Revised March 2024
Bullets and fragments are woke since they don't discriminate with extreme prejudice
Poison Shadow
***
Swordsmound Barracks, Palace Exterior
Night
Analyzing the documents left a lot to be desired. But the picture it painted left scholarly men littering the room with spent bottles of ink and wasted copies of paper for the words and final redrafts shifted to the men in black.
One arranged a short stack of paper and handed it to the one beside him. The man adjusted his spectacles.
"This is an interesting development if I say so myself, Spymaster."
"Consider your sentiments validated, Director."
Hours of work, unending shifts, as were the sailors on the high seas sailing towards the unknown, each document was like the first islands sighted that would become the New World. One cannot help but express it fully with solemn gusto.
"This is a rather long list. Greed is truly the greatest demon of them all."
"And they deserve nothing more than the most potent poisons for having the gall to carve the Kingdom's pillars. But this won't be the first time politics will interfere. You may consider your responsibility a gift from His Majesty to the Minister."
"And how do we consider your coverage in the military?"
"Goodwill, but you haven't heard it from us. The Minister may rest easy that his weapons will remain in better hands."
"Hopefully, Spymaster. We'll need every abled individual to know how to shoot if this dream ever becomes a nightmare."
***
Ministry of Security
A rebellion, a war, a headache; Erich set his feet off the bed and onto the floor. Unwinding took a few seconds; losing any shred of natural concern, a bit more.
"Sponsored or negligence?"
"The former."
"At least we know where the coin's going," a silver lining for the sake of it.
"We have the names of aristocrats — legislators. As far as we can tell, some seem to be nothing more than victims of their own greed."
"Meaning?"
"Blaire was mainly a financier enticing others to join Salais' cause, be it directly or unknowingly. Through bribes, he erased his steps in layers of bureaucracy, hoping for it to be archived. It explains the wealth he has accumulated in the form of anonymous donors of the city's Development Grant."
"And by virtue of its charter, they were given a level of confidentiality that eluded the Kingdom."
Perhaps Chartered Cities, as the Americans called it, or Free Imperial Cities, will see a downtrend in the future for what it has done to Cascadia and the Hero. But as hosts and councils lament down the paved path of centralization, there lies a single variable of fluidity, which fell in the realm of probability.
"From the figures, it is not something Salais would consider a worthy investment."
More like a money sink from how thick Emmanuel's folder was. Someone was bankrolling them.
"We've added a marker on those complicit so far."
Then it's a developing list.
"The Kingdom will settle on the military and has entrusted us with dealing with the aristocracy, preferably while they are still in the capital. Words such as 'diversion,' 'mercenaries,' and 'convicts' have increased in frequency on recent dates. The current issue is that we might never have another chance to gather notable suspects like this again, and once news spreads, others outside parliament may flee the Kingdom, leaving only trails of slander. That's why we'd like to consult how we move forward in consideration of your plans."
It's a dark, dark day in the world once Russia stops caring who you do it in bed. One could easily imagine what they're trying to do. Against a country with the Hero Summoning, it may not as well be a total capitulation of Cascadia's lands but a perpetual torment that spurs nations to come into her defense once the cake's no longer a lie.
It was somewhere around there. But it made no sense. Any of the two blocs could strong-arm Salais back to the coast to pull the Hero to their side. Now that they spooked Cascadia, they're on a real timer with Erich's act earlier. The longer Salais revised, his forces grew. And waiting out a month to know what his results were was something they cannot risk.
They'll be sloppy, sure, but was Cascadia prepared for sloppy?
"Do you know any spots for a date, Emmanuel?"
"I'm afraid not. Perhaps you can use that to your advantage."
Considering the headache, he has a point.
"Whatever the case, we have to arrest the aristocrats. Those who fled, we will confiscate their property. They're on a real timer, and so are we. To any of the conservative opposition in the House who don't want more liberals inside, they better start sweating once the printing press starts running. Depict the traitors as goblins painting their clothes in Salais' colors if you have to. I want them at the center."
"It'd be preferable if the Angriffskorps deal with any runners."
"Maybe, but what's the point? If they run anywhere else, the nearest noble in the vicinity will hand them over to gain my favor."
"It would send a message. Your presence has certainly angered some of their leadership, but why should we let them enjoy the luxury of safety?"
"I did not take you for a spiteful man, Emmanuel. But my concern about international assassinations is that we cannot control how scary I am without making some compromises, and Soup Kitchens won't cut it enough."
What are they gonna do until Thomas gets the contracts? Start the Second Ponzi Scheme Reich and adopt slavery and brute forcing through each Kingdom's treasury as their actual economic model just to pay up on the Ponzi part? Again?
"Send a letter to the Crown, let them know we're readjusting our budgetary plans. She's been activated."
"By her, you mean–?"
"It's not like we have a lot going on with our roster," fucking balance. "I'm just putting the right pieces in the right places. Hindsight can only take me so far."
It's not like he was an all-knowing deus ex machina. Erich's playing anarchy chess while everyone else was playing regular chess. Hollywood or any media it infected can never grasp the philosophical intricacies of antiquity; Jus Naturale, Jus Gentium, Jus Civile — concepts in an age those in the present only saw the savagery in the whims, desires, and deficiencies of their leaders and people.
And the best part was the world got an idea, be it flawed or with a degree of accuracy, on how Earth worked.
"Don't push your luck. I have political considerations, and my consideration is that I'll become the next boogeyman. But you have my nod on the aristocrats. It'll expedite our ministry's institutionalization. We'll use the momentum from earlier in the assembly, lockdown the whole capital, and round up those on the list as the first wave. It has to be loud. So loud to shake the country and have those turncoats marked wherever they go."
"And how do we prepare for the aftermath of this...extrajudicial approach, sir?"
"I believe the correct term would be 'wartime,' Director. Naturally, we will remain subject to Crown oversight and judicial review. Since the suspects come from a society of gentlemen with a natural appreciation of the arts, we don't have to do much to keep the nobility in check. They'll start thinking we'll let the greedy ones behead them with rusty knives."
It didn't matter if Erich killed another chicken to scare the monkeys. Anyone could become a chicken.
"We can have those with damning evidence to the dungeon and the rest in a Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, maybe a hotel. Of course, we still have to treat them as prisoners. Scheduled meals, baths, sleep; An illusion of luxury. That is as long as they cooperate."
"And those agitated and innocent will have to be agitated and scared. The Crown can foot the bill. Mark it off as procurement for the Royal Artillery."
"Very well. Thank you, sir. I think that will be all for me. Goodnight."
"Emmanuel," Erich stopped him as he turned. "Everything I've said cannot be final. If there truly is a better alternative, then go with it. Don't make the mistake of following through a kid's rambling."
As far as he's concerned, he's just an Inexperienced Figurehead at best and a Boy Dictator at worst.
"Then you may sleep soundly as we take it to heart, sir."
And soundly he did. For what appeared wherever the faint moonlight radiated, what was once a patch of endless dirt, brick, and grass running across towns and fields has become an almost endless array of steel, wood, and basalt. Though, nobody would see, at least not for now.
***
Royal Parliamentary Court, Assembly Hall
Morning
If there ever was a road to reconciliation, it was from one awkward conversation to the next.
"Our dear old friends who believe the grass they were born on has withered have disgraced Cascadia with an atrocity that eludes the memories of our forefathers."
But something big was happening. Clothes ready, hair groomed, boots shined, and an ambush from one of the finest and unused perfumes in Aurelia's dusty collection just as sunlight touched the land, and now the quiet barracks and Prime Minister Stuart's chilling intonation of calmness escaping the Court.
The knights shut the door behind Aurelia, leaving her to the dim silence of the observation deck overlooking the backs of aristocrats and full view of the Prime Minister pacing beneath the empty throne and the five Paladins robed in ceremonial white from head to toe that earned them the moniker of the faceless White Guards.
Aurelia stopped behind the pillar shadowing the other person watching the session, a blind spot from the light and prying eyes.
"Good morning, Sir Erich."
Then came a dry voice. "Glad you could join me, Princess."
"They think this cabal of wealth and power they've accrued weakens the Kingdom. And the reality, my dear friends, is far from what they envisioned."
Prime Minister Stuart's voice haunted the room as though the walls of the confessionals had been stripped away.
"Assembled here today, it is evident that our primary concern revolves around determining how much paint we'll have to bury the blood of the next generation on our castles and walls. This is why we have peace and why we demand so much from you while we're at peace."
There came a time when the word 'coup' crossed her mind. It always happened in broad daylight. Soldiers roaming the streets, gates and exits cordoned off, and the storming of the chambers while the central figures were in session.
There were three sides. It's always three sides: the positive and the opportunists, the fearful and the conflicts of interest, and the neutrals and the bigger opportunists; in one way or another, there are traitors among them, bound by unity through loose interconnecting interests. And yet the hall whispered conspiracy against the Hero, and the man himself concerned himself with staving sleep.
Royal Knights and dark gray-clad men entered the chamber, their presence revealed only halfway with clanking armor and the parade of dull boots as they surrounded the seats.
"They are?"
"The Ministry Guards."
They've reached a breakthrough from the looks of it. The Ministry Guard yesterday held an air of tradition with their dark blue tunics comparable to its contemporaries. The black trousers, their red stripes, and red pipings survived. What was left of that, they burned into ashes and retailored them into militarized suits.
White shirt, dark blue necktie, four outward-sewn pockets, white braided bundles of cords and leather belts, and peaked caps with a white crown and dark blue band; cheaper than even Aurelia would've liked.
But then again, humility was a simple word whose mastery was beyond the comprehension of those who prided themselves as a man amongst men. To the rest of the world, it might as well be naked. But they weren't here for a fashion statement. The perception of a simple cloak was related to the power it wielded.
"Everyone will come to fear your simplicity."
And yet, that's his plan, was it not? Hero Erich was not simply a man, but the Common Man; the simple farmer who toiled himself in the fields, the tavern keeper treading through the bottles and flipped tables of every drunken brawl, and even the child counting how many moons have passed, how the colors of the leaves changed, waiting for their father's return from war.
He represented the meek and their struggles and tragedies in one ultimate prayer, and on the floor were the common folk's hopes and dreams.
At least that's what he's trying to portray.
"I don't expect them to love me. That's what you people are for."
The Hero emerged from behind the pillar, adorned in the same colors, and Aurelia arrayed herself to his side. Noticing it, he stepped back and added an artistic finish of both hands to the back, at attention, espousing her authority before his.
"You say that, but does embracing my cousin in front of the nobility defeat its purpose?"
"You have access to undistributed knowledge. Find the bias."
His tone came dismissive, if not exasperated, laced with disappointment. It had already occurred to her that he was no son of a simple family of civil servants. The moment the Hero embraced her cousin and, by extension, the Crown, he became their open bribe. If the Royal House can control the Hero, there's no better alternative than staying loyal.
Aurelia would not wish anybody the responsibilities of a noble. The lifestyle stemmed from how they utilize discretion and intrigue the best. It chips pieces of themselves, that feeling that you're free, alive. How else could he endure the clear threat of political and literal murder?
"Does she know?"
"I'd be disappointed if she doesn't."
So no. Aurelia's chest tightened. But within the peripherals of her thoughts was the very thing she refused to accept. Annalise was far better-abled in navigating the lifeless society that became their birthright.
Whatever the case, honesty was an asset. And for whatever shred of innocence left in the girl fluttering like embers, honesty was worth more than mountains of treasure to the man who will have everything in the palm of his hand and the restraint from clenching it. It was a burden best suited to the determined, not to those with a future.
Yet Aurelia's eyes kept darting into the dim seats behind her. For all his big plans, he took the role of a figurehead and loyal minister too well. But his eyes were heavy. He could barely raise it.
In the dim confines of the deck, it was up to the imagination of the distant aristocrats to interpret it. He raised his far hand and popped open a bottle of black water with a key-like device. It hissed as bubbles rushed to the liquid's surface like an elixir fresh from the cauldron.
The first thing Aurelia felt the first time she'd "drink the sorrows away" was the bitterness. The nausea from smelling it came first, of course. It was an acquired taste built on a process. Perhaps he grew accustomed to it, born in a culture of drinking. The Hero took a sip and exhaled, reinvigorated.
Then he caught Aurelia's gaze, and his expression was never without obscurity. He seemed to lose awareness of his surroundings for a moment, setting his bottle on the balustrade and opening a bottle for her. It was cold by the touch.
A celebratory drink would overload the aristocracy's collective minds over the meanings as the Professors of Arts were keen on beauty for the sake of beauty rather than the application of interpretative skills for military strategy. The Royal Knights and Ministry Guards surrounded the aristocrats on their seats.
She steeled herself for the taste and sipped. Her eyes went wide. Thousands of tiny bubbles blasted inside her mouth, yet it equalized with sweet, syrupy freshness. Sugar. Let alone the rest, Aurelia's shoulders felt a little less heavy.
"Honorable ladies and gentlemen, please be at ease. They have no reason to harm you."
Doubtful within the presence of the Royal Knights and the new force with their firearms. At the main door adjacent to the throne came the blue-robed Sergeant-at-arms of the Hall leading a pale gray-coated Ministry Guard carrying a brown envelope.
Of course, it had to be a woman. There was always something sinister about having a seemingly vulnerable lady in command of the mysterious force surrounding them. And for her to possess a scandalous shade of silver banded to a messy bun hinted at the doctrine of cold comfort and efficiency.
Honestly, there was nothing special about her. Physically, she's as attractive as it could get, like a noble lady with a crown of flowers. And yet, for some reason, Aurelia envied it.
No, she knew the reason why, at least guessed. The natural features were not the highlights of the woman's presence but irrelevant excesses as Sir Erich seemed to plan. Despite the suit's status as the poor man's formal clothing, it possesses a power not even a King would dare wield; one Heroes preferred for their simplicity and dislike of even the Kingdom's splendid tailors' masterpieces. The suit was the pinnacle of clothing, a gentleman's armor that no decoration or etiquette of an ideal noble could ever rival.
Power and confidence were always attractive. Her mysteriousness aired a wielder of unknown authority. Some might view it as impudence before the Crown, but there was no arrogance. Compared to the disciplined Knight or the Ministry Guard's strictness, the aristocrats' glares were nothing to her. It might as well be air.
She stopped as the sergeant stopped, the latter making way for the Prime Minister on the rostrum.
"Your Excellency, Members of the Court, I bid you a wonderful morning. I am Inspector-General Julia Goldstein, Vice Minister of Security," she lowered her head. "I am here on behalf of Minister Kasper to answer His Majesty's call regarding the associates of the former House of Blaire sitting within this hall."
A few heads turned to one another. Her voice seemed to echo in everyone's ears. Normally, it'd be a great disrespect for a Minister to appoint a representative to the Court for official matters, but the Hero was unique. He and the Ministry of Security were norm-breakers, redefiners of what constituted etiquette. They were working hard, and conveying that meant conceding to it if it worked.
A paladin stepped down from the throne platform, carrying with him an ornate bag envelope as per the formal transfer of articles from the Crown to the Parliament to Prime Minister Stuart.
A letter. Reading it, he then motioned for the Sergeant-at-arms of the Parliamentary Court to retrieve the Vice Minister's envelope. He took a glance and passed it back to the sergeant, whose eyes shifted on the envelope's contents and the seats. He looked at the Prime Minister without receiving a reply. It was clear what their next steps were and why the Paladins, Royal Knights, and the Hero's Guards were there.
The Vice Minister moved aside for the sole Blue Guard. Her round eyeglasses hid a restrained sharpness. Yet there was no fierceness, no meaningless projection. She was not someone they could slight, for her will was impenetrable, superficiality beyond her. It was a mockery of the influence these aristocrats held, and it struck deep.
"Lord Melkeroth, rise," the aristocrat followed as commanded. "By the authority vested in this esteemed Court, you are hereby detained under suspicion of high treason."
"What is the meaning of this?" knights stormed through the seats and dragged him to the walkway. "Unhand me! This has to be a mistake!"
Pinned to the floor, his head flailed slowed toward Aurelia and the Hero's general direction, and the aristocrat froze. A beat and more eyes fell on them. Now they knew, and the aristocrat roused.
"I've been framed! This is a false accusation from the Hero!"
Shameless swine! If she can't cut it as it sprouts, who knows what will happen?
"Don't."
Aurelia clicked her tongue and let go of her sword. Perhaps holding the bottle haughtily would minimize the accusation's weight, maybe a hand on the hip, but then the dirt and blood her boots and sword collected would amount to nothing.
The Ministry Guardsman near the pinned man spurred his rifle away from rest, drill-stepped, and presented himself to him. She held her breath, and then the guardsman's arms shifted away from the stiff tradition.
Aurelia cringed from a meaty thump, and the aristocrat's cries fell silent. The guardsman retracted the butt-end of his rifle, letting the Knights drag him off the chamber, and returned to his rigorous drill and position.
Purges relied on a meticulously designed plan, and apprehending those in the Court would only spur those outside it. It's inconceivable for the Hero to do it haphazardly like he's daring them.
"Heed my words: This Kingdom will be nothing more than a marionette under the Hero's palm!"
"Cascadia deserves better than this!"
While the few protested and proclaimed themselves martyrs, the others surrendered themselves. The Hero frowned or perhaps showed teeth as the barest reaction he could muster fighting sleep. Whatever it was, his eyes rolled away with an apparent boredom as the sergeant continued naming the suspects one by one. Whoever the guilty was from the flock of the innocent and passionate, time will tell.
However, "Is it right to gain the animosity of the innocent?"
"Innocence is a non-factor until it isn't. Passion is a desirable trait until it becomes a detriment. You are either useful or you're not. I'm sure you understand that better than others."
He and Aurelia's relationship was an inevitability he was willing to welcome at the cost of his true feelings. Honesty was only to humor it. The awkward conversations were for the cultivation of symmetry between him and the Kingdom. It would be foolish to expect more from it. And she was a fool.
By that metric, Annalise's words meant nothing to him. Aurelia must tell her. The pain she'll feel now won't amount to the one fermented.
"What of the self-proclaimed patriots? Their charges may be ironclad, but the doubts have been enkindled."
The Hero shrugged. And by the time the sergeant finished, a fifth of the chairs were left empty.
A day after the Count of Blaire and the students' execution, the Hero's pragmatism and backroom deals had them dragging people out in the Assembly Hall. The words of the Kingdom becoming a marionette will resonate. Friendships will turn into imprisonment, kindness becomes greed, and political marriages will become an usurpation.
But the man named Erich was normal, and yet he received dismay for it.
With the bottle empty and discarded, he went out. The Vice Minister of Security's muffled voice reached them, but her words became nothing more than tremors across halls, entrenching himself in the political powers within the Kingdom.
***
Abbey of Solace, Palace of Cascadia
Late Morning
Finding Annalise had been far too easy, despite the girl's memory in the labyrinth of flowers and hedges. Or that's for her attendant's sake, waiting for an emptied cup.
"I cannot understand him."
Forget skipping the meeting with the military, slipping back home for other matters aroused a simple shrug. Given his presence of mind, it might as well be a given as to why a spy would return to her superior.
"What is there that you cannot understand about him, cousin?"
"Everything. He has all the reason in the world to hate us, earned his birthright of insolence to dishonor my entire self, but...but he doesn't. We could talk to each other, eat, and walk together, I can already sense the whispers and gossip outside of those who knew what I did to him."
"What do you mean?"
"What I'm saying is he has done everything to denigrate me."
"Everything?" Annalise raised a brow.
"That's what his actions are telling me."
Courteous when necessary, always with decorum but cold and reserved. There was no point fretting about the misunderstandings returning to the palace brought. In the end, Aurelia was nothing more than a breath down the Hero's neck.
"He's treating that day as if nothing had happened."
There were many things one couldn't fix. What had happened to him to mold him into the person Aurelia knew, it was better to accept that she may never become his pillar. All that was left was to pick up the pieces.
"You shouldn't have vouched for me. He must despise you now."
"Then he'll hate me for being truthful," a slight smile formed. "I can live with that."
"How can you trust him?"
"I can only believe just as he can only believe I will never betray him."
The two have grown intimate. It was not intimacy blooming between man and woman — assuming so would mock their torment — but from two souls bound together in a mutual understanding that has pierced through superficial appearance and fragrance. Soldiers called it camaraderie; the ideal noble referred to it as duty. What those two call the intimacy between them was something only they define.
"Some great friends you two have become."
And yet, Aurelia couldn't help but feel a little jealous.
"Yes. Though, I doubt we share the same definition."
Then they're not true friends? "Then what are you two?"
"Us?" she pondered the question for as long as the ripples ceased. "You could say we're confidants."
"Then why aren't you there for him?"
"I do want to be with him. Not a minute goes by when I want to be with my friend when he's facing so much pain. But you're different. You can see him anytime at your leisure while I, the Heiress of Estrier, have shown him my stance. But as a person, I have shown him my heart."
Forget the intimacy earlier, "You're falling for him."
It made sense, but Annalise shook her head.
"If I did, life would be simpler, no? I am grateful for him saving me. But to fall for him would be to betray ourselves. He saw me at my most vulnerable. And by the same token, he shared a piece of himself."
Aurelia fought against a tremble. She wanted to ask. Goddammit, even if it would ruin their relationship, Aurelia wanted to know.
"I discarded my title as Prioress Superior for my beliefs and pleaded to reinstate it out of friendship. He'd never hand me to the Lightshippers."
And by doing so, she was both was and wasn't. She was free, but most importantly, she was safe from the church. A Hero and a Saint was a sight to behold.
"I'm useful to him that way, and I cannot grow conceited and show myself just because we have become friends. You can say I'm practically avoiding him, saving him from the burden of interpretation whenever I visit."
"Anna..."
Her arms wrapped around Aurelia, and a fuzzy warmth coursed through her body.
"I understand how difficult it will be to apologize to him. Fight. Arm yourself with the truth, even if it may crack and fold. As long as you're honest, as long as you keep faith, I'm sure you'll be surprised to find he's actually quite personable."
It was hard to tell if Annalise told the truth or her version of the truth. The difference between her trust and a woman in love was ambiguous, yet she seemed so happy. Her smile had become brighter and purer compared to the quiet optimism and maturity that had eluded them as stability.
"I don't even know how to," not after what he's done to him. "Everything seemed so hopeless."
"What do you see in the Hero? Let's begin with that."
"Salvation," what else would they call for his descent?
"Now, what do you see in Erich?"
Annalise's gaze weighed on her. As much as her help was for Aurelia's sake, Aurelia couldn't shake that feeling that the answer was not only for Aurelia but for both a sister and a concerned friend. There was no use hiding something Annalise already knew.
"Lonely."
"And what do you wish to do?"
"Be there for him."
To whom are you referring to alone?"
The Hero would be the natural answer. Like a chick fresh from taking its first steps outside its egg, he was vulnerable. He has nothing to defend himself. But the man isolated in his tower needed love and warmth, that he was not alone.
But she had burned him once.
"Erich."
"Why go so far for someone who loathes you?"
"Because I want to."
"Why is that?"
"Because no one else can."
"And you say I'm falling for him?"
"Shut it," this was different.
The world may sing and curse his name, but what she had done to him, what she had done to his sacrifice, and what he was willing to do for this unworthy world...it will cost what's left of him. But if she could fill the pieces with hers, then maybe the tower would be a little less lonely.
Annalise giggled and shoved her away.
"Then follow your heart. If it's that, then he'll understand. He has to."
***
The crackling rifle fire bled through the noise suppression spell to that of a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil and the dulled clashing of swords.
The ease of the weapon released the knights' heavy burden, continuing to practice their marksmanship in simple clothes and staggered formations built from the ingenuity of flipped tables and crates.
Aurelia surprised herself. Not because of herself but because she gave in to it. Who was she to bring a bag of snacks to...Erich? It'd convince him to end everything on the spot.
"Where's the Hero?"
"He's in the armory, Your Highness, with the Marshal and Grandmaster."
And just as the knight said, a Paladin squad guarded the entrance.
"Lastly, the Maneuvering Weapons Company variant. Unlike the rest, which are designed for sustainable defensive positions, this configuration is designed for soldiers on the move. Therefore, maximizing its effects requires more training and discipline before its drawbacks manifest."
So engrossed in the discussion, Marshal of Cascadia Eleazor Severin, Grandmaster Schach Yademoul of the Royal Knight Order, and their compatriots, their years of experience masking whatever thoughts they held, couldn't spare a curious glance.
Erich and Sir Kempf did notice her, but the latter continued describing one of the cannon-like contraptions arrayed on the ground and table, each getting less sophisticated and lesser parts.
"These are all magnificent weapons, Minister, Ordnance General. But you must understand that the funds necessary to procure them would elicit a Court Inquiry. We would like to illustrate the statistics to the aristocracy on its effectiveness."
The Ordnance General looked to Erich, who then sighed.
"The machine gun...is a wall. It is a demarcation of imperial conquest and the subjugation of will that has created many heroes."
"Heroes, sir?"
"A common weapon in war is not something worth noticing, so nobody can fully grasp what it takes to stop one. Utterly common it was, you won't hear poems of its devastation than a mere excerpt. The best you'll get is a brief description in history books that does no justice to the power it has. Whoever uses it must have a ready heart because the only good machine gunner is one who discards his humanity."
For centuries, they have sought to replicate the Hero Johannes' lost weapons and those he has spoken of. But now that they are here, was it worth losing the sense that separated man from beast?
If the Great War Erich and his precursors spoke of was truly great to have affected the soul of those who have stepped foot in the mythical devastation of the No Man's Land, how many of these machine gunners broke away from service, pride, and duty to one's nation for many his brethren under different flags charging towards him?
How much did he beg, cry, and flail for them to run away? And did these men understand his act? Or was he nothing more than a valuable prey showing weakness after bringing death to their brothers simply because they were born on different sides of a river?
"Your Highness, forgive us. We didn't notice you."
Aurelia jolted. The officers and knights of Cascadia set their fists to their chests while Erich's eyes questioned her.
Even with the Ordnance General, Erich stood out wearing something pathetic in front of such esteemed individuals as if it were a statement. It held the same style as the militarized suit as earlier with hidden plackets, but thicker, and the cuffs fashioned themselves to that of a shirt with a rather distinctive looseness exacerbated by the drabbish tone exposing the rough woven texture and odd-seamed belt puffing the coat.
It was the bare minimum of fashion, standing against everything a uniform stood for and what the dandies yearned for. It deprived a man's figure as if the odd-seamed belt on the waist clung to the past, saved only by the desire for a holster for his pistol.
But war deprived anyone of humanity. The looseness of his clothes seemed to seek comfort for a hundred days and hundred nights over the appearances in one banquet in one year. The colors embraced nature despite her harsh indifference with the morning fog and the forest; gray and green; hiding him.
This was not a tunic to impress but a tunic for war. And the fools who never tasted war will cry to her father for letting the Hero represent the Kingdom with an army with no taste.
"Sir Erich, I would like to borrow a bit of your time if you do not mind."
His head tilted right, and Aurelia held her breath. The loyalty and political sharpness of Cascadia's high officers complied with silence, but Erich's freedom of expression, his stunned silence, and doubtful pause; it was foolhardy from the start.
She wasn't like Annalise. She wasn't the timid and girly lady who'd pull a man to the side with a picnic basket in tow. She couldn't wait. She did not want to wait. Eventually, he straightened his head.
"Very well, Your Highness. Gentlemen, I'd like to continue offering hindsight, but it appears I'm needed elsewhere. Mister Kempf, I'll leave the rest to you."
"Understood, Minister. Gentlemen, if there are no more queries of the machine gun, let me interest you in the Trench Gun."
As the Ordnance General took the lead, Erich motioned Aurelia out and followed her away from prying ears, matching her pace and tailoring his gait as a humble servant, not even sparing his tone.
"Now, what can I do for you, Princess?"
"You looked unwell this morning," she forced it out, even surprised herself by the smooth delivery. " I thought you could use a break."
"Your concern is appreciated, but we're reaching our development goals far earlier than anticipated."
A political answer. This was not one of those awkward conversations. There was no hesitation, lulls between topics, or fear of falsehoods. The scope was beyond anything personal. Communication was vital, and respect was necessary. However, whether that respect was for the title or not was a simple guess. Just the thought made her chest tight.
"Does it explain your clothing?"
"Pathetic, huh?"
Aurelia frowned. A test, perhaps. But compared to her militarized dress, his looked comfortable. His shoes barely clacked and fought against the floor. He could've buttoned the collar of his tunic, yet he chose to slight the officer. Everything was a work of art, filled with hidden meanings.
"If it is pathetic, what would you call these frills for cuffs and this dress of a tunic?"
The cost of chasing criminals on cobblestone would be insignificant, and she wouldn't have to fight both the leather around her ankles and her opponent in combat.
It's doubtful battlefield practicality can overtake tradition and trample the dandies when the environment most often associated with it had zero regard for such luxury. It was efficient. It was a testament to the value of field soldiering over the superficiality of a good parade.
"Yeah, a pity," he shrugged.
"Anyway," she thrust the bag to him. "Take these. They're still warm."
"You're awfully kind today. Is everything alright?" Erich added more curiosity to his tone.
"I recall you allowed me to do whatever."
"Fair enough. Now what?"
And in return, his casual tone injected more curiosity into her mind.
"I believe it's time for you to eat."
His bored eyes narrowed. "Maybe you first."
"It's not poisoned. I swear on my life."
"Okay," then he handed her a sandwich. "Want a taste?"
Yet Erich's suspicion didn't compliment his tone. The softness of the bread tested the willpower concentrated on her hands. Aurelia couldn't bear to look at him as she received his reply. Nibbling it was a chore; the thin-sliced meat wrapped in savory condiments and the freshest produce and bread tasted so bland.
"Really, what do you want?"
And for the first time, his real self reached out to her, vexing, curious, and casual.
However, "What I want can't be conveyed through words. I can only ask you to allow me to be by your side."
"What happened to 'Do whatever you want?'"
You know why. Aurelia was nothing more than a predator waiting for its prey to show weakness. It'd be disappointing if he didn't know. All she could do was do as told — be honest.
"Are these the uniforms you'll issue to your troops?"
"Yes, Field Gray Number 2 Battle Dress Uniform. You'll have yours in White Gray with dog collars and the possibility of turning it into a barracks dress once you discover the wonders of sharing a common color. I give that about a year on your own."
So his open collar was a protest for comfort. "Why a year?"
"It's the perfect time for everyone else to adapt and a complete abolition of pitched battles or frontal confrontations as the central battle doctrine. It kinda bogged down our ally, the most powerful military on Earth, with two trillion currency down the drain in two decades and a systematic political kerfuffle designed to bring back someone who essentially tried to overthrow their government. It's an occupational hazard, is what I'm trying to say."
And you say it so casually?!
"I doubt you care about our army other than numbers."
"Heavens no. My grandfather would choke me to death if I looked down on soldiers."
"Your grandfather was a soldier?"
"A career officer — always wore his old service jacket and boots whenever we went hunting. Gave it all to me once he set the rifle on the wall mount for the last time. So much for that."
Hunting, was it? That explained Erich's accustomed behavior around weapons. But what kind of life has he lived, unfazed by the bleakness he implied that had enveloped his world?
"Uncle has a hunting lodge south of the Kingdom. If you want to, I'm sure he won't mind."
"I'd like that."
"Then I'll let him know some other time."
Aurelia smiled. She couldn't care less how many raised eyebrows it caused. Who would care about what she felt? Anna and the rest, maybe, but who else? And why should they care? Honesty was too fickle to fester in the world she lived.
He grabbed a sandwich and held it by his mouth, grabbing a small notebook from his front pocket, flipping through scripts, and checking boxes until unmarked ones remained.
"I apologize, Sir Erich, but may I inquire about the results of the meeting?"
He marked one box and freed his mouth. "Nothing too interesting. It's about what you'd expect on procurement — scope expands, and things get expensive; our concern now is the gap in training between infantry and officers. We can supplement them with mine, but that'd leave a bad taste."
"If our regiments become puppets, then I will bestow upon them my presence. Will that be acceptable?"
"Then congratulations on your appointment to the Cascade Rifles, Your Highness," he accepted without a second to spare.
"But I will, however, maintain my current position as liaison. That is non-negotiable."
He suppressed an incredulous look and sighed. "By your will, Regimental Chief."
Aurelia held her giddiness from shaking. It may be disappointing for him, but being further away left a lot to be desired.
"While we are in the process of forming it, Sir Erich, may I trouble you with a set of your uniform?"
"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Princess, but unreliables will think I dominated you."
"My mother would mourn looking inside my wardrobe. But my request is not from a simple desire. I simply want to make a public statement."
A political one.
"Intentional cage rattling; fine, I'll have you as Regimental Chief on one of our units, call it Princess of Cascadia's Own Rifles Regiment or something."
That's two more decorations in Aurelia's repertoire. A folded set and high-laced shoes appeared over his forearm. The fresh smell of new shoes tickled her nose. Field Gray Number 2 Battle Dress Uniform. A smile was fine, but it took discipline to stop her hands from curling into a fist and wrinkling it.
The Hero's influence could only take her so far. And with the amount of fear he's stacking, Aurelia's appearance would become the symbol of the Kingdom's renunciation of its sovereignty. Slow and steady wins the race, or so they say. The day she will adorn the uniform will be the day they march back to the capital victorious.
"Sir Erich."
"Hm?"
"I know I will make a statement, but I want to hear your thoughts before proceeding."
"What else is there? I'm stockpiling for a famine."
"But I'm sure you could make a compelling argument out of the intricacies of appearance."
Erich's brows furrowed. "If you're too lazy to cook up something from firewood, then I want you as a bonfire that only heats those on our side and leaves the rest to freeze to death. I'm not going to entertain this trial of allegiance when unity is more valuable than ever for our arms against tyranny."
Aurelia's heart skipped a beat. Throughout history, simple words have always been the language of Heroes. If thrust with a speech, legions of orators and poets gather and sanctify his words across the land. But Erich wasn't like those Heroes. He didn't have a lot to lose. Erich would embrace anything, even betrayal.
If given the chance, he wouldn't mind letting tyrants loose and put the world into its final struggle, one caused by themselves, with the weapons he unleashed.
"I haven't raised this issue because I expect to see the confidence I was assured and reassured when our agreement came into effect. Have you done anything past looking pretty and eavesdropping?
He readied himself to leave her, but a growl escaped as Erich sighed and massaged his head. His head sank forward. He seemed like he was about to trip. Aurelia grabbed onto him by reflex. It was an incomprehensible thing to do, but it was too late.
"Are...are you okay? Should I call a healer?"
His arm was too tense, hand clawing his face like he was about to rip it off. No. This shouldn't have happened. He needed rest, and all Aurelia done was tire him. His breaths steadied, expression now concentrating on it.
"If you need something, please don't hesitate to tell me."
"Slept late last night."
Erich appeared to have done nothing at all, but there was no rest in his mind. This...game of his, which took the form of his power, functioned in it. His indifference seemed so much of a mask hiding something. How his powers functioned and what the backlash was, he'd never divulge.
"The backlash of a Hero's power is well-documented — fatigue, unconsciousness...headaches."
Told of this truth, Erich's arm relaxed. He let go of his face, solemn and distant.
"This is a secret only the royal family knows. It's bound onto the wielder of the Instruments of Summoning mind and shared with their bloodline in Blood Communion. We had no right to tell you because this long because we couldn't risk you alienating us. You have, and will always have, the right to prepare to bear arms against us."
"Princess."
Quickly erasing doubts, the mana circulating Aurelia chilled her to the bone.
"Yes?"
"God created Man, and they subjected the weak to the mercy of the strong."
A pistol appeared on his hand, bearing a resemblance to the world's contemporaries than the ones in Erich's possession.
"And Samuel Colt, his revolver, his legacy, made them equal."
If he could produce the ones he had without worry, the one on his hand must be a revolutionary precursor.
"There was no longer such a thing as weak and strong, only the weak and willing. Citizen and government, woman and man, the oppressed and the oppressor; as far as I'm concerned, Princess, it proved to be such a weapon of equality that instills diplomacy, the Peacemaker. Take, for instance, a Marquis' fat son named Greasy Fingers — a literal mouth breather, barely catching one full breath; a total pariah — having his eyes on a cute little Baron's daughter who got meeker and submissive every year because of her weak mana capacity. And then she shoots him dead on the spot in self-defense."
And once again, they were back to the way they talk. Less with the precision of language and always with the expositive illustrations that silenced opposition. But who was she to complain? The youthful world, the complacent world, rallied against its savior's vision with its ignorance. And now he has the power to make it a mission to educate them descriptively of the consequences.
Her only fear was whether his illustrations would remain verbal or not.
"I need people who are willing, not those who are weak and only know the language of praises. All the latter does is make the willing wonder if their efforts are worth it because those suckers plug their ears with emotional tirades over factual analyses from the politician looking for their vote after proclaiming their preventable social disabilities and laziness as the peak of civilization in the meritocratic world."
There it was, another illustration masked as a tangent. But the fragments, pieced together, explained why Erich remained unfazed over the politics. A surprise may surprise, but it only amounted to a shrug for him. His image as a Hero as a Minister of the Crown; he cared only because it was useful.
A Coalition of the Willing. This was his plan. Aurelia's birth, her proximity, her capability — it was a call to arms. For her, and her only.
"You speak of the weak and willing, but what about the unwilling but not weak?"
"If pressed harder than desired, we have no choice but to conscript them."
"That's all?"
"You need soldiers, not traitors. Once professionalization reaches the core level of an individual, you only teach them hate and see living tragedies in formations if the only concern you have is how shiny their belt buckles have to be when they march to battle instead of teaching them that a shovel is better than a bayonet because once it's stuck on the ribs, you waste precious seconds freeing it from the poor bastard. Call me a coward, but it's not ancient magic. They just need good food, sleep, and most importantly, respect."
"I see."
Aurelia could only nod. It took time to digest everything he said, grasping it piece by piece.
"There may be opposition, especially from those with rose-tinted glasses. I experienced it myself when I was young, innocent, and rosy myself. But I'm curious to know: How do you see the battlefield?"
"Mud."
Aurelia's fluttering heart waited for another fresh breath of air, another piece of soul-provoking wisdom digressing and expanding from the original subject, but he gave none. It was defined, elegant, and precise, but it became clear now.
Aurelia was curious, but Erich was talking to the Crown Princess, not her. Whenever his illustrations came up, Aurelia couldn't help but notice the passion in his eyes, that this happened because of that, pleading for her to understand and learn from their mistakes.
All this time, it was because of her status that Erich blessed Aurelia with more than she deserved. He doesn't see her as a person but as a tool for the future. After all, why go so far for someone like her? The pain she felt was nothing compared to the pain she brought him.
And she wanted to stand by him more than ever, together renouncing the shackles constraining them into the classical depiction of their time in paintings that would immortalize them as beacons of a decrepit system that can no longer exist in the age of their descendants, an age founded upon faith and understanding of Man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish of freedom, tolerance, and justice.
Whether he was talking to the Crown Princess or Aurelia was a matter for later. If only she could just find the courage to...cup his cheeks or something to shut him up and tell him she understands.
"Sir Erich, once I'm clothed, may I interest you for a walk around the city, preferably the richer areas?"
But that's only a dream. She'll show it to him. She'll show him he doesn't have to be alone in this world.
"I'll have to disappoint you, Princess. I'll be away for about a week at best."
Huh? This was the first time she heard it. Why? "What for?"
"It's time. Get clothed and tell His Majesty to 'verify his clock.' You can get the details from him. Until then, have a good day."
"I'm not coming...?"
Erich took his time with his reply. Her feelings must've escaped from her voice.
"Everyone's pitching in for this one; The Duke, Marshal, Grand Master, the Treasury. We need every reliable person to their stations. Can I count on you, too?"
***
Laurentine, Kingdom of Salais
Five days later
When Laurentia fattened itself with the addicting taste of pacifism, Grand Marshal Ferd of Salais' faith was tested. When the heretical Parliamentarians usurped control and entered into the corrupt decadence of the Conclave Era, his heart wavered.
When the debauchery and greed within the shadows of intrigue and assassinations led to the summoning and enslavement of the Hero, sending the continent into the Great Tragedy as their supposed savior broke his shackles and condemned the world of its life, the Grand Marshal's heart hardened.
Never again will there be another Conclave to obliterate another Hero's soul...end another child's innocence. No one will ever see such great tragedy, of the young boy's last tears as he cursed this world over a mound built from the warriors of grand coalitions.
Never. What remained, all warriors in the sword and pen, all those willing to rebuild Laurentia brick by brick, had to congregate.
Viscount Nand of Cascadia, one of the last few leaders of the Laurentia's Most Honorable Resistance during the Conclave Era, one of the Marshal's greatest comrades that has shed blood and shared sorrows with, sought a return to their Kingdom's pacifist ways.
The two clashed words. It was unthinkable for such a warrior of his caliber to succumb to the very same weakness that has brought upon such tragedy since the demons. They understood why they debated. They knew they needed each other. A country cannot function without its scholars, and a country cannot protect itself without its warriors.
A shattered continent was a prize for the taking. What was destroyed inside, they can make up for those outside. The Marshal readied the crown that would make him the dastardly conqueror and opportunist of the new era. He was ready to pave the road to heaven with sin, but the Viscount's spirit was too weak.
Both men left, knowing something needed to change. Two of the greatest warriors of the Great Tragedy, dividing Laurentia for themselves and seeing who's right. Marshal Ferd gathered the warriors of North Laurentia, conveying peace with the south with armies protecting the scholars concocting new wisdom and laws.
But even peace cannot force change. Foreign blades and envoys grew sharper and bolder each passing day, eyeing what riches a weak Laurentia remained. The hope that withheld himself from wearing the crown had withered. He couldn't even find the will to block the Viscount's hand.
On that day, a unified Laurentia under a new King was born. Cascadia was nothing but a memory to the now Duke Nand Numen. Or so they thought.
Words were cheap for a resistance leader, even in war for a greater Laurentia. As the Marshal betrayed the Duke, the Duke betrayed the Marshal's friendship. He turned institutions against the new Kingdom, split the Royal Academy and the Officers Academy, and let radicalism simmer into the minds of the Kingdom's foundations so slowly like poison until his death.
By then, the poisons of free speech, equal rights and opportunities, and the many refutations that a Kingdom of its Era cannot embrace sustainably had spread. And with it, whispers of discontent became words. These words became cries until, eventually, blood was shed lest it jeopardize their campaigns.
The Duke knew he wouldn't live to see a Laurentia of his image, so he groomed his children to be his successors of what would become the White Spring the following generation, a period of civil unrest under the Cascadian White banner due to misrule. The army intervened, and it spiraled into a secessionist rebellion.
After decades of insurgency, one epic battle separated Laurentia from the Salaians and Cascadians. They burned the south and retreated north, letting the rebels fend for themselves, only to discover everything was a ruse to steal the Instruments of Summoning and do the unthinkable.
The power of the sun was with them. The Second Great Tragedy was upon them, memories and scars still fresh from the first twenty years earlier, but they struck first. The new Duke of Numen renounced its claim to the land in favor of the Hero King and one of the Ladies of Numen to declare the Kingdom of Cascadia.
Ever since then, it has sought to destroy any lingering doubts of another Great Tragedy. Swaths of land that would become a breadbasket of a Laurentian Empire, all pissed away. The sacrifices they, united, have built, Cascadia discarded just like that.
"The message from our spies in the Seine has arrived with reports from the same activity: A mass exodus of slave merchants."
Faced with such a confounding plot, King Charles of Salais contemplated on the day-old report from Cascadia on the table.
Widespread Cascadian anti-espionage activity under the Hero's Ministry. Position UNTENABLE. Operations UNFEASIBLE. Dozens CAPTURED. Firearms USED.
He read another from a different region with the same excuse, but with one crucial detail.
Hero's Court Representative DENOUNCED Salais. Taxes RISING. Resources GATHERING. Cascadian Brigades march NORTH.
King Charles drew a heavy breath. A National Hero? Preposterous. He had never heard of something so shameless in his life but the consistent reality Cascadia presented begged to differ. They had a hidden blade. A Bureaucrat Hero would never instigate a war with them without more information, let alone by the start of autumn. But what and where, does it exist or not, was the question.
"Muster the south under the guise of large-scale exercises. They think our show will have us scrounge for scraps in our warehouses — let them."
Two sentences, one that carried enough instructions to all units. It was generations in the making, and he mustn't let the forefathers' efforts go to waste.