Remaining in the capital was supposed to be Emperor Karl Franz's duty, but for him, sitting on the imperial throne felt more like sitting on needles. He was restless.
He was frustrated.
From a series of intelligence reports by Amadeus, his spymaster, it seemed likely that the Chaos invasion would be repelled. Of the three imperial armies, two were nearing Ostland, while Ostermark's forces, though unable to advance, could still defend themselves. Current estimates suggested that, apart from the Chaos main force of 150,000, only a scattered 10,000 Norscan marauders, 40,000 troops under Prince Sigvald of Slaanesh, and 50,000 remnants of Tzeentch and Nurgle's forces remained active.
On the Empire's side, the three combined armies numbered over 200,000 soldiers. Supplemented by Sanctuary-level champions and human elite units, they would likely hold Chaos forces north of the Talabec River. Additionally, the Empire, with a population exceeding 20 million, could easily muster another 200,000 to 300,000 soldiers if fully mobilized. As Amadeus put it, the tide of war was turning in the Empire's favor.
The Battle of Von Zhukov Castle, though costly, had significantly delayed Chaos's advance and sapped their strength. The dazzling victory of the Three Kings' Battle gave Middenland the confidence to fully commit to the war. Reports of 76,000 imperial soldiers routing 153,000 greenskins and beastmen with a staggering 7,500:86,000 casualty ratio filled the Emperor with both joy and jealousy.
In pure military skill and personal valor, Karl Franz grudgingly admitted that he was outmatched by Ryan, the King of Bretonnia. The knight-king's accomplishments were so dazzling that Karl Franz counted himself fortunate to have established a strong alliance with Ryan. The Empire and Bretonnia enjoyed an unprecedented era of peace, and without their military alliance, Bretonnia's aid in this war would have come at a much higher cost—if it came at all. As it stood, Bretonnia's participation only required covering wages and supplies, saving the Empire a fortune.
The lifting of the siege of Bekafen also brought relief. The Chaos main force in Ostland was now trapped in a pincer, with Ryan and Boris's coalition army pressing from the west, the Empire's southern elite closing in from the south, and the Ostermark coalition of humans and dwarves advancing from the east.
It was little wonder Amadeus was in high spirits—the strategic situation had shifted in their favor.
But Karl Franz's mood remained heavy, a shadow lingering in his thoughts.
The reason was simple. For Amadeus, this war was about intelligence. For the treasury minister, it was about finances. For Reikmarshal Kurt Helborg, it was about military calculations.
For Karl Franz, it was about politics.
A monarch skilled in internal affairs, Karl Franz had to consider a host of factors. Could the Empire withstand the strain of this war? How much political capital and fiscal benefits could his court extract from it? How could the Emperor's authority be reinforced? After the war, how would they rebuild the army, recruit replacements, reward contributions, and restore production? How would they handle pensions, relief efforts, and public welfare?
These were the Emperor's burdens alone.
This was the difference between a monarch and his ministers. Ministers could focus on their specific areas, but the Emperor had to oversee the entire picture. Especially in the Empire's decentralized system, the court's machinery often stalled without the Emperor's intervention. Bureaucrats, with their immense inertia, often preferred stability above all else—sipping coffee, reading newspapers, and collecting their salaries without disruption. Only the Emperor could energize them and drive them into action.
This was why Karl Franz often preferred being with his army. Surrounded by soldiers loyal to him, his responsibilities narrowed to one goal: victory.
But an Emperor was still an Emperor. Snapping out of his reverie, Karl Franz returned to his grim thoughts.
The northern provinces had suffered catastrophic losses during this invasion. At least two million imperial citizens and one million Kislevites had perished. Kislev, the northern shield, teetered on the brink of collapse. Ostland, Ostermark, and Nordland required massive reconstruction efforts. On top of that came the staggering costs of war, pensions, and food aid. The Emperor could only imagine the challenges awaiting him once the war ended.
So, what were the rewards? Where was the gain?
This was why Karl Franz was so anxious. Fighting Chaos offered little in the way of loot. The real prize lay in political influence and consolidating imperial authority—mirroring how Ludwig the Savior had used such a crisis to centralize power and rebuild the Empire.
But how did the current situation reflect on him?
Was it the Ice Tsarina's catastrophic defeat at Zedevka that led to Kislev's collapse?
The miraculous defense of Erengrad, where Sylviek's forces and Karad's army delivered a shocking victory, decimating the Norscan High King Aesling?
Nordland's resilient resistance against Norscan raiders?
The brilliant Three Kings' Battle, where Ryan broke the backs of greenskins and beastmen, slaying two kings and striking fear into their hearts?
Ostland's bitter, repeated struggles, culminating in their steadfast defense of Wolfenburg?
The Butcher King's heroic contribution to the siege of Bekafen?
All of these.
But where was the Emperor? Where was his army?
Karl Franz's name was glaringly absent. "Karl Franz! Why are you just watching? Have you betrayed us?"
The thought weighed heavily on him. Did he not want to act? Summoning an army took time. Unlike Ryan, who could rally troops with a word, Karl Franz needed extensive political maneuvering and resource exchanges. Even with his masterful diplomacy, it still required time.
This was why the Emperor was so eager. If he didn't lead his forces into Ostland soon, defeating Chaos without him would render his role as Emperor redundant. Elector Counts might question his purpose if they believed they could rely on their own efforts and allies.
To add to his frustrations, the remnants of Kislev's army, rather than retreating south to regroup with Katarin in Ostermark, had instead sailed with Bretonnia's fleet to Couronne. Karl Franz picked up a second intelligence report.
Interesting. This remnant was Kislev's last field force, including their elite Winged Lancers, Bear Riders, and Red Navy. It seemed Katarin was losing her grip on her military, prompting her public demand for the troops' return. Her request had even reached Karl Franz's desk.
"What does this have to do with me?" the Emperor thought bitterly. "Solve your own problems. Talk to the kingdom of knights across the mountains!"
Setting aside the report, Karl Franz turned his attention to more pressing matters.
Old World, Couronne, Capital of Bretonnia
In the royal palace, Queen Sulia worked in the king's office, managing the realm in Ryan's absence.
Clad in an elegant court blouse and a snow-white pleated skirt, Sulia exuded regal beauty. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her radiant presence brightened the room. As she reviewed documents, her heeled foot tapped the carpet beneath her desk, the sheer black stockings adding to her commanding aura.
Behind her stood Olica, Ryan's loyal dark elf maid, dressed in her customary black-and-white lace uniform. The usually expressionless Olica kept a close watch on her surroundings, her magical staff and enchanted dagger within reach.
Sulia handed Olica a document, her brow furrowing. "Olica, what do you make of this?"
Examining the sealed letter from Kislev, Olica smirked. "The Tsarina has some nerve. She wants us to send the Kislevite army we rescued at such cost back to the Empire? This request is absurd."
"What would you suggest?" Sulia asked.
Olica's voice carried a sharp edge. "Absolutely not. Sending them back would harm our interests and likely lead to their deaths. They'd either fall to Chaos or be betrayed by their own. There's no benefit for us."
"I agree." Sulia nodded. "Ryan left this to us to handle. What are our options?"
Olica grinned mischievously. "The simplest solution? Kill the Tsarina. A clean, quiet resolution."
"That's out of the question." Sulia's tone was firm. "This isn't the dark elf way. Politics here operates differently."
Olica's grin widened. "Then what's your plan, my queen?"
Sulia smiled knowingly. She enjoyed the intellectual duel with Olica. "We'll think it over. For now, let's focus on today's task."
Half an hour later, in a secret chamber of the Couronne palace, Sulia knelt with her son and Olica before a massive mirror.
"Greetings, Father."
"Greetings, Grandfather!"
"Greetings, Lord!"
The mirror shimmered, revealing the radiant form of the Master of Mankind upon his throne. His divine presence dwarfed even the grandeur of Couronne, leaving them humbled.
"Rise and speak," came the Emperor's voice, resounding both distant and near.
"Yes, my lord."
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