The Iron Crown's banner fluttered over Vienna's skyline—no longer a symbol of rebellion, but one of authority. Hans Ehrenfeld Adler, now recognized as the rightful monarch of the Austrian territories, stood at the balcony of the Hofburg Palace. His newly forged monarchy was no longer a whisper among rebels or a vision sketched in notebooks. It was real. The Iron Crown stood tall.
The coalition's pressure had only worsened.
Spies moved like rats through the markets. Trade routes were quietly redirected away from Oberfeld. Geneva issued another communiqué: "Unilateral action against Czechia will be seen as hostile expansion." Hans let the paper burn in the hearth. He knew exactly what this was. Fear. Not of tyranny—but of independence.
That morning, a new envoy arrived from Bohemia—specifically, from the provisional administration still holding in Prague. They requested urgent talks. Hans, flanked by Colonel Engelhardt and Albrecht, entered the council chamber where the emissary, pale and sweat-slicked, bowed stiffly.
"The Czech state… is collapsing," he confessed. "The people don't trust us. The Guild presence here has bred more resentment than peace. They want a protector."
Hans narrowed his eyes. "And what is it you want?"
"A peaceful surrender," the envoy said quickly. "Annexation. In exchange, we ask for representation in your new monarchy… and protection from the Coalition's economic stranglehold."
Hans didn't respond at first. He looked out toward the wintry city, deep in thought. Then:
"You'll get your seats," Hans said. "But your loyalty must be to Austria—not to the ghosts who let your country rot."
The envoy nodded rapidly, and within two days, the Czech surrender was public. Bohemia and Moravia were officially integrated into the Crownlands of the Iron Crown. Protests erupted across the Guild-controlled territories, but Hans no longer cared.
Three Days Later – Secret Summit in Linz
In a heavily guarded hall beneath a cathedral long-since repurposed into a command post, Hans met with Mehmed and Hungary's Guildmaster, István Nagy, in secret.
Nagy was a lean man in his early forties with graying hair and an ever-skeptical stare. He had not trusted Hans during the Geneva debacle, but Hungary's recent stabilization had come only after Hans provided critical support—food convoys, border troops, and volunteers who helped repel cultist remnants in the countryside.
"We're not blind to what's happening," Nagy said, voice low. "Half the Coalition is preparing sanctions, and the other half is wondering if they should back you before someone else does."
"I don't need their backing," Hans said. "What I need is time."
"To do what?" Mehmed asked.
"To prepare for what's coming. The cultists haven't stopped. The Gates are opening wider. And while the Guilds argue over which flag is more marketable, there are entire provinces being swallowed."
"You want a new alliance," Nagy said.
Hans nodded. "Not based on trade. Not based on profit. But one based on sovereignty, strength… and survival."
Mehmed leaned forward. "An Eastern Pact?"
"No." Hans narrowed his eyes. "A Free Pact. Monarchies, republics, city-states—whatever. So long as they value self-rule and aren't afraid to bleed for it."
Nagy said nothing for a while. Then: "You're either building a shield for Europe… or a sword."
"Perhaps both," Hans replied.
Meanwhile – The Coalition War Table, Geneva
News of the Czech annexation struck like thunder.
"He's consolidating faster than we expected," a British guildmaster muttered.
Japan's representative shook his head. "And now he's working with Hungary and the Turks. If we do nothing—"
"What do you propose?" the American guild leader snapped. "Strike now? He's technically done nothing illegal under our charter."
"Yet," said the Dutch delegate darkly.
A silence fell.
And then the Polish delegate spoke up—a rare sight, as they were usually marginalized.
"There are still voices in the East," he said. "One of our last democratic enclaves—called Lublin Free State—has sent messages. Their leader reached out to Hans, not us. Because we ignored their pleas. Just like we ignored Hungary. And Türkiye."
He paused. "Maybe Hans isn't the threat. Maybe our inaction is."
Some guildmasters shifted uncomfortably. Others glared at him.
And the lines of division—like cracks in old stone—deepened.
Back in Oberfeld – A Letter
Hans stood alone in his war room as snow began to fall again.
On the desk lay a sealed letter.
The seal was Polish.
He broke it open, reading the contents silently.
"We are the last spark of free Poland. We do not ask for conquest. We ask for help.
Your Iron Crown may be forged from monarchist steel—but to us, it's still a shield.
Come. Lend it to us. Or we will fall."
Hans folded the letter and looked out the frost-covered window.
"Prepare the train to Lublin," he ordered.
The Iron Crown moved again.