The Elysium Palace.
A marvel of engineering and a symbol of the Empire’s enduring might. Built centuries ago, it stood as both a fortress and a monument to the Empire’s grandeur. Over the years, it had been renovated and expanded, with new wings and chambers seamlessly blending with its ancient foundations.
This would be Ries’ first time stepping inside it.
The automobile rolled into a halt at the front door. A guard in a vibrant ceremonial uniform approached, his boots clicking against the cobblestones as he saluted. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow.
The towering double doors swung open as they approached, pushed by two attendants who moved in perfect synchronization. The air inside was cool and fragrant, carrying the faint scent of lilies and aged wood.
“Welcome to Elysium Palace, Madam Prime Minister,” one of the attendants intoned with a practiced bow.
Ries inclined her head in acknowledgment and stepped forward, her boots tapping softly against the marble floor. “Her Majesty is awaiting you in the Solarium,” the guard informed her before stepping aside.
An attendant motioned for her to follow, and Ries complied, her steps measured as she was led through a labyrinth of corridors.
The palace was alive with muted activity. Courtiers whispered in alcoves, pages hurried with stacks of documents, and distant melodies from unseen musicians wafted through the air. Despite the controlled chaos, there was a serenity to the place, as if it is a different realm in of itself, far from the chaotic empire.
The attendant opened the final set of doors, and Ries stepped into the Solarium. The evening sunlight streamed through walls of glass, illuminating a chamber that felt as if it floated above the gardens below. The Empress sat near a table set with tea and delicate pastries, her silhouette framed by the golden glow of the setting sun.
“Prime Minister,” the Empress intoned, her voice measured and precise, without looking up from the book she was reading. “Welcome to Elysium. Pray, do be seated.”
Ries approached the table, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor. She studied the Empress, a woman cloaked in layers of inscrutability, her regal demeanor betraying none of the burdens that surely accompanied her station. It was then she remembered she was near her age.
Taking the offered seat, Ries placed her hands lightly on the table. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
At last, the Empress set aside her book with a deliberate elegance, folding her hands atop it. “Would you care for tea, water, or perhaps a touch of soda to enliven the moment?”
“Water would suffice, Your Majesty.”
The Empress tilted her head. “Come now, Lady Katzennia. A modicum of leisure would not wound thee. War demands fortitude, but fortitude oft withers when unaccompanied by reprieve.”
Ries allowed herself a faint smile. “In that case, tea, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
With a graceful motion, the Empress gestured to an attendant who moved to pour the tea into an exquisitely painted porcelain cup.
“And so,” the Empress began, her tone shifting back to its customary authority as she leaned slightly back. “To the matter at hand. You forwarded quite the array of decrees for my signature. I trust they are being implemented correctly, yes?”
Ries met the Empress’s gaze without hesitation. “Yes, Your Majesty. The measures are already in motion, though the path ahead is neither simple nor smooth. Resistance lingers, but progress is undeniable.”
The Empress raised her porcelain cup to her lips for a measured sip. Ries couldn’t help but notice the faint fizzing sound, and a flicker of disbelief crossed her mind. Was that soda?
She sets down her cup of soda. “Resistance, indeed,” she echoed. “I must confess, I do not appreciate my subjects, vassals, or what have you, rebelling over a few moments of adversity. Such insubordination lacks both reason and decorum.”
There was much Ries wanted to say, words poised at the edge of her tongue. She longed to correct the Empress’s perception of the unrest—explain how desperation, not defiance, often drove rebellion. But discretion held her back. This was neither the time nor the place to challenge the Sovereign of the Empire.
“True, Your Majesty,” she said instead, her tone carefully measured. “As for the war…”
“Yes, yes. I’ve read and signed your decree for equal conscription among humans and non-humans. It’s about time they contribute something to the Empire.”
“Yes, but as for the next step…”
“Mhm. I see… I suppose a Beastmen would want their fellow kin to prosper as well. Yes, I’ve read your proposal regarding the status of non-humans in this Empire.”
Ries’s feline ears twitched subtly, a flicker of irritation suppressed as she kept her posture composed. The Empress’s words carried a certain sharpness disguised in aristocratic detachment, and though the statement wasn’t entirely incorrect, it felt dismissive.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ries replied carefully, her voice even. “The proposal seeks to address longstanding inequities, ones that, if left unresolved, could undermine the very unity we seek to maintain in these trying times.”
The Empress leaned back in her chair as she hummed. “Unity is a fine word, Prime Minister, but it is one oft overused. Non-humans have long been a part of this Empire, yet you suggest we are only now at risk of disunity? Elaborate.”
“Your Majesty, the war demands sacrifices from all citizens, human and non-human alike. Yet, many non-humans remain relegated to second-class status. Their contributions are taken, but their rights are withheld. This imbalance breeds resentment, and resentment festers. My proposal is not charity, it is pragmatism. To demand their loyalty, we must also grant them dignity.”
“loyalty, dignity… lofty words. But tell me, Prime Minister, are you acquainted with the concept of the Social Contract?”
Ries blinked, taken aback by the unfamiliar term. “I—no, Your Majesty. What is it?”
“The Social Contract, Prime Minister, is an ancient precept, wrought by the minds of great philosophers. It asserts that the legitimacy of any ruling authority resides in an implicit agreement with its subjects. In surrendering a portion of their freedoms to the state, the governed receive, in exchange, protection, stability, and justice. Should the state falter in its obligations, the governed find cause to challenge its supremacy.”
Ries tilted her head, her tail swishing softly behind her. “I see… And you believe this concept applies to the Empire?”
The Empress allowed a faint, enigmatic smile to grace her lips. “To a measure, yes. The Empire is, as thou well knowest, no republic of commoners. Ours is a realm built upon divine mandate and inherited station, where the vicissitudes of human—or non-human—aspiration must bend to the imperatives of order. Yet even so, their wisdom does resonate. No crown, however bejeweled, may endure upon coercion alone. A balance must be struck, a tacit accord maintained between sovereign and subjects. Should that balance teeter, cracks shall mar the very foundations of my dominion.”
The Empress’s tone shifted slightly, a thread of iron threading through her mellifluous words. “And thus, we come to the matter of the Valyryan nation-state. You are no doubt aware that despite our cartographic centralization and ostensible governance, the Empire is far from a cohesive entity. It is a collection of protectorates, vassal kingdoms, and tributaries, all bound to us by centuries-old agreements and treaties. Yet, they remain precisely that—protectorates, not integral provinces of the Empire," she paused. “Your recent legislation—which, forgive me, I recall only in part—proposed the outright nullification of these protectorates’ political autonomy and their forced annexation into the greater realm. Such audacity, Prime Minister, does kindle the fires of insurrection. It is no small wonder that rebellion has reared its head amongst them.”
“Yet, Your Majesty, if I may—was it not upon your directive that I undertook this course of action?”
The Empress’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she reached for her porcelain cup, the gentle fizz of the soda within softly punctuating the room’s silence. She took a measured sip, savoring the effervescent sweetness before setting the cup back upon its saucer. “Indeed, I did,” she acknowledged.
“However,” she continued, her gaze locking onto Ries, “it is the hallmark of a capable Head of Government to discern not only the letter but also the spirit of her sovereign’s decrees. My directive was issued with the foresight that such measures would incite resistance—resistance that, once quelled, shall leave a blank slate upon which to inscribe my will. For it is through fire and ash that the most enduring foundations are oft laid.”
“Your Majesty intends to use the defeat of the insurrectionists as a means to reshape the Empire entirely?”
“Precisely,” the Empress affirmed. “After their rebellion is extinguished—thoroughly and unequivocally—their lands shall lie fallow for my vision to take root. For the first time in the annals of our history, the Empire shall stand not as a fractured assemblage of protectorates but as a singular entity, bound by and answerable solely to the Crown.”
She paused for emphasis. “I task you with the governance of these territories and the drafting of the relevant laws to solidify this decision. Thank you most graciously in advance, Prime Minister.”
Ries resisted the urge to sigh aloud, though her tail gave a single twitch of frustration. Ugh… more paperwork. Instead, she maintained her composure, forcing a polite smile. “Of course, Your Majesty. I would be honored to undertake this responsibility.”
The Empress hummed softly, her expression unusually light, almost approachable. A stark contrast to her usual imperious demeanor. It struck Ries as odd. She wasn’t particularly close to the Empress, nor did she expect such an unguarded moment in a formal setting.
Taking the delicate porcelain teacup in hand, Ries prepared to sip her tea, hoping it would buy her a moment to process the mountain of responsibility just thrust upon her.
“Have you considered a suitor for your hand in marriage?” the Empress asked, her tone deceptively casual.
PFFRT.
Ries choked, sputtering as she hastily set the cup down to avoid spilling it. Coughing into her hand, she blinked at the Empress, thoroughly caught off guard. “Pardon me, Your Majesty—what did you say?”
The Empress tilted her head with a faint smirk. “Oh, come now, Lady Katzennia. Let us not pretend we are strangers to such matters. Unless, of course, you are one of those who fancies women, in which case—”
“No, no!” Ries interrupted hastily, her ears flattening in embarrassment. “I just… why bring this up so suddenly?”
The Empress raised an elegant brow, reclining slightly in her chair. “Why not? You are a noble now, whether you like it or not. Beastman or not, you hold a position of prominence and influence, much like myself. Surely you must have noticed that men can be as predatory as wolves when faced with women in such positions.”
Ries fumbled for a response. “I… suppose I’ve been too busy with my duties to think about such things.”
“Ah, the curse of the diligent. Yet, even amidst the affairs of state, one mustn’t neglect matters of personal import. A strong alliance can often begin with a union of hearts, or at the very least, a marriage of convenience. Tell me, Lady Katzennia, is there truly no one who has caught your eye?”
Ries shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the Empress’s expectant gaze. “Your Majesty, I’m hardly in a position to—”
“Nonsense,” the Empress interjected, waving a hand. “You are precisely in such a position. Marriage is more than sentiment, my dear; it is a tool, a bond, and occasionally a weapon. Whether for love or strategy, it is not a matter to be dismissed lightly. Consider it carefully, for the Empire watches its nobility closely.”
Ries glanced down at her tea, her thoughts swirling. She hadn’t anticipated this turn in their conversation, nor the implications it carried. She decided to turn the tables on her.
“What about you, then, Your Majesty?”
The Empress’s smile deepened, her sharp eyes glittering with amusement as she reclined in her seat. “Ah, Lady Katzennia, a bold counter indeed. But I expected no less from someone of your forthright nature.”
She picked up her teacup with deliberate grace, taking a delicate sip before continuing. “My own circumstances are quite different, as you might imagine. The crown is not merely a mantle I wear but a burden I bear. Any union I might entertain would be weighed not by matters of the heart but by the balance of power, the security of the realm, and the legacy of the throne.”
Ries’s ears twitched as she studied the Empress, sensing layers of meaning behind her words. “That sounds… rather lonely, Your Majesty.”
“Quite. But… I can bend the rules to my will sometimes, if not every time. I am still the Empress, after all.” She smiled.
“So… is there anyone who caught your attention?”
“Indeed. It is a Valkorian noble—charming, astute, and uniquely… challenging.” Her tone lingered on the last word, laden with intrigue. She set her teacup down with a soft clink. “Of course, should such a union come to pass, he would merge his House into the greater Imperial fold. It would be less a marriage of equals and more… an absorption. Yet, his willingness to relinquish such autonomy intrigues me, as does his mind.”
Ries tilted her head slightly. “It seems this Valkorian noble has earned more than a passing thought from you, Your Majesty. A rare feat, I presume.”
“Rare, indeed,” the Empress admitted, her voice carrying a lightness that hinted at a deeper amusement. “He is not without his flaws, of course—what man is? But his sharpness, his wit, and his vision for the future of his people align, at least in part, with the aspirations I hold for the Empire. It is a rare thing to find someone who can stand in my shadow without faltering.”
Ries allowed herself a small smile, though her mind turned to the broader implications of such a union. “And does he know of your… inclinations toward this arrangement?”
The Empress chuckled softly, an almost musical sound. “He suspects, no doubt. Men of his ilk always fancy themselves at the center of schemes and ambitions, though whether his suspicion aligns with reality remains to be seen. For now, I watch and wait.”
“But now, let’s talk about you. My tea party friends have put forward candidates for the suitors in your marriage.”
Ries’ face drops.
Uh Oh.
“Uh… suitors? Your Majesty, surely you jest.”
“Oh, I assure you, Lady Katzennia, I do not. You have risen swiftly to prominence, and as I have mentioned before, marriage is not merely a matter of sentiment but a strategic endeavor. Your new station demands careful consideration in all things—including potential alliances.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I’m not sure I’m ready to entertain such notions. My responsibilities—”
“—are precisely why this matter cannot be ignored,” the Empress interjected smoothly. “Your duties are vast, yes, but a strong alliance through marriage can only strengthen your position, both politically and personally. It is not about readiness, my dear, but necessity.”
Ries’s tail lashed once in protest, but she quickly suppressed her frustration. “And these… candidates? Who are they?”
The Empress gestured with a graceful hand, summoning a servant who approached with a small silver tray. Upon it rested several sealed envelopes, each bearing the wax seal of a different noble house.
“These,” the Empress said, picking up one of the envelopes and examining it with faint amusement, “are but a few of the names my dear friends have suggested. Lords, heirs, and even a few ambitious commoners who have risen to prominence. Each with their own… charms and advantages.”
Ries blinked, utterly at a loss. “Commoners, Your Majesty?”
“Indeed,” the Empress replied, her tone light. “In these changing times, even the most traditional of us must acknowledge the value of talent and ambition, regardless of bloodline. Though, I would advise against it. I imagine you might find the more traditional candidates to your liking. Shall we begin with this one?” She extended the envelope toward Ries.
Ries hesitated before accepting it, her hands lightly grazing the fine parchment as she broke the seal. Her eyes scanned the elegantly penned name and accompanying details.
“Lord Caelryc Varn, heir to the House of Varn,” she read aloud, her voice flat.
The Empress tilted her head, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Handsome, well-educated, and notably an open-minded man. A charming suitor, no?”
Ries suppressed a groan, her ears flicking back. “I’m sure he’s… adequate.”
The Empress chuckled, clearly entertained by her discomfort. “Oh, come now, Lady Katzennia. Do not dismiss the possibilities so quickly. Each of these names represents a path forward, not only for yourself but for your people. Consider them carefully.”
Ries set the envelope down, her expression neutral but her tail betraying her irritation. “I will give them due thought, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent,” the Empress said, her tone sweet with satisfaction. She reached for another letter, extending it toward Ries with an almost playful smile. “Shall we continue?”
Ries fought the urge to groan aloud, accepting the envelope with a tight-lipped nod.
----------------------------------------
The rumble of the military convoy echoed through the barren, snow-dusted plains of the Empire’s eastern provinces. The trucks carried not only weapons and supplies but a cargo infinitely more fragile, men conscripted to fill the Empire’s insatiable demand for soldiers.
Among them were Beastmen recruits, many of whom had been conscripted with little regard for their willingness to serve. They had passed basic training, their raw physical prowess sufficient to satisfy the instructors, but they were far from seasoned.
The convoy’s final destination wasn’t the Daemon front—at least, not yet. Officially, this deployment was a training exercise to harden the recruits and prepare them for the horrors to come. Unofficially, it was an assertion of Imperial dominance, part of a broader strategy to dismantle protectorate governments and ensure compliance. Every stop the convoy made served as a reminder that the Empire’s grip on its territories was absolute.
Leo was among the conscripts, his broad shoulders hunched as he sat uncomfortably on a wooden bench in the back of one of the trucks. His ursine ears twitched at every bump in the road, and his short, rounded tail swayed with restless unease. The frigid wind bit through the thin fabric of his uniform, but he barely noticed.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter. Few of them were.
The memory of his father’s visit to his room played in his mind like a bad dream. His father had entered, his expression a mix of worry and resignation. For a moment, Leo had hoped it was a misunderstanding, but the words that followed crushed any such illusion.
“They came to the shop,” his father had said. “Imperial soldiers. You need to report to the recruitment office. Failure to comply will… we will be imprisoned.”
“But I’m only sixteen,” Leo had protested, his voice cracking.
“You turned sixteen weeks ago,” his father had said bitterly. “Old enough for the Empire, it seems.”
Leo had tried to argue, but his father had stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s not about fairness, son. It’s about survival. If you don’t go, they’ll come for the rest of us. We can’t fight them. Not anymore…”
So here he was, in the back of a truck, surrounded by strangers who looked as lost and fearful as he felt. Most were his age, though a few older men sat with grim expressions, their faces lined with years of hardship. Some of the Beastmen recruits whispered to each other in low tones, their tails twitching nervously.
Leo looked down. Resting on his lap was a rifle. The weapon felt heavy, not just in weight but in significance. Its wooden stock was polished to a dull sheen, its long barrel glinting faintly in the dim light. It was the same kind of weapon his father had spoken of with disdain and anger—the weapon that had claimed the lives of countless tribesmen in their struggle against the Empire.
And now, he bore the emblem of that same Empire, stitched crudely onto the chest of his ill-fitting uniform.
“Ah, the rifle,” a voice next to him murmured, breaking the silence. “The great equalizer. A tool of power and oppression, but also of freedom, depending on whose hands hold it.”
Leo turned his head, startled by the unexpected commentary. The speaker was another conscript, a Beastman like himself. He had sharp, fox-like features, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His emerald eyes gleamed with a curious mix of mischief and melancholy.
The Beastman offered a small, casual smile. “Name’s Mercurio. I’m from Raguza.”
Leo hesitated before replying. “... You’re conscripted too?”
Mercurio chuckled, a sound that was somehow both genuine and bitter. “Not exactly. I volunteered… sort of.”
That snapped Leo out of his thoughts. “You volunteered? Why would anyone do that? Wait—where even is Raguza?”
Mercurio leaned back, resting his arms behind his head as if they weren’t crammed into the back of a military truck bound for an uncertain future. “It’s on the southern coast. Beautiful place—white beaches, warm winds, the kind of sun that makes you forget all your troubles. You should visit sometime.”
Leo stared at him, baffled. “You make it sound like paradise. Why would you leave that behind to… to this?” He gestured around the truck, at the rifle, the uniform, the bleakness of their shared reality.
“Paradise, huh? It’s easy to call something paradise when you’re not the one struggling to survive in it. Raguza might look beautiful, but life there isn’t. Not if you’re Beastman.”
Leo frowned but didn’t interrupt.
“The Empire and its consortium of not-so independent kingdoms controls the ports, the trade routes, everything,” Mercurio continued. “If you’re not part of the system—if you’re a nobody like me—you scrape by on crumbs. Joining the military? It’s a way out, a way up. Maybe a way to make a difference, if I’m lucky.”
“You think this… this war will help you change anything?” Leo asked quietly.
Mercurio shrugged, his grin returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not. But doing nothing changes even less. Besides, I figured if I’m going to fight, I might as well do it on my terms.”
Leo didn’t respond immediately. He looked down at the rifle in his lap again, the weight of it feeling heavier than ever.
The truck jolted over a rough patch of road, drawing murmurs of discomfort from the recruits. Mercurio broke the silence again, his tone lighter this time.
“Anyway, what about you? What’s your name?”
Leo glanced at him, hesitant. “My name’s Leo—”
An explosion.
The truck screeched to a halt, sending Leo and the others lurching forward. The acrid stench of burning fuel and scorched metal filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of snow.
"CONTACT!!" The shout of the human superior cut through the chaos like a blade. The front truck was a blazing inferno, its flames licking hungrily at the sky.
"DISEMBARK, DISEMBARK! AT THE READY!"
Leo’s heart hammered in his chest as he scrambled to his feet, nearly losing his grip on the rifle. Around him, the recruits erupted into a cacophony of shouts and frantic movement, their inexperience laid bare. Some leaped from the truck with weapons drawn; others froze, their faces pale with fear.
Mercurio grabbed Leo’s arm, his eyes sharp and steady despite the chaos. "Move, Leo! Don’t just sit there!"
Leo swallowed hard and followed, jumping down into the knee-deep snow. The cold bit into his legs, but he barely noticed, his senses overwhelmed by the unfolding pandemonium.
The convoy was under attack. Figures emerged from the treeline, cloaked in white to blend with the snow. The crack of gunfire echoed across the plains, bullets zipping through the air like angry wasps.
Leo dropped into the snow for cover, fumbling with his rifle. His hands trembled as he pulled the bolt back, chambering a round.
"Form a perimeter!" the superior barked, his voice strained but commanding. "Return fire! Hold your positions!"
Mercurio crouched beside Leo, his own rifle at the ready. "Stay close. You shoot when they shoot at you, got it?"
Leo nodded, his throat dry. He peeked over the edge of the snowbank, his eyes wide as he caught sight of the attackers. They moved with precision, their ambush well-rehearsed.
"Who are they?" Leo muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Mercurio didn’t look away from the fight. "Does it matter? Rebels, traitors, terrorists, whatever the empire wants dead—they want us dead. That’s all you need to know."
A bullet whizzed past, kicking up snow just inches from Leo’s face. His heart leaped into his throat, and instinct took over. He raised his rifle and fired blindly toward the treeline.
The recoil jarred his shoulder, the sharp crack of the shot ringing in his ears. He had no idea if he’d hit anything, but the act of shooting sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins.
“I’m reloading! Cover me!” Mercurio shouted, ducking behind the snowbank and fumbling with a fresh clip. "Keep your head down! Don’t let them pin you!"
Leo nodded, his movements jerky and panicked. He risked another glance over the edge of their cover. The treeline was alive, shadows flitting between the trees like wraiths, gunfire erupting from unseen figures.
And then they charged.
They came out of the treeline, their bodies low to the ground, their movements swift and calculated. Beastmen, unmistakably so—bunny ears pricked upright, their faces twisted with fierce determination. Their weapons gleamed in the light; machetes, rifles fixed with bayonets, and axes.
They were terrifyingly close, their speed defying belief.
"Shit, they’re rushing us!" Mercurio growled.
Leo’s stomach dropped. He barely had time to react. One of the assailants was bearing down on him, machete raised high. He raised his rifle, took aim, and fired.
The man dropped mid-stride, crumpling into the snow like a broken marionette.
Leo froze, the image searing into his brain—the wide eyes, the open mouth, the dark stain spreading beneath the lifeless body.
"You froze?" Mercurio barked, yanking Leo back behind the snowbank. "Snap out of it! Put on the bayonet! NOW!"
Leo fumbled with his gear, his fingers clumsy and numb with cold and fear. Mercurio had already affixed his own bayonet, rising from cover to plunge it into the chest of another charging attacker. The man let out a guttural scream, blood spraying across the pristine snow.
The world seemed to narrow for Leo. The chaos around him blurred, leaving only the weight of the rifle in his hands and the dull clang as he secured the bayonet.
The next assailant was on him before he could even think. A young woman, her eyes blazing with hatred, swung a hatchet at his head. He barely managed to raise his rifle, blocking the blow with a metallic clang that reverberated up his arms.
She was stronger than she looked. She pushed against him, forcing him back into the snow. Desperation surged in his veins. He twisted the rifle and thrust the bayonet forward.
It pierced flesh with a sickening squelch.
The woman gasped, blood bubbling from her lips as she collapsed onto him.
Leo screamed, more from shock than rage, and shoved her lifeless body away.
Around him, the battle had devolved into brutal close quarters. Rifles were discarded in favor of blades and fists. Blood stained the snow, mingling with the screams of the dying.
Mercurio was locked in a vicious struggle with another attacker, his rifle swinging wildly as he parried blows. "Leo!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get your ass up and FIGHT!"
Leo’s legs felt like lead, but he staggered to his feet, clutching his rifle like a lifeline. His vision blurred, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, but he forced himself to move.
A rebel burst through the melee, charging straight at him with a knife in hand.
This time, Leo didn’t freeze.
He raised the rifle, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.
The man crumpled instantly, his momentum carrying him forward before he hit the ground in a heap.
Dead.
Leo stared at the body, his hands trembling as the rifle’s barrel smoked faintly in the cold air. He wanted to feel something—relief, fear, anything—but his mind was numb.
Another rebel charged him before he could even think, he had feral eyes, and Leo’s instincts kicked in, and he swung his rifle like a club, the butt smashing into the man’s jaw with a sickening crunch.
The rebel stumbled back, clutching his face, and Leo drove the bayonet into his gut, twisting as the man let out a strangled cry.
"Keep moving!" Mercurio shouted, his voice strained as he finally felled his opponent. "They’re trying to flank us!"
Leo pulled his bayonet free, blood spurting across his hands, and stumbled forward. His boots slipped on the slick, gore-soaked snow, but he pressed on, his rifle gripped tightly in his bloodied hands.
Leo and Mercurio trudged through the carnage, each step feeling heavier than the last. Around them, soldiers and rebels alike fell, their cries swallowed by the relentless chaos.
Ahead, the human commander was crouched behind a shattered supply crate, barking orders into a crackling field radio.
“Commander!” Mercurio called out, dropping to one knee beside him. “The rebels are closing in on our left flank! We need reinforcements, or we’ll be overrun!”
The commander snapped his gaze to Mercurio. “Reinforcements?” he said, his voice bitter. “The entire convoy, front to back, is under fire. There’s no cavalry coming, boy. If you want to survive, you’ll hold that flank yourself.”
“I’m promoting you both to sergeants,” the commander spat. “Congratulations. Now act like it and get those men to hold the line.”
Mercurio blinked, taken aback, but quickly recovered. “Sergeants? Sir, we’re barely—”
The commander cut him off with a glare. “I don’t care what you were yesterday. Right now, you’re all I’ve got. So, unless you want to die a private, get moving and lead.”
Before either of them could protest further, an explosion rocked the ground nearby, sending shards of wood and snow flying through the air. The commander didn’t flinch. “Get to it, sergeants! Now!” he barked.
Mercurio didn’t wait for further orders. He grabbed Leo by the collar and yanked him toward the left flank. “You heard him. Move your ass!”
As they stumbled through the blood-soaked snow, the scene at the left flank came into view, a disorganized mess of Beastmen soldiers huddled behind scattered cover, their faces pale with fear. They were barely firing back, with most peeking over their makeshift barricades only to duck as bullets zipped past.
“Oi! Start firing back!” Mercurio yelled.
A feline Beastman with twitching ears shot him a terrified look. “Why should we?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “This isn’t our war!”
Mercurio stormed toward him, eyes blazing with fury. Without hesitation, he grabbed the soldier by the front of his coat and hauled him to his feet, shaking him like a rag doll.
“Not your war?” Mercurio snarled, his voice low and venomous. “You think they care about that? You think those bastards out there give a damn about who you are or what you believe? You’re already in this, idiot! The only choice you’ve got now is to fight, or die cowering like a damned coward!”
The soldier flinched as Mercurio shoved him toward the edge of the cover, his trembling hands fumbling with his rifle. A bullet struck nearby, splintering wood and spraying snow. With a panicked yelp, the soldier raised his weapon and fired blindly into the treeline.
Mercurio spun on the rest of the soldiers, his voice like a blade slicing through their fear. “What about the rest of you? You wanna die here, too? Or are you gonna pick up your rifles and show these bastards they picked the wrong ones to mess with?”
There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated by the relentless cacophony of battle. Then, one by one, the soldiers began to move, their fear giving way to grim determination. They raised their rifles, leaning out from cover to return fire.
Mercurio ducked behind a shattered tree trunk, glancing toward Leo as bullets zipped past overhead. “What do you think?”
“Huh? What?” Leo replied, blinking as he snapped out of his daze.
“We need to beat them, genius,” Mercurio smirked, gesturing toward the advancing rebels. “Any idea how?”
Leo hesitated, his thoughts swirling in the chaos. His hands tightened around his rifle as he scanned the battlefield, the sporadic muzzle flashes from the treeline giving away the enemy’s positions, but there was no telling how many more were lying in wait. If they didn’t act, they’d be overrun.
“We can’t hold this line forever,” Leo said. “If we stay pinned here, we’re dead.”
“Brilliant observation,” Mercurio muttered, peeking over the trunk to fire a shot. “Got a plan, or are you just stating the obvious?”
Leo took a deep breath. “A bayonet charge.”
“Seriously?”
“Think about it!” Leo insisted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’re not expecting us to rush them. They’re spread out, probably low on ammo. We’re better equipped, and we—err—should be more disciplined.”
Mercurio glanced at the Beastman soldiers huddled behind cover, some visibly trembling. He raised an eyebrow. “Disciplined? You mean the guys who’ve been in uniform for a week?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Leo said, his voice hardening. “We either charge or we die here.”
Mercurio sighed, a mix of exasperation and resignation. “Fine. Let’s see how much chaos you can cause, genius.” He raised his voice, shouting over the din of gunfire. “Fix bayonets!”
The soldiers froze, glancing at one another with wide, uncertain eyes. For a moment, no one moved.
“You heard me!” Mercurio roared, his voice like a whip crack. “Fix bayonets! Unless you want to be picked off like rats, get moving!”
Reluctantly, the soldiers began attaching their bayonets, their hands shaking but steadying as they saw the resolve in Mercurio’s and Leo’s faces.
Mercurio turned back to Leo, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d better hope this works, or I’ll haunt you in the afterlife.”
Leo forced a shaky grin. “If it doesn’t work, none of us are making it to the afterlife.”
Mercurio barked orders, quickly organizing the soldiers into a rough formation. “On my mark!” Mercurio shouted. “Three… two… one… CHARGE!”
The group surged forward, roaring as they charged into the chaos.
The rebels were caught off guard, just as Leo had predicted. Their gunfire faltered, some of them scrambling to reload or retreat as the charging soldiers closed the gap. But the chaos of the charge revealed an uncomfortable truth, most of the soldiers weren’t trained for this.
The Beastmen soldiers swung their bayonets with wild, unfocused movements, stabbing and slashing at anything within reach. Rifles discharged haphazardly, some shots hitting their targets while others went wide, kicking up sprays of dirt and snow.
Leo fought to maintain some semblance of order amid the disarray. He parried a rebel’s sword swing, countering with a quick jab that sent his opponent crumpling to the ground. “Stay together!” he shouted with a strained voice. “Watch your targets! Don’t hit each other!”
Despite the chaos, the charge had its effect. The rebels began to break, their ranks fracturing under the ferocity of the assault. Some turned and fled, disappearing into the treeline, while others fell where they stood, overwhelmed by the desperate onslaught.
As quickly as it began, the fighting subsided. The battlefield fell eerily silent, broken only by the labored breathing of the surviving soldiers and the distant crackle of gunfire further along the convoy.
Before Leo or Mercurio could process what had happened, reinforcements arrived. Trained and disciplined Imperial soldiers, humans that swept through the area, securing the position with mechanical efficiency.
The previous commander strode toward Mercurio and Leo, his expression unreadable. His uniform was streaked with dirt and blood, but he carried himself with an air of authority.
“You two, sergeants!” he shouted, his voice sharp as a whip.
Mercurio and Leo exchanged uneasy glances, unsure if they were about to be commended or reprimanded. With humans, there was no telling.
The commander stopped in front of them, his gaze piercing. “Boys, you did a great job holding the line. I don’t know what harebrained idea led you to charge the rebels, but it worked.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. Then, to their surprise, a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Effective and insane—my favorite combination. I’m promoting you both to field lieutenants. Congratulations, gentlemen.”
Mercurio’s jaw dropped. “Lieutenants?”
Leo blinked, as if trying to process the words. “You’re… serious?”
“Dead serious,” the commander said, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’ve proven you can take initiative, even under fire. We need leaders like that.”
As the commander turned to issue orders to the reinforcements, Mercurio let out a low whistle. “Well, Leo, looks like your dumb ideas really do pay off.”
Leo shook his head, still dazed. “I didn’t do it for a promotion. I just… didn’t want to die.”
“Neither did I, but here we are,” Mercurio said with a grin. “Lieutenant Mercurio has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Leo gave a weak laugh, the weight of the battle finally settling on his shoulders. “Let’s hope we survive long enough to get used to it.”
----------------------------------------
A knock on the door.
Ries set down her pen, its ink untouched on the page where she had idly doodled instead of making progress. Work had slowed considerably since she'd started shifting most of her tasks to Clarissa.
"Enter," she called.
The door opened to reveal Lord-Marshal Fountainne, immaculate in his uniform. His appearance reflected the precision expected of his rank. Plain yet disciplined, the only ornamentation being the patch on his cap that marked him as the highest-ranking officer in the Empire.
"Madam Prime Minister," he greeted her with a clipped tone, offering a slight bow. "I have a report on the suppression of the rebellion."
"Let’s hear it, then." Ries leaned back in her chair, her tail curling lazily over the armrest as she gestured for him to proceed.
Fountainne stepped forward, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. "We’ve successfully regained control of most of the protectorates. The majority of the rebel forces have been routed, their remaining strongholds barely holding on. It’s largely due to their poor coordination that we've managed to subdue them with relatively smaller forces."
“I see…”
"The exception," Fountainne continued, "is the siege of the dwarven stronghold at Little Everfree Mountain. Their defenses are as rock-hard as the mountain itself, and the terrain makes a direct assault prohibitively costly. Despite cutting off their supply lines, the defenders have shown no signs of capitulation."
Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk, her tail curling lazily. "And what does the army make of this situation?"
"For the time being, we’re maintaining pressure with continuous shelling," Fountainne replied. He paused, clearing his throat as if anticipating her reaction to such a blunt strategy. "The Beastmen regiments, however, have demonstrated exceptional effectiveness despite their limited training. Their performance has exceeded expectations, and I recommend redeploying them to the western front once the rebellion is fully suppressed."
"I see…" Ries’s tone was noncommittal. "How many are in active service?"
“Over three million and growing,” Fountainne said, his stance firm. “The majority are still humans, and most are engaged on the western front.”
"Mhm…" She narrowed her eyes, her tail twitching in thought. "How much more do you need?"
“As much as I can.” His reply was as blunt as it was expected, and Ries sighed deeply.
“I’ll authorize another round of conscription. Five million should suffice for now." She tapped her claws lightly on the desk. "But I’ve received a report about a new offensive plan from the general staff. Care to explain?"
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister,” Fountainne said, stepping back. His gaze scanned the room until it landed on a large, detailed map of the western nations pinned to the wall. "If I may?" He gestured toward it.
"Go ahead," Ries said, standing and moving to his side as he approached the map. With a practiced motion, Fountainne unsheathed his ceremonial sword, using it to carefully lift the map off its hooks. The blade caught the light, gleaming faintly as he placed the map on the desk, smoothing it out with a precision that betrayed his military discipline.
"This," Fountainne began, tracing a line across the western nations, "is the most recent state of the frontlines. The Daemons appear to have lost momentum over the past weeks and have temporarily paused their attacks."
"According to intelligence provided by the Borians—which aligns with our own—the Daemons are preparing for a major offensive. Their plan is a two-pronged assault aimed at Valkoria. Once the snow clears, they’ll move through the Blackmist Great Forest to strike the kingdom’s most fertile and strategic territories."
“Wait, they’re planning to move through the forest? With how many people?”
"Preliminary estimates suggest a force of nearly half a million," Fountainne replied, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "It’s a bold strategy, but not without merit. The Blackmist Great Forest provides natural cover and a direct path to their targets. If successful, the Valkorian Kingdom will be crippled before they can muster a proper defense."
Ries leaned over the map, her eyes tracing the dense expanse of the Blackmist Forest. Known for its impenetrable canopy and dangerous wildlife, it had repelled armies for centuries, perhaps even millennia. "Half a million troops through this? Are they insane, or are we underestimating them?"
"The Daemons aren’t reckless. If they’ve chosen this route, it means they believe they have the resources and coordination to succeed. The Borians also report strange activity—scouts vanishing, unnatural weather patterns in the forest, and sightings of creatures not native to the region."
Ries’ thoughts raced as she considered the implications. A force of that size pushing through dense foliage and treacherous terrain seemed suicidal, unless they knew something she didn’t. Then, another thought struck her. Half a million soldiers trudging through miles of forested terrain, surrounded by dense, dry foliage.
Flammable foliage.
Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto Fountainne’s. The faint flicker of understanding in his expression told her he was thinking the same thing.
"Can our airships fly over the forest?"
"It’s doable," Fountainne replied cautiously, "but the Blackmist’s infamous fog and unpredictable wind patterns make it dangerous. Airships could be lost if we’re not careful."
"But it’s possible," she pressed.
"Yes," he admitted. "With—”
"I assume we’re thinking the same thing here," Ries interrupted. "It’s time for the air force to contribute to this war. I want the forest scouted thoroughly, and then the airships will drop incendiary bombs to wipe them out."
Fountainne hesitated, his brow furrowing. "But—"
"Just to make sure it does the job," Ries continued, cutting him off, "the shells will be enchanted with flame arcane arts. Coordinate with the mages to ensure we have the right enchantments and enough firepower to eliminate any resistance. I won’t tolerate half-measures."
The Lord-Marshall’s jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Understood. I’ll see to it that the mages are brought in immediately. However, there’s still the risk of collateral damage. The fire could spread beyond the forest, potentially reaching nearby settlements or farmlands."
"I’m aware," Ries replied sharply. Her tail flicked once in irritation before she steadied herself. "Then you’ll make it so that it only spreads in their part of the forest. Use barriers, wind spells, whatever it takes. Coordinate with the mages and the air force to ensure precision. This operation has no room for error."
Fountainne inclined his head, though a flicker of doubt lingered in his eyes. "Very well, Prime Minister."
"And one more thing," Ries added, her tone brooking no argument. "Summon the High-Admiral of the air force immediately. I’ll need his input on deployment strategies. You are dismissed."
The Lord-Marshall saluted crisply before exiting the room, leaving Ries alone with the map. Her gaze lingered on the dense expanse of the Blackmist Forest. This wasn’t a decision she made lightly, but the stakes were too high to hesitate. The war had dragged on for long enough, and every passing day brought greater strain on resources and morale.
Her thoughts turned momentarily to the Aquilean Empire—a persistent thorn in the side of Imperial ambitions. Despite their battered fleet and mounting losses, the Aquileans stubbornly refused to concede. For every ship sunk in battle, another rose from the depths to replace their losses.
It wasn’t a matter of superiority; the Empire's land-based dominance was undeniable, just as the Aquileans' naval supremacy was unchallenged. Neither side could strike a decisive blow on the other's homefront. Perhaps that’s why diplomacy had remained elusive—both nations were locked in a stalemate, each too proud to admit the futility of further bloodshed.
She frowned. Why are they so stubborn? What’s their endgame? It was a question that had troubled her since the first reports of the Aquilean fleet’s resilience reached her desk. Was it pride? Desperation? Or was there something deeper driving their defiance?
With a sigh, she reached for the telephone in her desk and dialed a number.