The world did not quite know what to call Montenegro yet.
In the salons of Paris and Vienna, it was spoken of with careful phrasing—a regional stabilizer, a successor state, a fortunate anomaly.
In London, the papers were less charitable, referring to it as the Balkan Pretender or the Ottoman Inheritance, as if the land itself were a borrowed coat that would soon be reclaimed.
In Berlin, the generals watched quietly.
In Rome, the diplomats bristled, as the had a new powerful neighbor to deal with.
Because for all the hedging and euphemism, one truth could no longer be denied: the Kingdom of Montenegro now sat among the Great Powers of the world.
Not by proclamation.
By fact.
The criteria were simple, even if the politics were not.
Control of strategic waterways.
The ability to project military power beyond its borders.
The capacity to shape the outcomes of wars rather than merely endure them.
Montenegro possessed all three.
And so, with reluctant pens and tighter jaws, the chancelleries of Europe adjusted their rankings.
Britain.
Germany.
The United States
Russia.
France.
Austria-Hungary
Itay
And now—
Montenegro.
Italy, unified barely a generation earlier and still struggling to weld pride into power, found itself quietly displaced.
No longer the weakest counted among the great powers of Europe, but even compared to the world powers, Italy remained in others eyes as still weaker than the thoroughly defeated Ottoman Empire.
Then came Montenegro, the newest of the Great powers.
The weakest of the strong.
For many rulers, such a title would have been an insult.
For Peter I, it was intoxicating.
He stood before a mirror in a guest residence in Vienna, adjusting the collar of his coat with almost boyish delight.
The tailoring was immaculate, the fabric expensive but understated.
He had learned quickly that ostentation bred resentment; restraint bred curiosity.
His tiny kingdom had claimed all Ottoman European lands, and yet he did not show off his newfound wealth?
Was it because their was none to be claimed?
Or had he given it all to his soldiers to pay for the campaign after the fact?
"They called us a Great Power today," he said aloud, half to himself, half to the aide waiting nearby.
The man smiled politely. "They did, Your Majesty."
Peter laughed softly.
'The weakest great power, ha as if its an insult, just a few years ago we would never have figured we could even become a proper kingdom let along a dominant power in the world.'
"And you, sire?"
Peter's reflection met his own eyes. There was pride there, certainly—but also relief.
"I think," he said slowly, "that if the world insists on calling us strong, I will not argue. Weakest or not."
He had spent his life expecting to be ignored.
Being underestimated now felt like a gift.
~
Far away, in a backwater province that would never make the papers, Elias listened to a very different set of reports.
He sat at his desk as dusk settled over the Drina Marches, papers neatly stacked, a small lamp casting sharp light across maps and ledgers that no foreign intelligence service had ever seen in full.
The title had reached him already.
Weakest of the Great Powers.
He smiled.
Not broadly.
Not with amusement.
With approval.
"Good," he murmured.
Weakest meant overlooked.
Weakest meant dismissed.
Weakest meant that when the time came—when Montenegro acted again—the world would be forced to rewrite its assumptions in panic rather than preparation.
Surface strength was a liability.
True strength was something else entirely, and knowing when it should be used.
Elias reviewed the numbers once more, more out of habit than necessity.
Five bases.
Each one self-sustaining.
Each one improving.
The three in Montenegro proper had entered a phase of quiet acceleration.
New production lines spun up beneath mountains and coastlines.
And as his focus shifted from a wartime setting to one of accumulation Elias could only watch his credit total inching ever higher towards the quota demanded to rank his skill up and reach the next level of evolution.
The North American base on the otherhand continued its slow, careful growth.
Mining operations expanded providing an all new soure of wealth, but one for more substantial then the exhausted veins of Europe that had already been mined and explored for centuries.
The Native Autonomous Zone had become, paradoxically, one of the most stable regions west of the Mississippi—one that had Washington licking its lips, weighing the odds of trying to rescure the region under federal control once more, even if it meant war with the British.
But if the federals still licking their wounds from the recent civil war dared to invade upon his North American territory, Elias was ready and willing to send the yanks packing and even taking away the western frontier for the trouble.
Sure this would prick the american consience still being brought forward by the desire and claims of manifest destiny.
But if they suffer a real defeat for the first time in their hundred years of history, the unrelenting pride of the nation might finally be stunted and causing them to act even just a little bit more reserved, fearing the fact that they would have not just the British to the North, but also Native America to their west to contend with, while Mexico remained to their south, as the four formed a new power balence on the continent.
The world stage was changing, and with the Balkan war over and the region for the first time stabalizing.
Elias had to turn his attentions to the other parts of the world, with their defeat other regions of the Ottoman Empire would be invited to rise up and attempt independance movements of their own.
Then the British getting involved with Afghanistan more than before to combat the growing Russian threat since they gained access to warm waters.
And the growing colonial tensions within the African continent as the European powers continue to increase their stranglehold over the region.