Chapter 922
"This is also another golden opportunity for the Empire to test its force, to have our standing army taste blood and not rot away in garrison positions," the voice urged, dripping with arrogant ambition. "There is no greater opportunity to live-test our military doctrines, and at the same time, deliver an undeniable show of force to prove the true reach of the Empire’s might."
On paper, the logic spilling from his advisors was airtight, a masterclass in cold, pragmatic statecraft. But as Chen sat listening to their eager war-drums, a bitter knot tightened in his chest. Everything they advocated for was precisely what he despised.
Deep down, the brutal struggles of his sister and her self-proclaimed Björn Kingdom brought him a dark, quiet satisfaction. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted her to feel the crushing weight of isolation and desperation for the way she had turned her back and abandoned him with no second thought, alone with their father. Helping her was the last thing his heart desired.
Yet, as the sovereign of the empire, his personal hatred was a luxury he could never afford to display. To voice his true desires, to admit that he would gladly watch her kingdom burn out of sheer, festering spite would shatter his image entirely. In the eyes of the court, the generals, and the people, a ruler governed by petty familial vengeance was weak, erratic, and unfit to wear the crown.
So he was forced into a cage of his own making, trapped behind a mask of stoic neutrality, compelled to nod along with advisors who were eagerly solving a problem he secretly wished would swallow his sister whole.
"With all due respect to expansion and live-firing our regiments, we are blind," a cool, measured voice cut through the clamor of the war room.
Lord Vane, the minister of intelligence, stood up from the lower end of the polished table, his expression grim. "To march our forces across the sea to prop up the Björn Kingdom without knowing the true strength of their adversaries is reckless. We risk overextending our supply lines and bleeding our treasury for a failing cause. The wisest course of action is absolute non-intervention. Let them weather their own storms, if they fall, it clears the board for us to step in later on our own terms."
Chen’s eyes snapped toward Vane, a rare, genuine wave of relief washing over him. The argument was clean, pragmatic, and best of all completely aligned with Chen’s secret desire to leave his sister to her fate. For a fleeting second, Chen parted his lips, ready to slam his hand down and back Vane’s proposal as the final decree of the crown.
But before a single syllable could escape Chen’s throat, a chorus of loud scoffs and dismissive waves erupted from the senior generals.
"Caution is the cloak of cowards," barked General Korrath, leaning heavily over the map. "Wait for the dust to settle? By then, foreign powers will have carved up the territory, and we’ll be locked out, with no power to say or decide how things go. We cannot afford to sit on our hands while the opportunity is there."
Before Vane could defend his stance, the rest of the council swarmed over the counter-argument, talking right over the top of it. In a matter of seconds, the voice of caution was swept aside, buried under an avalanche of aggressive war-mongering.
Chen sat frozen, his mouth closed tightly as the idea he secretly favored was casually overridden and cast to the side, leaving him once again trapped by his own court’s relentless momentum.
The debate raged on for another hour, a relentless tide of militaristic fervor that Chen found himself powerless to stem. Bound by the mask of the stoic ruler he had forced himself to wear, he watched helplessly as his secret desire to see his sister suffer was systematically crushed beneath the boots of his ambitious advisors.
Finally, General Korrath stepped forward, dropping heavily onto one knee against the polished stone floor. Across the long mahogany table, the other senior ministers, generals, and even representatives of the four great clans followed suit, dropping in unison until the entire council room was kneeling before the throne.
"My Emperor," Korrath spoke, his voice ringing with a unified, unyielding weight that left no room for debate. "The path forward is clear, and the hour demands action. We beseech you, do not let this golden opportunity slip through our fingers."
He bowed his head lower, presenting the formal decree upward.
"Send a formal request for alliance, or willingly accept the terms when Princess Yuki offers them. Let our armies march northward, and let the empire claim its glory!"
A heavy, absolute silence settled over the chamber as the entire council knelt, waiting with bated breath for their sovereign to seal his sister’s fate and his own with a single word.
Chen stared down at the sea of bowed heads, the crushing weight of his own trap pressing heavily against his chest. He knew the battle was lost. To fight them here, to tear down their aggressive logic now, would only expose his personal malice, fracturing the court’s trust and laying bare the bitter resentment he had spent years hiding.
A cold, heavy resignation settled over him. He realized that any word he uttered would be twisted by their ambition into mere hesitation, they were already writing the history of this campaign without his permission.
Slowly, deliberately, Chen leaned back against the high-backed throne, his jaw tight as he forced the words past his teeth.
"Rise," Chen commanded, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth or royal triumph.
The council members stood, their faces flushed with the eager anticipation of war, blind to the dark storm brewing in their emperor’s eyes.
"If the path of expansion is the one this court demands," Chen continued, masking his bitter disgust beneath a veneer of chilling indifference, "then let it be so. Draft the terms. Send word to the north. Accept the alliance... and let the empire’s shadow stretch across her door."
Down in the northern continent, the nightmare that the people of the Silver Kingdom had long dreaded finally came to pass.
For generations, their ancestral conflict with the Björns had been fierce, bloody, but ultimately predictable. The Björns were terrifying berserkers, brutal and relentless in a charge yet flawed. Their overwhelming bloodlust and obsession with the thrill of war often blinded them to strategy, leaving them vulnerable to tactical feints, encirclements, and calculated counter-attacks when overextended.
The Silver Kingdom had relied on these precise weaknesses to hold the line, believing a guaranteed victory was only a matter of time against such undisciplined foes.
That illusion shattered on a single, bleak dawn. Over the horizon, the Björns advanced not under their own solitary banner, but alongside a chilling new standard, the emblem of the Empire.
The arrival of the Imperial legions fundamentally re-engineered the nature of the war. Where the Björns brought chaos and unbridled fury, the Empire provided cold, unyielding discipline. The synergistic terror of this alliance quickly became apparent on the battlefield.
The Imperial army formed the tactical backbone, securing flanks, holding unbreakable formations, and managing supply lines with clinical precision. The Björns were no longer hindered by the need to hold back or guard their own rears. Unleashed completely, they could dive headfirst into the slaughter.
Whenever the Björns lost themselves in their war-lust, historically the moment the Silver Kingdom would trap and decimate them, Imperial soldiers seamlessly moved in to cover their flanks, absorbing counter-attacks and securing conquered ground.
The psychological impact on the Silver Kingdom was immediate and devastating. Morale among the rank-and-file soldiers plummeted into despair.
What was once viewed as a manageable, winnable defense devolved into a nightmare. Basic military logic dictated the grim reality, they were vastly outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out-resourced by the combined might of the Empire and the Björns.
With the frontlines locking into a grinding, attritional war of position, the soldiers of the Silver Kingdom looked out across the trenches at a terrifying truth, if the battle continued as a steady, frontal clash of arms, their kingdom would be systematically crushed into dust.
It was a losing game for the Silver Kingdom, but thankfully, its ranks were filled with capable strategists wielding brilliant contingency plans. For the first time since the war began, pride was swallowed, and vital ground was willingly surrendered.
An urgent order to fall back echoed across the lines. The soldiers of the Silver Kingdom were commanded to abandon the borderlands entirely. To preserve their strength and play directly to their advantages, necessary sacrifices had to be made.
The moment the Imperial alliance with the Björns was confirmed, the Silver Kingdom’s entire doctrine shifted. They abandoned static defense in favor of a grueling war of attrition, designed to test the limits of the Empire’s investment. How much blood were they truly willing to spend on their volatile new allies?
As the Silver Kingdom’s army executed their disciplined retreat, the Björns saw only weakness. Emboldened by the sight of their enemy pulling back, the berserkers howled for blood and charged forward in a disorganized, ravenous pursuit, eager to crush the fleeing forces.