have been, reverberated across the chamber, catching everyone’s attention with its out-of-place presence. They all looked at the cowering figure of Taara, who only moments before had his half-dead expression, which was now replaced by a sinister–if not outright senile–grin stretching across his face.
“Hahaha... HAHAHAHA!!!”
The chuckle immediately turned into cackling, unsettling everyone–most especially his daughters.
“The fools!!! They’ve come to attack us, thinking we’re going to cower?! And what’s more, they violated their own deadline?!”
When put together, it all seemed funny–the only emotion that somehow welled up from the depths of Taara’s heart and remained. Now that he considered it, what’s a few thousand of his own countrymen? The Parpaldians have demonstrated their idiocy and foolhardiness on the world stage: they’ve acted against their own deadline and started a war! With such an amazingly ironic display of their so-called “justice”, it was now a matter of time before the rest of the world gangs up against them; he had played his cards right by not playing at all!
“HAHAHAHA!!! What buffoons!!!”
Everybody watched speechlessly as the Altaran sovereign broke down in tears of joy on the floor of the chamber. Confused and unsure of what to say, Fujinuma and Smithson, together with their aides, simply turned and left the chamber. His daughters, even the usually mute Alila, unable to get a hold of their increasingly insane father, could only do as much as shed tears at their rapidly disintegrating situation.
In a confusing mix of disappointment, laughter, and desperation, the kingdom of Altaras had unwittingly entered into what was probably its darkest hour.
Imperial Palace, Esthirant, Parpaldia
Hundreds of kilometers to the north of the island kingdom, at the hillside Imperial Palace, ambassadors Hamakubo and Mugei, having come to have an audience with Foreign Affairs Chair Elto and Emperor Ludius, had just heard the news from their own aides. The two of them looked at the emperor with bloodshot eyes, the byproduct of not having slept through the last night due to unfathomable restlessness gnawing at their sanity. Seeing the Parpaldian emperor sitting on his comfortable, cushioned chair unbothered and unfazed by their pleas probably popped several veins.
Just then, a man wearing a Parpaldian officer’s uniform entered the room and whispered into Ludius’s ear.
“Oh? Goodness, it isn’t the deadline yet, though? Ah well, accidents do happen...”
Apparently, the Parpaldians were also well aware of what they had done, but Ludius simply brushed off the blatant transgression as a mere “accident.” Mugei, the more outspoken of the two and having had to rein in his vicious temper all throughout this nonsense, finally popped off and angrily stood up from his chair.
“Oh, spare me the steaming hot pile of bullshit!”
After airing an expletive, he threw his gloves onto the carpeted floor and pointed straight at the Parpaldian sovereign with his bare fingers.
“You and I, Ludius? We’re done.”
With that, he stormed out of the chamber, violently throwing open the gilded double doors. Hamakubo, still processing what he had just heard, had trouble controlling his trembling fingers. What had they just gotten themselves into? Was their effort in trying to stop this not enough? Or was it all simply in vain?
“Dear god...”
Off the coast of Sios, 10:10
“Captain!!! Enemy vessels are concentrating fire at us! They’re coming in from both flanks at a range of 800 and closing in rapidly!!!”
“Keep up the fire and maintain heading!!!”
The shouts of men desperate to see their wives and children back home crisscrossed across the bridge and decks of the Orhasli, one of the Altaran navy’s Villatam-class of ironclads and one of the fleet’s most powerful ships, as drops of steel and ocean water peppered the warship. Riding aboard was the Yarbay, the commodore, who commanded the seven-ship squadron dispatched by His Majesty Himself to project Altaran interests onto Sios–or at least, what used to be a seven-ship squadron.
“Incoming enemy fire!”
“Braaaaace!!!!”
A group of Parpaldian warships had just fired salvos of shot against them, prompting the entire group of sailors on the bridge to shelter beneath what cover was at hand. Even up to now, the commodore still had trouble believing their circumstances.
Around an hour ago, he received the first reports from their lookouts of a 20-ship flotilla emerging from the horizon; a dozen minutes later, they confirmed the standards on them to be of the Parpaldian navy’s. While this unsettled many of them, even him, they thought nothing much of it: perhaps the Parpaldians were readying for when their ultimatum expires? Still, it was somehow strange because their intelligence advised them that most of the 1st Armee Corqueuxima were in port and that their departure for an exercise was delayed. When the Parpaldian warships got as close as five nautical miles, he ordered all ships to weigh anchor just in case. He personally believed that the Parpaldians wouldn’t do anything, not until the deadline had come to pass at least, but for some reason, his hunch told him otherwise. It was when the Parpaldian flotilla formed into a battle line, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the ocean, that he finally acted on his hunch. Before the Parpaldians commenced their attack, he immediately ordered his ships to form into a column with the Orhasli at the vanguard to try and break out of the encirclement.
It has been 45 minutes since then: three of their slower third-rate ships of the line had already sunk beneath the waves due to concentrated fire; one was effectively immobilized when two stray lucky shots took out her mainmast and mizzenmast; another one took concentrated hits to the waterline and was now taking in water–and moving ever slower–by the minute; and the Hudaden, the Orhasli’s sister, was currently battling a fire that had broken out near one of her aft guns. In exchange, they sank five of the Parpaldian warships, immobilized at least three, and set fire to a further three. Nevertheless, the situation for them was looking extremely grim.
“Come on! Just a bit more!”
They were just about to hit open water, leaving behind the slower Parpaldian ships of the line in their wake. The sailors, desperate to be out of this predicament, were trembling with an uneasy combination of restlessness and hope–they could almost taste freedom, yet they knew all too well they were still yet to be in the clear. But then, the ever-cruel hands of fate intervened.
“Incoming fire from enemy ironclad 40 degrees to port!”
All eyes turned to a particular Parpaldian ironclad, a warship with similar firepower as theirs, which was steaming to intercept them from their port side at an almost perfectly perpendicular angle. The smoke and flashes emanating from its forward and aft barbettes indicated that it had just launched a full salvo toward their direction. Once again, they were finding themselves taking shelter behind the steel frame of their ship.
“Braaaaaace!!!”
The blistering thunderclaps of the enemy’s guns roared through the ocean, providing a dreading prelude to what was about to fall over their heads. For a good minute, no one dared to speak, for all wanted to hear the sounds that they hoped would follow the gunfire. The men anxiously waited for the soft sloshing of seawater swallowing the enemy’s shots, but none came. Then, they heard a sound.
Kablam!!!
Almost immediately afterward, they stopped hearing–or sensing anything–altogether.
The Orhasli, one of the most powerful warships in the Altaran navy, received several shots fired by a Parpaldian ironclad, some of which landed squarely on the bridge and started, annihilating everyone inside and destroying the mechanism used to steer the ship. On top of that, several of the shots penetrated through the thin wooden deck and started an internal fire that further crippled her. Within several dozen minutes, with the breakdown of command and the fire completely beyond their control, the surviving sailors and officers abandoned ship.
Utilizing their superior numbers and almost equal firepower, the Parpaldians showered the small Altaran squadron with their advantageous volume of fire, slowly yet surely sending the beleaguered Altarans beneath the waves. After two hours, the sound of gunfire was but a distant memory; only those that flew the Parpaldian battle standard remained afloat.
In a scene of confusion, desperation, and deadly miscalculations–representative of the vexing fiasco that led to this tragic moment–the first shots were fired, and the first drops of blood were shed; the war between the kingdom of Altaras and the Parpaldian Empire had begun.