NONE SO VILE

30: Long Live the Emperor

Albedo, Rennaire, 1810.

“It's a bloody mess is what it is." Supreme Marshal Pierce dropped his stack of papers onto the hard, mahogany skin of Albedo's circular council table. He was a wispy fox with wiry tan fur, and as he took his seat he looked up to meet the combined stares of his fellow Supreme Marshals. Each one represented a different facet of Rennaire's government, and together, they were the seven most powerful men in the country, second only to the Emperor.

Pierce's eyes could not avoid glancing at the Emperor's seat, large and ornate, its cushions draped in the purple and blue of the nation's coat. The emptiness there was almost painful, a great hulking elephant they were all pretending to ignore.

“We were not prepared for anything of this scale," said Gounon. The bull hadn't changed his clothes in days, his shirt was stained and crinkled, and the jewelry that typically hung so perfectly from his horns now sitting askew. “How could we be? Practically the entire world has declared war on us at once! It's unprecedented!"

“Unprecedented, yes. We could never have seen it coming," Pierce agreed.

“We should pull our forces back, consolidate our strength in the most defensible positions. The River Tul, the Junén Ranges."

“The enemy has not reached our borders yet, but they will soon." Pierce cleared his throat.

Gounon nodded slowly. He was an experienced general, with years of command under his belt. “The Emperor will prefer we remain proactive in this matter. I maintain we should consolidate, but perhaps we must consider a thrust of the spear, to keep the enemy at bay?"

“His majesty often prefers to play at the weaker side."

“We don't have that luxury, the New Coalition knows we are not weak. This is going to be warfare on a scale not seen before in our lifetimes, Marshal Pierce."

“But what would he want of us? Certainly he would order more conscription."

“All this talk of what he would want, but where exactly is the Emperor now, monsieurs?" Francois threw the accusation down like it were a duelling glove, and the other marshals stared back at him like he'd thrown out a dead fish. Six pensive faces stared back at him, none of them willing to be the first to break the silence.

“He is on his way home," Pierce hastened to add, straightening his wig. For some unknowable reason, the fox thought it was his calling to bring the powdered wigs of pre-revolutionary Rennaire back into fashion. It wasn't working. “The last letter we received stated that–"

“That he would make for Albedo at once, yes," interrupted Francois. He was an otter with a greying muzzle, puffing on a pipe between his words. “That was nearly three weeks ago. You read the same missives I did, Marshal Pierce. The New Coalition has accepted the surrender of General Madox and his army, and there is no word on the wellbeing of our Emperor. Time to put aside our guesses at what his majesty would prefer us do. Whatever has way-laid him, monsieurs, I believe it is plain to see that for the moment at least we are on our own."

A silent gasp ran about their circle, and Francois resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The Emperor may have given them a fancy title, but they were still young pups, and it was painfully obvious how out of their depth they were without the Emperor's guidance. Not Francois, of course, he knew better. He remembered Albedo as it was twenty years ago. A few lucky turns of fate had kept him alive while all his friends were beheaded in Leon's culls, and when he'd returned to Albedo, he'd quickly found the nation in desperate need of some experienced paws. During the reign of King Phillipe, Francois had been a middling prefect out in a town most Albedons had never heard of, now he was one of the most powerful men in the nation. Say what you want about democracy, but it had been good for Francois.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Pessimism comes all too easily in times like this. Rennaire has faced a coalition of great powers before, and like we did then, we will weather this storm and emerge from it victorious," Hugo said. He was a great brown owl with thick spectacles. Everyone knew he didn't need them, but the man believed it made him appear more scholarly. “Monsieurs, we must only be patient, the Emperor will return soon enough. With his guidance we–"

“I'm afraid it is not that simple, Supreme Marshal," Pierce interjected, much to Francois's delight. The tan fox tapped at the papers before him. “The other great powers are not what they once were. They have learned from our own advances, and they have been dreaming of this day for years. My fear is that they have chafed under our Empire's yoke, and now eagerly await the chance to get back at us, as it were."

“By winning all of our campaigns, we have inadvertently flattened the continental conflict." That was Essé, a wolf with mismatched eyes and a poorly tailored suit. “The great powers have no other conflicts to distract them."

“Precisely," exclaimed Pierce. “Before, the revolution and execution of the previous regime forced their paws into war. Back then, they put aside their differences to unite. This time, I suspect they are taking full advantage of one another's strengths and deficits. It may be a coalition war in name, but we are facing an enemy far more united than we did eight years ago."

“Not to mention the Angels!" Hugo chimed in.

“Ah, yes… the Angels. We have every reason to believe that the Supreme Pontiff will commit all the Angels he can to this conflict. The Emperor…" Pierce paused, as if Leon would jump out from under the table to catch him blaspheming. “...I fear he went too far in his recent persecutions of the Church."

Francois could sense it. He wondered if the others did too. There was that feeling again, that delicious static buzzing in the air. It had been there when King Phillipe lost his head, and it had been there when Leon crowned himself Emperor. Change. Great and powerful. Well, if there was a change coming, Francois intended to be on the right side of it. Leon may have been good for the common man of Rennaire, but Francois was not a common man, and he did not intend to return to the lifestyle of one.

When, not if, the blood of kings returned to Rennaire, they would know that it was Francois who helped them get there.

“The time has come, monsieurs, for us to ask of ourselves a… difficult question," he said, splaying his fingers and gesturing with his pipe. “We are in absence of the Emperor now, and it must be said his guiding paws… while well meaning… have robbed Rennaire of her independence. We have together grown fat and lazy, content that the Emperor would handle all of our hardest decisions. But an Empire is not one man, and we must grow, we must seize destiny with our paws and look to the future for all of our people."

“I am not hearing a question yet," Hugo queried, leaning forward in his seat conspiratorially. Francois could practically taste how desperate the other Marshals were for him to finally say aloud what they were all thinking. “You've me on tenterhooks here, Francois. Spit it out, man."

“We must ask ourselves…" Francois hesitated for effect. “Can we truly win this war?"

All hell broke loose. The Supreme Marshals immediately began to squabble and shake, proudly peacocking themselves as patriotic fighters who would never dare consider the coward's road of surrender. Francois had been expecting it, and he merely leaned back in his seat and sucked on his pipe as they strutted, blowing the thick smoke into the air before himself.

Over the last five years, Rennaire had become something of a warrior-state. It was a nation defined by its military strength. While it was true that the Emperor had done much for the common folk, it was undeniably the military backbone that had allowed such internal growth. Conscription, victory payments, and favourable trade agreements metered out at gunpoint had allowed the internal growth of Rennairan cities, and the people's rights as individuals. It was a dark truth few wished to openly acknowledge, that the recent 'age of enlightenment' was as bullet-backed as any other warmongering state.

At one point or another, every member of the Marshal Council had made the mistake of insinuating Rennairan weakness in front of the Emperor. Some of the truly foolish had even used the word surrender in his presence. His majesty's furies had cowed them all like beaten dogs, teaching them that to suggest Rennaire was weak was akin to spitting in the Emperor's face. When Leon was in the room, Rennaire could not lose; they would not back down; and they would not submit. So ingrained was this behaviour that even now, they heard the notion that defeat was possible and instantly snarled at it, if only as a display for an Emperor that wasn't there.

But there is chaos in the world now, and chaos precipitates change.

They needed to face facts, and Francois would be the one to show them. He'd been entertaining a former Kiberland diplomat at his country estate the last few months. It was almost treasonous, but all they'd done was talk – Francois wasn't giving away any secrets. The man had made his points, and Francois could not argue with them. By all definitions, Leon was a good Emperor.

But he was also a tyrant. A mad autocrat, a control freak, a warmonger, and at times, delusional.

“Our experiment may have run its course, what Rennaire needs now is stability." Francois's quiet words stilled the blustering men. He looked up, to find them all waiting in the palm of his paw. It was laughable. So these were the sons of the revolution? Leon's excellence had neutered them – they were so desperate to have somebody else come along and tell them what to do, practically anyone could do it. He wondered, briefly, if he could convince them to make him the Emperor instead.

That was the true weakness of Rennaire; it had become so reliant on a single load-bearing pillar, that without Leon present it could barely function.

And right now, the Empire was without.

“Enemies surround us," Francois explained. “Go north, east, west, south, and you shall find enemies of the Emperor!"

“The estimations are not glamorous," Pierce whispered. The fox was practically shaking. “Without the Emperor's tactical mind, without leverage over the Angels…"

“We must ask if we can win this war." Francois curled his paw into a fist. “You said it yourself, monsieurs. Our enemy is an advanced, coordinated one. They seek to depose our Emperor, remember that is their stated goal, nothing more. Not territory, not trade concessions, only the return of royal blood to the Rennairan throne."

“Long live the Emperor!" Declared Hugo. Francois was glad for it – the owl's hollow voice sounded rather pathetic.

“His chair is empty. We do not know when, or even if he is returning," Francois continued.

Pierce shifted. “What are you suggesting, Francois? Enough bandying and be out with it."

“I am merely stating facts."

Gounon snorted, horns swinging as he shook his head. “It is not so simple. The other great powers despise what the Emperor has achieved in Rennaire! Our undercity is connected to the people now! The citizens have a voice. Gone are the blood-based classes of old. Rennaire is a bastion for the freedom for all men. The New Coalition say their goal is to end our Emperor, but who would they see replace him? Another fat King, who will waste no time undoing every piece of fair and just legislation the Emperor has ever written."

“You don't know that," Francois said softly.

“Your suggestion would send us back to the dark ages!" Gounon exploded, pointing at Francois.

“I have yet to make a suggestion, Supreme Marshal Gounon."

“Then make one," Pierce pushed in. “Please."

Gounon flared his nostrils. “Don't do this, Francois."

Francois was not to be deterred. “If we conclude that we cannot win this war, it becomes an effort in damage control. Will we fight a losing battle in solidarity with our hereto missing Emperor? How many Rennairan souls will be sacrificed for this great show of fealty to an empty chair?" He knew Leon would delight at the idea of throwing lives away to swell his own ego, but that was a little too radical for the council just yet. Instead, Francois tried to remain reasonable. “If we fight, and if we lose, the New Coalition will do away with us. As you say, Gounon, they will install their own King, and Rennaire will fall back into line as one of the oppressive, tyrannical kingdoms of Midland."

He waited, and Hugo delivered what he wanted.

“Or…?"

“Or, we consider surrender on our own terms," Francois spoke slowly, careful to enunciate his words clearly. “We surrender, and submit to a new constitutional monarchy. We accept their false king as Kiberland does, with limitations. The Emperor goes into a coalition-mandated exile, while we remain in our positions, and steer the new monarchy away from eradicating the greatest of Rennairan triumphs."

“That is to say, we would betray the Emperor, give him up to the New Coalition?" Essé said gently.

“You would give our people away to tyrants once more!" Gounon erupted, slamming the table with both fists. “You speak of crawling back to our old masters and begging them not to have us all killed! Such humiliation is intolerable, any blue-and-purple blooded Rennairan would rather die than breathe the same air of those oppressors!"

“Give us away to tyrants?" Francois dared. “Is that not where we stand already?"

The room went deathly quiet.

His heart was racing. Except for Gounon, he could see the others hearing the merit of his words. Pierce was even nodding slowly, staring down at the military reports before him. They all knew it – this war was unwinnable, even if the Emperor was actually there to lead it. Francois imagined the New Coalition would take Leon's head, but there was no reason they all had to lose their lives for his obsessions with grandeur.

The Grand Design had been a great dream, but nothing more.

“Now it's time to wake up," he said softly. “Admit it, even this council has no true power, the Emperor can and has countermanded any order we put to paper. Face the facts, monsieurs – Rennaire is not a nation of the people's voice, it is a state ruled by only one voice. But if we surrender, we can keep what works, and change what does not."

Before anyone could countenance his point, the two great doors to the council chamber burst open. Light spilled into the musty room, accompanied by the breeze and a vile scent. Sweat, filth, and rot.

Squinting, Francois looked with the others to the door. A man stood there, his fur matted down by dirt and grime, a scar running down his cheek, eyes hollowed and sunken. Pierce raised a handkerchief to cover his nose, and Hugo squawked and stammered.

“What is the meaning of this?" Francois asked, trying to look past the disgusting man. They were in the Imperial Palace, at the very heart of it, how had he been allowed to come so deep?

“Monsieurs," The man said, raising his arms as he stepped forward. That voice. It instantly chilled Francois to the bone. “My Supreme Marshals of the state… tell me, do you not recognise your Emperor?"

It took a moment to catch, and then Hugo shoved to his feet. “Long live the Emperor! Welcome home, sire!" He declared proudly, followed by Pierce and Gounon. Francois remained seated, a pit weighing down his stomach.

“I have been through hell," the Emperor said, circling the table. “As you can see, I wore most of it on my person."

Francois's eyes darted to the door. He saw two figures standing there. That hooded reptile, the disgusting foreigner that was always whispering in Leon's ear… and what looked like a soldier, swaying in place, impossibly grievous wounds covering his front. They stunk of corpses.

How long was he listening outside? Francois racked his mind, trying to think how best to spin his words back.

“You are all aware that King Deuxmoise has betrayed us. They all have. The world revolts against my Empire and her children."

“No." Francois was shocked to hear his own voice.

“Oh? Something to add, Francois?"

“I said no!" He pushed to his feet, so suddenly his chair tipped over and fell behind him. “The enemy does not revolt against our empire, or Rennaire's people! It revolts against you, and your choking grasp on this continent!"

Leon smiled, striding closer, eyes seizing Francois's. “I thought it was your voice I heard back there, Francois. I prayed I was wrong, I prayed to the God I do not believe in that I misheard, told myself you would never dare utter the word surrender in this place."

“I am only trying to do what is right."

“Right for you, perhaps," Leon countered. “Hoping that when you sell out your brothers and sisters, that the kings will let you live as their dog as thanks? How cheaply you can be bought, I feel foolish for not giving you less."

“Rennaire has been a victim to your tyranny for too long!" Francois spat the words. This was his only chance. Leon was vindictive, cruel, he would not forget this. Their only chance now was for the council to take control of the country, right here and right now. He raised his voice for all to hear. “Eight years of nothing but brutal war! For what? Your fucking ego? Blood that waters a garden of your own arrogance and madness! You hear no reason, no council, you only throw us deeper into conflict! Even we, your Supreme Marshals, have no voice! We are a puppet show, all so you can lie to the people and the senate that power is shared! You promised peace, but prepared for war! So do not speak to me of betrayal when it is you who betrayed us first! I am the only man brave enough to say it to your face, but know that every thinking soul in Rennaire believes the same; you are insane."

Francois flinched as a flash of anger shot through the jaguar, but he quickly stilled it, exhaling slowly. With horror, the otter realised that the Emperor was putting on a show just as much as he was.

“Step down!" Francois quickly demanded. “Go gracefully, your majesty! Submit to the New Coalition and they will be merciful in granting your exile! If you truly love your children, you will keep them out of this war. It cannot be won, for the Angels of the Church come for us, just as every great army in the world comes for us! Please. Abdicate your throne in the name of true peace!"

Leon stared flatly at him, glancing across to his reptilian advisor. Alabaster had always made Francois's hide crawl. He had no place in their government, Rennaire was a nation of mammals, and he was a cold-blooded sand eater who spent his time defiling the dead and committing heresy after heresy.

“You think returning my people to the chains they threw off a decade ago is achieving true peace?" Leon scoffed. “You must be an oppressor too, Francois, for only an owner leashes a man and calls it justice."

Francois had one final weapon, and he feared this would be his final chance to use it. The Kiber diplomat had given it to him, and if there was ever a time…

“We have been here before!" Francois exclaimed, trying to speak to the council now. “Eight years ago, Leon and his damned Triumvirate took power by force and executed the King! Yet even then, the Coalition of the Great Powers offered you a chance to avoid war. In fact, they offered you peace in exchange for the sparing of Prince Jules and Prince Gabriel, the heirs to the throne! And what did you do, Emperor? You spat in their face! They did not even receive the courtesy of a response. All they desired was the cessation of killing, but you had to have your blood, didn't you? You claim Gabriel went missing, we all know he died in one of your cells. We all saw Jules marched out to the guillotines! You could not resist butchering your enemy then, just as you couldn't resist murdering Joachim La Valette, and the Speaker too, your own Triumvirate! How dare you accuse us of being owners and oppressors, for the only oppressor here is you, gone mad with power!"

“Lies," Leon hissed, paws curling into fists. Francois saw Hugo and Pierce shifting their position, he saw Gounon growing increasingly angry. Damn sycophants, weaklings, all of them. Couldn't they see what an opportunity this was? It could all be ended now, and they could keep their precious titles.

“I have seen the documents!" Francois declared. “I doubt you even showed them to the rest of your council. You love war, and you thrust us into years of conflict without a second thought to the consequence! How many Rennairan sons could have been spared had you shown mercy to Prince Jules? Now, see that even King Deuxmoise has turned against you, a man who owes his crown entirely to you! Even he cannot stand what you have become, as we too cannot! So, please now. Look me in the eyes, as a man, and tell me I am lying, your majesty."

Leon inhaled deeply, eyes wide. He looked so tired, so much thinner than when Francois had last seen him. He expected to be stabbed, or shot, or screamed right back at. Instead, the Emperor spoke gently. “Do you all feel this way, then? That I should surrender?"

“We must surrender," Pierce said softly. “For the good of the nation."

“Enough war," said Hugo.

“This cannot be won," added Essé.

Gounon and Ericsson remained silent.

“Very well then." Leon sighed, stepping back and snapping his fingers. Already several Imperial Guards were moving into the council chambers, paws braced on the hilts of their swords. “The council of Supreme Marshals has been disbanded for collective treason to the state. If the Imperial Guards could please escort these men to the palace dungeons, they will await sentencing there."

“You self-aggrandising bastard!" Francois snarled. He lunged for Leon, unsure what he would do, determined to rip the Emperor apart with his bare paws if he had to. He made it all of two steps before a scaled claw reached from behind and caught him by the throat.

Leon was already walking away, the guards filtering in to seize the former council members, hauling them bodily towards the exit.

Francois looked aside, choking, the grip on his throat like a vise. Dead reptilian eyes stared back at him, a thin hole rimmed with dry blood punched through the upper part of his skull.

“L-Lieutenant… Gaspar?" Francois coughed. He barely recognised the crocodile, but he realised now that this was the mangled body he'd seen standing earlier at the council doorway beside Leon and Alabaster. “What… in God's name have they done to you?"

The corpse released him as two Imperial Guards seized his shoulders, dragging him back like a sack of turnips.

“You can't win this war, your majesty!" Francois cried after Leon, his voice cracking as he did. “It's already lost, it's just about how much blood you spill to realise it!"

As his former council was dragged off, the Emperor did not look back.

“Now that you've disbanded the second-highest echelon of government, what's next on your glorious agenda?" Leon grit his teeth, trying to ignore the barbs as he stalked through the palace halls. Alabaster was not to be deterred however, trailing close behind and making no effort to keep his voice down. “Perhaps we'll outlaw banks? We could add a new month to the calendar, or instead, you might do away with all the subtlety employed thus far and declare yourself the ultimate supreme being of all mankind?"

Leon whirled in place, his hackles raised. “Would you shut up for once, Alabaster?"

The dragon grinned like he'd won something.

“I am in no mood for your newfound holier-than-thou act right now. Notice how everyone has an opinion on how the Empire should be run, and yet no one steps up to do it themselves?" Leon leaned forward, raising his lips to show his teeth. “I know best, trust in that."

“Nobody steps up because you don't allow it. The only power held by the Supreme Marshals was in their own minds, and you just stripped them of even the pretense of influence." Alabaster stepped closer, grime and blood reeking off him. They had only just returned to the city, there'd been no time to bathe as of yet. “Careful now, Leon, you can only walk so far down this path before it's too late to turn back." Alabaster's voice went lower still. “There's only so far I can follow you."

Leon sighed, rolling his eyes and wincing at the migraine that stabbed at their backs. “I'm not going to bother imagining what that is supposed to mean. Please, my love, we are finally returned. I do not know the state of my own country, nor do I know the fate of the army we left behind us. All I know is that the world has turned against me, and so too nearly did my own council. Employ your ears, love, I beg you! They were on the verge of declaring surrender! Now, should they do so, the New Coalition may choose to spare my life thanks to their… monocratic sympathies… but do you believe for a second that the Supreme Pontiff would allow you to live? And what of Émeric, my sister, and the rest? Would you have me leave traitors in a position of power like that? Take it this way, would you leave a cancerous wound festering on your neck, or would you cut it out as soon as possible no matter the pain?"

“You know I'm no stranger to difficult decisions," Alabaster hissed back. “Don't try to act like I'm some bleeding heart here, Leon, but there have to be limits."

“I have no limits."

“Only a fool would think that!" Alabaster bared his teeth. “You're so fucking caught up in your own legend you only hear what you want to! Listen to the words coming out of my mouth – you are on the brink of losing yourself forever. Of losing me. And I…" Oddly, Alabaster's voice choked up. He looked away. “I don't want to go back to being alone again. I don't want to have been wrong about you."

“My love…" Leon said, pulling the anger back from his voice. He reached down, pulling Alabaster's chin towards him. “You're not wrong about me. And you're not going to lose me and I'm not going to lose you. I'd give everything away before I let that happen. But it's not just about us. I say this only as a statement of fact – I am the most powerful man alive, the most capable, the most just. Destiny has shown me that I have no equal. The only thing still holding me back is the denial of that truth. So please, I am begging you–" He reached down, scooped up Alabaster's claw and pressed it to his chest. “–give me your support, your trust, and your love. For I am lost without it."

“You don't…" Alabaster pulled out from his grip, staring down at the floor. “Just forget it."

“Do you not hear a word I just said? I am tired, Alabaster, and I've been through hell, I could use some clemency." Leon stepped back, pinching at his muzzle. The fur felt sticky and stuck down, the muscles beneath throbbed with exhaustion. Escaping the coalition's trap at Zolfreun and defeating Leutgard had been nothing short of miraculous, but even Leon found it hard to look at their current state and feel like he'd won.

“What next, then?" Alabaster asked, his voice flat. “The entire world is at war with us. You have no allies left, and the noose is closing in. We don't have time to react, the Angels will be on our doorstep any day now."

“First, I will bathe," Leon declared. “Then, I will see my nephew. You, boy!" He snapped his fingers at a passing page, a lithe otter who dutifully spun to face him, bowing deeply. “Run to Marshal Pierce's office, have the clerks there give you the latest of every military report available, and someone who can summarise them, if such a person exists. Have them brought to my quarters."

“At once, your majesty!" And the clerk scuttled off.

“And what of him," Alabaster asked, jerking his chin back over one shoulder. Leon followed the dragon's gaze to where Gaspar stood, swaying slightly.

The crocodile's body was covered in wounds, his eyes clouded over and staring blankly. His arms hung limply at his side, shoulders slumped, all colour drained from his scales. A walking corpse. Another dead friend.

Do you feel glorious now, Emperor?

“We're home, Leon. Will you finally let me put him down?"

“No!" Leon said, a little too quickly. He reined himself back. He'd allowed Alabaster to return the other corpses to death, but something about Gaspar paralysed him. The crocodile had been the closest thing he'd to a friend, it felt wrong to just… abandon him like that. Leon couldn't stomach the thought of his most loyal soldier lying alone in the dirt. “Where is Leutgard's body?"

“I told the men to take her to my lab."

Leon sighed, nodding. “Alright. Take Gaspar there, I will… decide something to do with him. You're right though, the Church won't hold anything back. We could be facing a dozen or more Angels at once. You need divine corpses, what do you have?"

Alabaster shrugged. “Not much. From memory; some pieces of Lazare, plus a few discarded bits from the ones you killed during the war with the First Coalition, and Hashan's head, but nothing intact besides Leutgard. I have stockpiles of Émeric's blood, and as our experience with the Imperators showed me, that can have its uses when combined with more… traditional sangomy."

A shiver ran down Leon's spine, but he tried not to let it show. He knew it ate at Alabaster, how much disgust most people felt for his practice.

“All of my Ishim are dead," Leon admitted. “It will take more than a few ritually-enhanced mortals to stop what's coming."

“Understood. Is Émeric…"

“No," Leon said firmly. “Don't even think it. My nephew is not a weapon, I won't allow it." In truth, he might have considered it, had Émeric had shown any great control over his abilities. Unfortunately so far, his use of the Angel sorceries had been sporadic and random at best, more akin to randomly lit fuses than any kind of reliable cannon.

“Understood. I will…" Alabaster huffed, glancing back at Gaspar's unseeing eyes. “Think of something."

“You've my trust and my love." Leon squeezed his shoulder, exhaling before they parted ways. Alabaster took Gaspar's corpse and went one way, while Leon found his stairs and went the other. As always, Alabaster descended into the darkness of his basement lab, while Leon ascended to his gilded quarters.

Servants and soldiers who saw him pass stopped to bow and salute, all of them barely hiding their shock at his dishevelled appearance. With a ghost of a smile, Leon wondered if any monarch had been seen in such a state before. He was exhausted and trying not to let it show. Each time he blinked his eyelids stuck together, his eyes feeling more liquid than solid, stinging and jiggling in his sockets. His teeth felt loose in his jaw, a sour taste poisoned every dry swallow in his throat. Glancing at his paw, he realised that he'd lost two of his fingernails and not even noticed it.

Battle scars. What other crown could say they'd bled as their men bled? He froze the image of his own wounds into his mind. That was why his men fought so hard for him, because they knew he asked nothing of them he would not, or had not, done himself. That was why Rennaire would win.

Fighting back to Albedo had felt like a war in its entirety. Now he still had the real one to win, and almost no one around him that he could truly rely on. Alabaster was good, better than good even, and despite his frustrating attempts at a new morality Leon knew he could lean on the dragon. But Alabaster was a necromancer, a mystic, and he had little to no useful experience in coordinating armies, setting up supply chains, or otherwise winning wars. Sieges were coming to Rennaire, and the people would need stockpiles of food, and clean water, and medicine, and a thousand other things.

If Albedo is besieged, the undercity can be used to smuggle supplies and the sick out. They could even tunnel beneath the besieging army, drop the floor from under them like he had with Jules and Lazare. But what of Suné, and Joaleport? Larseillé has the mountains to its back, but the valley farms will be vulnerable… the possibilities, threats, and dangers all made his head spin. With so many cooperating nations invading all together, it was difficult to estimate whose tactics they would favour. Leon did not know which of the great powers held the most sway, and that made preemptive moves difficult. I am forced to be reactive.

If he wasn't so fucking angry at them all, he'd truly admire the effort. It was an incredible piece of grand strategy. Once he had annihilated them, Leon would be sure their effort lived on in his history books.

Despite what he said to Alabaster, Leon felt victory was far from certain. In fact, it seemed almost impossible. The New Coalition was large, organised, and well-supplied. Rennaire easily had the most powerful individual military, but even they weren't likely to stand against the combined weight of the world's greatest powers. Even a knight could be brought down by enough determined rats. The threat loomed over him like a great boulder, pushing him down, trying to crush Leon to dust in the soil.

“But I will not let it." The words came a low growl to him, surprising in their intensity. Had his entire life not been one hopeless battle after another? First, they'd told him he'd never be a general, because of his middle-gentry birth. Then, when he was a general, they told him he'd never defeat Danegard and Losaile at the Zolfreun Heights. Then, when he defeated them, they told him he'd never get them to agree to a peace treaty without the King's approval.

When he came home, they told him he must obey a King.

When he killed that King, they told him he would always share power.

And now that he was Emperor, they told him his legacy could not last.

Fuck. Them.

Leon found himself laughing, staring back down the steps at the polished marble floor of the palace lobby. Perhaps this was good. He could have all his wars wrapped up in one go, and then they would all finally see there was truly nothing that could stop him from shaping the continent into the beautiful future he envisioned for all.

The Grand Design still lives. As long as I am alive, so is my dream.

In his room, he found a bath and several servants waiting. He did not bother with posturing – Leon allowed them to strip him of his filth-caked uniform, lowering himself into the steaming water of his tub. He laid there while the servants scrubbed out his fur, washed his tail, and cleaned his wounds. He let them scrape at his teeth, and trim his nails, and scour every inch of him as they freed him from the filth of the road. They said nothing, and Leon appreciated that. He'd never been dirtier or more tired in his life than these last few weeks, and as he rose from the bath and left that sediment and gunk behind, he felt himself almost born anew. His fur felt fresh, his muscles rejuvenated, his mind crackling with excitement and possibility. The world was still a bit hazy as fatigue clouded him, but he would push through. He always did.

Once dressed, Leon found the reports the clerk had brought him, gathering them in his arms and marching off to the palace wing occupied by Cosette and Émeric.

His sister practically screamed as she saw him.

“Leon!" She threw herself at him, squeezing hard enough it lit up a dozen sore spots over his beaten body. “No one told me you'd returned, oh thank the stars, it is so good to see you!"

“Yes, now– damn it, woman!" He whinged, squirming in her grip as he attempted to pry himself free. “The Emperor is still tender!"

She pulled herself back, shaking her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “They said… You were gone so long without word. I didn't know what to think."

“You should have known better," Leon replied, beaming at her. He glanced aside to the edge of the room, scowling as he noticed Alabaster's creepy apprentice sat at the palace window. With that veil covering all of his face, it was impossible to tell where he was looking at any one time. Belts and knives hung from his chest, fingerless gloves letting only the briefest glimpse of black fur show from his paws. Leon didn't even know his name, let alone his species, Alabaster had always kept the student mysteriously apart.

Perhaps one day, there will be no secrets between us, my love. Somehow, he doubted it.

Extricating himself from his sister's arms, Leon approached the assassin. He hadn't liked Alabaster's suggestion of assigning the veiled killer with Cosette and Émeric's safety, but as the dragon had pointed out, the boy was an assassin – he knew what to look for more than anyone.

Leon snapped his fingers. “You, man. It's been weeks, anything to report in my absence?"

The veil danced as the man flicked his head, aiming himself squarely at Leon. The blue ink sigil stared forth like a solitary painted eye. How does he see at all in that thing?

“Your sister has many suitors, and your nephew destroyed a carriage and two horses. Might have been on purpose." His voice was muffled slightly, a vial of something green rolling atop his dexterous fingers. “Your majesty."

Leon snorted. “So, Alabaster did train his pet to speak. You know, I never got your name."

“My…" The assassin seemed to stumble, hastily clearing his throat. “You can call me G, your majesty."

“Just G? Not short for anything?"

“If it suits."

“You remind me of the Speaker, boy. He too eschewed a real name. Not the most favourable of comparisons, wouldn't you say?"

The assassin shrugged, leaning forward. “The man was a coward hiding behind bravado and extremism. I should know, I was there when he died."

“The Speaker was arrested for treason. He was sentenced to life in a colony."

“You are correct, your eminence." G gave a short bow, and Leon almost felt it was mocking him. “But perhaps after sentencing, someone travelled to that colony, and then someone poisoned him."

A pang of concern shot through Leon's chest. He'd heard of the Speaker's death, but he'd thought it was an accident, bad food, or poor conditions. He stared at the veil, trying not to let his surprise show. Did Alabaster send you there, without my order?

“Rest assured that I am nothing like that man, your majesty. His faux moralising self-service disgusts me, in fact. My loyalty is with Rennaire and her people, nowhere else."

Cosette snorted. “And her Emperor, mind you."

G paused for a moment, as if considering. “Yes. Apologies, your majesty."

“He's said more to you just now than he has to me this entire time," she told Leon, turning away. “Once I even tried to get him drunk, but he claimed alcohol is 'against his fortitution'. Émeric seems to like him, at least, he thought he was a scarecrow at first. Got the fright of his life when G moved and even spoke to him." She smiled.

“First Alabaster and now G, why does your son always love the freaks?" Leon cast about. “Where is the boy now?"

“Sleeping. Should I wake him?"

“No," Leon replied shortly. “Let him rest. I need to review these reports anyway, an errant Angel will only complicate things." He turned to her dining table, splaying the reports out across the wood. “Someone should be coming along shortly to summarise them, but they won't say anything I don't already know."

“That you can't win, right?" Cosette suggested. Leon winced, but did not reply. “Tell me it isn't true, Leon. Marshal Francois told me that defeat is all but assured… but I told him that was idle gossip. You've always won, now will be no different, isn't that right?"

“None of the Marshals are in a position to say anything anymore," Leon replied tartly. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in arresting them. Each one had been responsible for the grander oversight of a different region in the country. They'd been little more than advisors really, collating the disparate parts of the empire… Now Leon would have to parse through it all personally.

As always, I fight this war alone.

“If we lose, they'll take Émeric again. I just can't bear to lose him for a third time."

“Cosette, I am aware."

“And they'll probably execute Alabaster for being a heretic."

“Cosette, believe me, I am aware."

“And every law you've ever made will be–"

“Damn it I fucking know!" He roared, slamming a fist onto the table. “Please. I get enough hysterics from Alabaster, I don't need you succumbing to them as well. Control yourself, and let me think! I've been back nigh a few hours and not even seen my own bed, you can't expect me to have a solution right this very second."

A silence fell between them, but Cosette nodded softly, composing herself.

“We need better scouts." Leon flinched, glancing up to see G surveying one of the maps. It showed a cluster of Rennairan towns near the southern border. “Too much of this report is assumptions, that much is plain at a single glance."

“You…" Leon paused his rebuttal, exhaling. The boy was right, and whatever his personal feelings, Leon had always celebrated competency. “Yes. We do." He pointed to the southern border towns. “But it won't matter, these towns will be emptied. The wells will be poisoned and the crops burned, the citizens moved deeper into the heartland. No one has ever successfully invaded Koringrad because you can't reach their capital without starving your own men to do it. We must make our enemies go through hell, so they arrive in Albedo weak and desiccated."

“People will starve," G said. His voice was flat.

Who are you to speak back to me, boy?

“It is war, on a scale never before seen. More will starve before it's over, and countless more again if the Kings are allowed to return to Rennaire."

“I see."

“Are you well-versed in military strategy, G?" Leon asked, and what he really said was 'is there some reason I should be listening to you?'

“I was educated in grand strategy as a child, and it's a love I have found later in life."

“You mean to say you first studied it yesterday, then?"

“Very funny, your majesty."

Leon sighed. Truthfully, with the Supreme Marshals gone, he needed someone with an eye for strategy, if only to throw ideas against and see what bounced back. “The enemy wall must be broken up. Their suggested structure poses a great threat."

“But if their corps are augmented by Angels," G replied. “Then the force required to split them will outweigh the benefit. Every victory will be pyrrhic."

“Alabaster is working on a countermeasure to their Angels."

“And will he have a dozen of them?" G paused, and Leon heard a soft smirk come from beneath his veil. “You forget I am his student, I am all too aware of his capability as well as his limitations. With respect, we both know that Master Rafiq is not going to give you some kind of mass-produced Angel-killing gun, your majesty. Secondly, I suspect the New Coalition is all too aware of your favoured techniques – misdirected movements, false vulnerabilities, and especially your habit of dividing the enemy force. They will invite you to splinter their larger forces, hoping to bleed you of men before they reach Albedo."

“You're right," Leon admitted, nodding at the map before them. “They want to draw me out… are you familiar with the Felise Campaign, G?"

“From last year?" G hesitated. “Somewhat."

Leon nodded. “Felise's military was weak, but with dogged tactics they managed to slow my armies just enough to allow their allies to join the fight. This made it significantly more difficult to take their capital. They were small, but like thorns in our boots. Alabaster's countermeasure will be the ally we wait for."

“As I recall, Felise lost that war."

Leon brushed G's concerns aside. “The particulars matter not." He was excited now, heart pumping hard in his chest. “We will use lanes. Burn some villages, fight in others, and open smooth passage in the rest. The New Coalition's armies will move at different paces, and I will make sure none arrive in Albedo at the same time. Dragoons will intercept their communications, I want each force isolated – I know all too well the desperation one feels without word from your allies. They'll come like waves, and like waves they can smash apart on the shores of my empire."

“They will all have Angels with them."

“And Alabaster's solution will murder those Angels," Leon said, thrilled. “It is false confidence, as always. Do not underestimate the faith ordinary men place in the Angels. Monsters they might be, but for the typical soldier an Angel is an embodiment of the One God's wrath. To see them fall will deal tremendous blows to the enemy morale. God's invincible children, butchered like pigs? What faithful man could deny so ill an omen?"

“Your majesty… I…" G paused, as if trying to select the right words. “Am seeing a lot of assumptions being made."

“I killed Hashan with nothing but my wits and strategy. I killed Lazare on equal terms. I killed four more during the war with the First Coalition. Just now, with less than a hundred men and no food, I defeated Leutgard. Me, and no one else. Their holy weapons have grown fat and lazy, they have no experience fighting an enemy that fights back. I defeated them before, and I will do so again."

Cosette cleared her throat. “Until the enemy surrenders?"

Leon scoffed. He was astounded by her short-sightedness. “No. The time for their surrender and cooperation has passed. The other former great powers have spat in my face for the last time. Their men will die at my feet, and their empires will crumble into shadows of what they once were. I won't stop now. I will not be quelled until I have decimated them, ripped their cultures and history up by the roots and annihilated them so fiercely that all my enemies remember is great loss. Their grandchildren's grandchildren will talk about this war, and about how it altered the world forever."

“Y…your majesty, this isn't quite what I envisioned…" G began to say, but Leon ignored him. His mind raced with a thousand possibilities, a thousand options. Through it all, a single thread, a golden path to the greatest victory in all of history. I will eclipse Kazmar the Great. The realisation was elating, swelling in his chest and lightening his head. I will eclipse any man who has come before me. Now I am providence, now, I am become destiny.

“Leon, perhaps you need to rest," Cosette added, giggling nervously and glancing to G. “You don't sound quite yourself, as you said, it's been a long–"

“Oh, no! I am more myself than ever before, Cosette. My recent flight from Zolfreun has cleared my mind, pain has purged me of indecision!" Leon raised up his arms, grinning wildly. The pieces had fallen into place in his mind. He could win this fight, and he would, despite what everyone said. “The world is at war now. And I am not the aggressor. They began this conflict, but I will end it."

He paused, inhaling, and exhaling.

“Long live the Empire. Let the end begin."