Valkyrie's Shadow-Chapter 2Before the Storm: Act 11,

Chapter 2

“They won’t like this. There will be an uproar the moment this is announced to the public.”

“And when has that ever been an obstacle?”

In the brightly illuminated chambers of the Imperial Court Council, Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix, Emperor of the Baharuth Empire, presided over a meeting between himself, his councillors, and the heads of the imperial branch families. The meeting was much larger than the room was usually set up for, so the attendees were gathered in small groups around the floor as they discussed the items on the agenda. In reality, only one item on the agenda mattered, and it was the only one being discussed.

With the advent of the Sorcerer King and his kingdom of darkness, what was supposed to be his greatest contribution to the legacy of the Baharuth Empire: the conquest and annexation of their rival, the Kingdom of Re-Estize: had been robbed from him. He could do nothing about that, but it didn’t mean that everything that had been created over the generations to achieve that goal had similarly vanished.

“If you must worry about something,” Jircniv said, “it should be the expectations we’ve built up in the people. Consider what will happen if those expectations are betrayed and the Empire’s focus turns inwards.”

“His Imperial Majesty is correct,” the Field Marshal said. “In the past few generations, the Imperial Army has been forged into a spear that was supposed to be brandished against the Kingdom. The Imperial Knights of this day and age were recruited with the promises of wealth, glory, and honourable service to the Empire. We’ve cultivated an…appetite that cannot be sated by endless patrols and sentry shifts. If we do not redirect that energy elsewhere, then it may be unleashed within the Empire outside of our control.”

“It is not only the Imperial Army that faces this problem,” Duke Van Gushmond added. “Our urban population has become similarly ravenous. They expected a war of conquest: one that would open up new territories and the opportunities that come with them. If we fall short on the promises presented by our national propaganda, the people will become a source of political power for the Temples and whoever else would tempt them with some form of recourse.”

Jircniv suppressed a grimace at the Duke’s words. Propaganda had certainly proven to be a double-edged sword. Of course, he was already well aware of the fact, but he didn’t like being reminded of it.

“But wasn’t that the purpose of restructuring the Imperial Army?” The Minister of Domestic Affairs asked, “Nearly all of the budget freed up by it went to the expansion and redevelopment of the Sixth Army Group as the Empire’s new expeditionary force.”

“It is,” Jircniv answered, “but it won’t be enough. Our old plans with Re-Estize assumed the redistribution of territories already developed for Human habitation under a system we are well familiar with. The Sixth Army Group will be expanding into the untamed wilderness. You’ve all read the reports of development in The Blister. It is proof that the Imperial Administration must have more control if we are to expect any sort of uniform, standardised development across vast amounts of territory.”

In short, development in The Blister was a chaotic mess. Thousands of Imperial Knights had been granted titles in the Viridian Dragon Lord’s former domain and the traditional methods of governance only led to a variety of headaches he thought he had long become used to.

Every newly titled Imperial Knight had been issued staff from the Imperial Administration, who would in theory assist with the development and administration of their new fiefs. Every promotion in the Imperial Army came alongside monetary rewards that were, in theory, to be used to fund the development and operations of an Imperial Knight’s title. In theory, the swathe of new expansion would stimulate the imperial economy, driving industry and commerce to never-before-seen levels.

In reality, the staff from the Imperial Administration worked under the direction of their respective Imperial Knights. Those Imperial Knights were of varying quality, but there were far more commoners than scions of the aristocracy and gentry. The general lack of administrative education and experience resulted in imprudence and indecisiveness, which in turn slowed down or completely paralysed the mechanisms meant to support each Imperial Knight. In many cases, the prizes awarded for performance had been squandered not long after receiving them.

Things on the civilian front weren’t much better. There was certainly no shortage of spares who were willing to migrate to the new territories, but skilled labour fell far short of the industrial capacity required to support them. The result was rising prices for manufactured goods, which drastically reduced the purchasing power of the Imperial Knights.

Overall, it was a catastrophe in the making: one that got worse by the day.

It’s all that damn Sorcerer King’s fault!

Of that, he had no doubt. Not only had their Undead Overlord denied them their conquest of Re-Estize, but he had sent his demonic Prime Minister to cruelly drive them forward with vicious lashes of her barbed whip.

Her demands had accelerated their timeframes at an unreasonable rate. How could the Guilds train enough new journeymen for a march-sized territory in less than a year? How could the Temples raise enough Priests? Building all of the required infrastructure at the same time was an impossible task, even by the measures of the Imperial Corps of Engineers. Yet, what could they do but accede and vainly struggle to meet her demands. If the Sorcerous Kingdom said ‘jump’, the only sane answer was ‘how high?’.

New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on ƒгeewebnovёl.com.

As if to mock them throughout the ordeal, the Sorcerous Kingdom continually offered ‘assistance’: mostly in the form of Undead Labour. Over the course of the summer, parties from every faction of the imperial aristocracy were invited to visit the Sorcerous Kingdom for a tour of the possibilities offered by their new suzerain. Nearly all of them returned to the Empire with agreements in hand, and so they were now being slowly infiltrated by more and more of the evil minions of the Sorcerer King. There was little Jircniv could do: the Nobles feared the Sorcerer King more than they feared the Bloody Emperor.

With Jircniv’s political fortunes waning and the power of the imperial aristocracy on the rise, the situation became untenable. He worked day and night for months to devise a new counter-strategy: one that forced him to make considerations that he hadn’t had to in nearly two decades.

“And, so, Your Imperial Majesty’s answer to our problems is this new ‘Commandery System’,” the Minister of Finance said. “I must admit that it promises far greater efficiency than our current methods.”

“That’s a colossal understatement,” the Field Marshal snorted. “The progress of our expeditionary army is contingent on the Empire’s ability to develop newly-claimed territories. With the way things are right now, it’ll take us a century to conquer a territory the size of the Eastern Marches.”

“In other words,” Jircniv said, “the Empire can only grow at its historical rate no matter how much it invests in military expansion. As everyone should understand by now, leaving the citizenry to react to policy is insufficient for our goals. It is up to the Imperial Administration to ensure the pieces are in place when and where we need them.”

“But, once again,” the Minister of Domestic Affairs said, “this will cause an uproar amongst most of the nobility. Especially now that they’re enjoying a resurgence in influence…”

“They may act adversely, at first,” the Imperial Court Wizard said, “but they will eventually come to accept it. There is no better way for them to secure titles for their children, after all.”

Jircniv hid the frown that formed as his cousin spoke. He still firmly believed that women had no business discussing politics in public, but appointing her as the Imperial Court Wizard was the most politically sound move he could make. Unfortunately, while she mostly spoke on subjects related to her role in the court, she often skirted the bounds of his patience. Since she announced her pregnancy, Jircniv silently hoped that she would be away for an extended period, but the woman remained active throughout it and even had the audacity to pop up again the day after she delivered her child.

As if reading Jircniv’s mood: or, rather, they were well aware of his stance: the other members of the Court Council remained silent after the Imperial Court Wizard’s statement. Duke Van Gushmond cleared his throat.

“I believe the assessment is sound,” he said. “My question is how we will select Grand Administrators for these new commanderies. The position is three or four steps up from any administrative position currently in existence.”

“I share in the Duke’s concerns,” the Minister of Transportation said. “While the role of Grand Administrator is well defined by the framework of laws that comes with this proposal, it is at the same time unprecedented. No path of promotion exists to prepare potential candidates for the position. As such, I believe I am not the only one here who would be uncomfortable with any appointment.”

“The beauty of an appointment is that it can easily be rescinded,” Jircniv said. “We will not be careless in our selection of Grand Administrators, but correcting staffing errors is not the same as stripping someone of a hereditary title. Promotions and demotions based on performance are already standard practice in the Imperial Administration, so there should be little in the way of resistance.”

Commanderies would serve a similar function as a march, but, unlike a march, the Imperial Administration would preside over them instead of a Marquis. The administrative staff of each fief within the commandery would follow the directives of the Grand Administrator’s office, allowing for more efficient operations overall. The change also had the effect of keeping the Imperial Knights focused on their military duties rather than having their attention divided between soldiering and managing their fiefs.

As the assembly continued to discuss his proposal, Jircniv’s attention was drawn to a dark figure approaching him from the entrance of the chamber.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Nimble said as he offered a respectful salute, “an official from Foreign Affairs is here to see you.”

Jircniv flashed an annoyed look in the direction of the corridor.

“And what business does a department official have interrupting a meeting of the Imperial Court Council?” He grated.

“It’s Countess Erex. She comes bearing a message from E-Rantel.”

Jircniv barely managed a nod, the blood draining from his face. The sounds of discussion went silent as everyone watched a girl with oversized spectacles resting upon her freckled nose sweep into the chamber with a leather folder in hand. She stopped four metres from Jircniv’s seat and presented herself with a deep curtsey.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she said in her almost childish voice. “A Death Cavalier just arrived from E-Rantel with a document from the Royal Court of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

A Death Cavalier…

He shuddered at the memory of the legion of monstrosities under the Sorcerous King’s control. Where was it now? Had it entered the city? His stomach churned as he imagined the chaos and terror that its passage must have sown.

Countess Erex held out the leather folder. Nimble gingerly accepted the cursed thing, then hesitantly inspected its contents. Jircniv didn’t want to touch it at all.

“Well? What does it say?”

“It’s…” Nimble licked his lips, a sheen of cold sweat glistening on his brow, “it’s a declaration of war.”

A soft thump sounded as the Minister of Finance fainted. A few others fell back onto their seats. Was this the end? Had the Sorcerer King finally grown bored of games and revealed his true nature?

“According to this,” Nimble said, “A convoy bearing food aid meant for the Holy Kingdom of Roble was attacked by the son of one of Re-Estize’s minor houses.”

“Include that part in the first place!” Jircniv shouted, then furrowed his brow in thought. “No, wait, how can this be?”

“No one could be so foolish,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said. “The power of the Sorcerous Kingdom is known throughout the region.”

“Never mind the region,” Duke Van Gushmond said, “this is a Noble from Re-Estize. How can they forget being utterly crushed by the Sorcerer King two years ago? It’s impossible.”

“Similarly impossible is the notion that a man of this stature could defeat one of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s convoys,” another councillor said. “There must be more to this.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

No one voiced their suspicions, but only a fool would fail to come to the same conclusion. The ‘justification’ for the Sorcerous Kingdom’s newest war with Re-Estize was nothing more than a brazen fabrication. But what could anyone do? The Sorcerer King could blame Re-Estize for the rain and proceed to raze the entire country to the ground with impunity. Anyone who lifted a finger to help or even voiced their opposition would merely be destroyed along with them.

“It looks like the Empire is to endorse their declaration of war,” Nimble said as he leafed through the pages in his hand.

Jircniv pressed his lips into a thin line before calling for his imperial seal. He knew that, when he had capitulated to the Sorcerer King, the Empire would also eventually become complicit in the future atrocities conducted by their Undead Overlord. A small, fanciful part of him hoped that the day would never come, but reality had finally caught up with him.

Drops of crimson wax fell like so many bloodstains upon the Sorcerous Kingdom’s declaration. Jircniv closed his eyes and took one last, deep breath before affixing his seal to the page. Nimble retrieved the document and presented it to Countess Erex for inspection.

“Would Your Imperial Majesty like to include any additional statements?” She asked.

“The Baharuth Empire has nothing to add,” Jircniv answered. “But…as our future ambassador to the Sorcerous Kingdom, how do you believe this war will play out? What will be the fate of Re-Estize?”

Countess Erex tilted her bespectacled head, resting the tip of her index finger under her chin. After a moment, she shrugged.

“I guess they’re dead.”

Why did I bother asking?

In a sane world, an incident like the one described in the message would result in an honourable skirmish to force the offending party to pay reparations. With the Sorcerous Kingdom, that was far too much to hope for. With a callous wave of his skeletal hand, the Sorcerer King had one-sidedly slaughtered Re-Estize’s Royal Army to ‘help’ the Empire’s forces in the Battle of Katze Plains. How much worse would it be now that he was pursuing conflict in earnest?

Once Countess Erex disappeared from the chamber with the Empire’s assent to atrocity, Jircniv shared a meaningful look with the members of the assembly.

“Does everyone understand now?” He said, “We cannot waste any time on this. The Empire must expand as quickly as possible.”

No one posed any further questions. The Baharuth Empire needed to stay too valuable to discard, or, at the least, so expansive that some of its people might escape when the capricious whims of Ainz Ooal Gown finally turned against them.

“Hah~ This is endless…”

A bead of sweat trickled between Neia’s shoulder blades as she scrubbed away at the wall of her office in Hoburns’ royal palace. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she worked on a dark blotch on the stone, but her mind wandered in an attempt to escape the mountain of troubles that plagued her.

The Holy Kingdom’s capital had burned for days following her people’s fight to free themselves from southern control, and then it smouldered for over a month. Ashes carpeted the streets and plazas and what didn’t burn was covered in soot. The stuff even got inside somehow, as evidenced by the stain that seemed impervious to the coarse attentions of her brush.

If the staff had caught her cleaning, they would have certainly given her an earful, but the reality of their situation didn’t allow for such luxuries. Everyone was either looking for resources, helping to rebuild industry, or undergoing combat training. They had to become stronger because weakness was a sin: a sin that they would pay for dearly if it was allowed to persist into the spring.

A knock at the door startled Neia off of her wooden stool. She rushed over to her desk and hid the brush inside one of its cabinets before calling out.

“C-Come in!”

The door opened to reveal a brown-haired man flanked by a pair of adjutants. Neia’s lips twitched as she almost smiled in welcome, then thought against it. Her face and smiles didn’t get along very well.

“It’s…Miguel, isn’t it?” Neia said.

“Yes, Miss Baraja.”

“Sorry, they rotate the companies so often here that I barely get to know anyone.”

“No need to apologise,” Miguel said. “I myself am still trying to memorise the names of all of my subordinates. Your struggles are surely far more difficult. Forgive my intrusion when you are so busy, but a report has arrived from the south.”

Neia felt a twinge of guilt at the man’s earnest tone. Aside from the times when she went to speak about the Sorcerer King’s Truth to the people, she wasn’t very busy. Their goals for the winter had long been set and the citizens of the Northern Holy Kingdom were perfectly fine handling their day-to-day lives on their own.

“I hope it’s good news,” Neia said.

Miguel shook his head.

“There has been another series of raids along the coast,” he said. “Over thirty villages have been burned and their fishing fleets were captured or sunk. Our cavalry patrols responded to each in time quickly enough to keep the raiders from going further inland, but we cannot match the swiftness of their warships.”

“Was it the Sea Lords again?” Neia asked.

The Captain answered with a nod. Neia bit her lip in frustration. When the Northern Holy Kingdom rose in revolt, the southerners had withdrawn to their home territories en masse. At first, Neia believed that they had been overwhelmed by the fervour of her followers. Perhaps they were. Over time, however, the reality of their situation sank in.

Jaldabaoth’s invasion had left the Northern Holy Kingdom depopulated and half in ruins, while the south had escaped the war pretty much unscathed. They had more people, more industry, more ships and more soldiers, and there was little reason for them to expend resources holding onto the burnt-out husk that was the north. Both sides prepared for a continuation of their conflict in the spring, but the south clearly held the advantage.

To make things worse, a group of Nobles with deep maritime roots rose to take command of the south’s fleets. Neia’s forces lost six galleons before being driven out of the central bay entirely, and their side of it had become next to unlivable ever since.

“How many people did we lose?” Neia asked.

“Our patrols remain at full strength,” Miguel answered. “The enemy melts away like the morning fog the moment they hear the sound of our hooves. As for the villagers…we found no survivors.”

Neia slammed her fist on her wooden desk, sending a thick wooden splinter spinning through the air.

“Damn it! How can they be so evil?”

“It’s very clear that they think the same of us, Miss Baraja.”

She knew that. She knew it, but she couldn’t accept it.

Heathens. That was how the south branded them. Her people had been accused of turning from The Four; accused of worshipping the Sorcerer King in their stead. They were little more than cultists who had been corrupted by the enemy of all life.

That was a lie, of course. The Sorcerer King’s Truth: what she had taken to calling the Path of Justice: was not a religion, but a philosophy. A way of life. A self-evident fact that anyone should have realised: especially if they had witnessed His Majesty the Sorcerer King in person.

Infuriatingly, the Southern Holy Kingdom refused to see the Truth. The result was the grim sight awaiting the response to every raid. Villages were sacked and razed wholesale; men, women, and children alike lying charred amidst the ashes of the pyres they had been cast upon.

“The only bright side I can see to this is that it will finally convince the other villages to migrate inland,” Neia said. “I’m sure most of them will be happy to live in the Justice Camps after what they’ve experienced.”

“One would hope,” Miguel nodded. “But losing all of that food production won’t be pretty. Would it be possible to convince the Sorcerous Kingdom to increase their shipments of food aid?”

Neia made a face.

“They’ve already helped us so much,” she said. “I wouldn’t dare ask for more. Besides, if we keep relying on outside help, how can we free ourselves from the sin of weakness?”

“Alright, I’ll have the troops try to convince the people on the bay to abandon their villages again. If we succeed, should we redo the patrols?”

“No, we can’t,” Neia replied. “Even if the coast is empty, we still have to stay alert. It will be a huge problem if the south manages to establish a beachhead.”

Captain Miguel offered a salute before turning to leave with his adjutants. Neia drummed her fingers on her desk as she waited for the sound of their footsteps to recede before reaching into her drawer for the brush. She had a foot on the wooden stool again when another knock sounded at the door.

“Woah!”

Neia lost her balance and fell behind her desk. She groped around for her brush before pulling herself back to her feet.

“C-Come in!”

The door opened once again, and, once again, Captain Miguel and his adjutants appeared.

“Are you alright, Miss Baraja? I thought I heard something just now…”

“I’m fine,” Neia slipped her brush into the cabinet again. ‘I just dropped something on the floor. Did we miss something?”

“Ah, no,” the Captain replied. “But a…Demihuman, I think? A Demihuman is at the front entrance of the palace. It claims that it’s a representative of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“From the Sorcerous Kingdom?” Neia blinked, “Did it come with the latest grain convoy?”

“I’m not sure,” Miguel admitted. “I just saw him standing there on my way out of the palace.”

“Was he carrying anything to prove his identity?” Neia asked.

“I-I don’t know,” the Captain answered. “I think he might have held up something, but I didn’t stick around to see what it was.”

Miguel’s unease was evident in both his voice and posture. Given the Holy Kingdom’s antagonistic history with the tribes of the Abelion Hills, she supposed it couldn’t be helped.

“Find Bertrand so he can go and check,” Neia said. “And send someone to the kitchen to get a meal together.”

Once again, Miguel and his adjutants saluted before leaving the room. Neia reached into a drawer: a different one, this time: and picked out one of the eyeshades that her followers had made for her. If there was truly a representative from the Sorcerous Kingdom, she needed to do everything she could to not screw up their meeting.

The food arrived first, carried into the room by a girl bearing a tray with bowls of Lanca stew and a basket of fresh bread. Neia’s mouth watered at the sight. It was a bit past lunch and she had insisted on not receiving any special treatment with food rationing in effect across the north.

A few minutes later, Bertrand appeared.

“Miss Baraja,” the veteran butler said, “The…messenger carries a scroll bearing the seal of the Sorcerer King. As far as I can tell, it’s the real thing.”

“Show him in right away,” Neia said.

In vain, she tried straightening the wrinkles in her outfit and patted down her hair. For a second she thought about relocating to the throne room so they could be more impressive, but ultimately decided against it. Having an audience there would be like claiming she was the Queen of the Holy Kingdom, which she definitely never wanted to be.

The Sorcerous Kingdom’s envoy entered the room behind Bertrand. Captain Miguel and his adjutants came in behind the froggish-looking Demihuman of a race she had never seen before. It closed its bulbous red eyes and bent its squat form in a sort of bow.

“The Faceless One, I presume,” it said in a smooth voice that belied its somewhat grotesque appearance.

“Please call me Neia,” she said while gesturing to the seat before her desk. “Thank you for coming all this way to see me. What can we help you with?”

“I have been dispatched to discuss a matter of shared concern…”

The Demihuman produced a leather envelope and pushed it across her desk with a partially webbed hand. Neia cast a warm look upon the Sorcerer King’s seal before breaking it open and pulling out the pages within. Her eyes widened as she digested the content of each page.

An attack? But why?

One of the precious grain convoys from the Sorcerous Kingdom had been robbed by the Noble from Re-Estize. Neia’s gaze went to the fluffy white bread in the basket on her desk. Though they couldn’t make much of it, it was the highlight of many people’s meals across the Northern Holy Kingdom…and without the grain from the Sorcerous Kingdom, they wouldn’t have any.

“Th-This is terrible!” Neia moaned, “Our people need that food! Why would they do this?”

The Demihuman shrugged and offered what was probably a helpless smile.

“It was as much a surprise to us,” it said. “But the fact of the matter is that it happened, and an appropriate response must be rendered. If you take a look at the last page, there is a statement that we would like our friends in the Holy Kingdom to endorse.”

Neia flipped through the pages of reports offered by the Sorcerous Kingdom, ending at a crisp seat of noble paper that already bore two seals. Diplomacy wasn’t her strong point, so she wasn’t sure who they belonged to.

“A declaration of war…” Neia murmured, “So you’re going to punish Re-Estize for doing this?”

“Indeed,” the Demihuman’s smile grew wider. “When all is said and done, I am certain that they will never consider stealing our food aid ever again.”

“That sounds fair, um…”

She searched through her pockets and then the drawers of her desk, sighing in relief as she located her personal seal. Her hand froze just before she moved to stamp it on the declaration.

“Will this be enough?” Neia asked, “I’m not the Holy Queen or an official from the Temples. All I have is this personal seal.”

The Demihuman’s smile faded away as remained silent for a moment.

“I mean no offence,” it said, “but it will probably be insufficient. I believe official documents from the Holy Kingdom are affixed with the seal of the Crown and the Temples. Other countries will question the endorsement if they are absent.”

“The royal seal is still in the palace,” Bertrand offered, “but the clergy made off with theirs when they fled the capital.”

“One is better than none,” Neia reasoned. “And everyone in the north follows the Path of Justice, so it’s probably just as good as the temple seal. Will that be alright?”

“It should be acceptable,” the Demihuman replied.

A few minutes later, Neia returned the declaration, with her seal and that of the Holy Kingdom added to the existing endorsements. The Demihuman examined the document for half a minute before nodding.

“I have confirmed your endorsement,” it said as it put the statement away with a flourish. “My thanks for your cooperation in this matter.”

“N-Not at all!” Neia held her hands in front of her in a humble gesture, “In fact, there isn’t enough we can do to repay you for everything you’ve done.”