William watched as the holo-link dimmed to a dull blue. His gaze drifted slightly to the side, and in the edge of his Talent Panel, Gwen's profile shimmered.
[Level 3 – Gweniwith Raven]
She had leveled up again.
Without hesitation, William assigned her new skill point to Martial Prowess.
The new skill unlocked was [Combat Master].
A breakthrough.
With it, Gwen had begun to attain enlightenment in Mech combat. For Mech Practitioners, this was no minor development. Neural links with Mechs were inherently exhausting. The connection between human consciousness and steel was a strain most failed to handle during prolonged engagements, especially against High-Class or Titled Mechs.
But now?
This skill eased the burden on her mind. Strengthened her resilience. Honed her reflexes. It wasn't just an upgrade, it was evolution. A critical step forward.
With Gwen's advancement settled, William leaned back in his throne.
The nobles and officials bowed and slowly filed out of the chamber.
His presence had been firmly established.
His prestige?
Undeniable.
His authority?
Unchallenged.
And that was the problem.
He had risen too quickly. Established dominance too fast. Now, instead of drawing loyalty, he was breeding fear. Fear was useful, yes. But isolation? That was dangerous.
William wasn't naïve.
A crown without support was nothing more than a noose disguised in gold.
He would need allies. Influence. Relationships. The Court wouldn't be conquered by fear alone.
But William had a plan.
The carrot and the stick.
Reward and punishment. Mercy and might.
It would work.
As the golden light of the hall dimmed, he slouched deeper into his seat, mind already moving past the Court. His next concern loomed ahead.
Planet Krossar.
Conquest was inevitable, but its consequences would reshape everything.
Still, the Bright Kingdom would fall easily. They had no Tier 1 ground units. Not even one.
William, meanwhile, was deep into production of a second Tier 1 unit for the Iron Legion.
Shock Trooper Mk. I.
A heavy-impact ground unit designed for speed, power, and tactical adaptability. It was the core blueprint needed to build the ultimate Tier 3 behemoth he envisioned.
The Mauler-Class Exarch.
Once deployed, the Mauler-Class would be a fearsome presence on any battlefield.
He already had one Tier 1 unit established. With Gwen's growth and the Shock Trooper project nearing completion, the Iron Legion would soon possess two foundational cores.
Thanks to his talent, the production lines were already running at a terrifying pace.
The Bright Kingdom didn't stand a chance.
But William wasn't foolish enough to only plan for the immediate threat.
It was his neighbors that concerned him.
The Elven Faction, with their obsession for turning entire biomes into sacred woodlands, were already posturing along the border. Worse still was the Beast Faction—more precisely, the marauding tribe that called themselves the Kalmirac.
They were nomads of ruin.
Planet to planet, they marched under the banner of destruction, driven by savage belief and raw Beastal Energy. They didn't just kill, they worshipped devastation. And when they were done, they cracked the planet open like a fruit offering to their god.
Their god was a Bull.
Kalmir.
A beast deity of might and destruction.
The Kalmirac were not just a faction. They were a Great Tribe. Capable of interstellar travel, unified under blood rites and divine frenzy. Their core race was the Bullkin, but their vassal tribes brought a horrific diversity to their war machine.
Elven Tribes were more manageable for William, because Elves generally tended to their own affairs—generally being the key term here. They held to their borders, observed their treaties, and preferred ancient oaths over the chaos of modern ambition. But the Beast Factions? They were a different breed entirely.
The Beastkin had long since aligned themselves with the Chaos Faction. Where the Elves moved with elegance and diplomacy, the Beastkin surged with rage and instinct. There would be no parley, no middle ground. Once war drums beat in the Beastwood, they did not stop until the land beneath them was scorched. Thus, they became irrevocable enemies of the Living Kind.
But that was a story for another time.
Right now, William only needed to witness the fall of the powers that stood against him.
The insomnia that had plagued him was, for now, subdued. He found his rhythms again. The passage of time felt fluid, almost deceptive—three months drifted by like a dream.
In those three months, William's campaign had borne fruit. The Rebels were crushed or bent the knee. The Krossars, once lords of a thriving port, were now vassals to the Dawn Throne. Their resources, their fleets, their trade—all of it flowed to William's coffers. The planet once held by his uncle had also fallen, its nobles executed, its armies conscripted, its fields burning before being reborn under his banner.
Peace, however, did not come easy. Civil unrest still smoldered in the alleys and mining sectors. Military presence was required to maintain order. But the machine was moving, and the rusted gears were finally turning smooth.
What brought the most satisfaction, however, was not conquest.
It was the Next Turn.
At the dawn of March, [Turn 7] arrived.
And with it, something shifted.
[Resources: +2000]