A full year had passed since the terrifying skies above the Dunbar Kingdom had opened with the fire and chemical devastation of the MSW-2 missiles. Now, Pro-Consul Maximilian stood at the age of twenty-two, his control extending not just over the original borders of Scorpia, but across the conquered lands of the Dunbar Kingdom and the formerly chaotic Central Region, a domain unified under the banner of absolute, technological Order. The integration had been a relentless, twelve-month process, supervised by General Jakob and thousands of ISB officers who replaced the messy work of conquest with the clean lines of bureaucracy. The fear generated by the initial strikes had been meticulously managed by the immediate deployment of the ERT, who brought essential medical relief and food, subtly reinforcing the message that the State was the only true guarantor of survival and prosperity.
The transformation of the Dunbar Kingdom was perhaps the most striking achievement. Gone were the remnants of the old feudal structures, and with them, the dangerous pride in a volatile, uncontrollable magical heritage. The Inquisitors had executed their mission with chilling success, using newly digitized records and ubiquitous surveillance to meticulously root out any lingering ideological dissent. Those with ties to the deposed Gigante or those who harbored deep resentment against Max's industrial ideology simply vanished into the vast Scorpian re-education network. What was left was a population that, while subdued, was now undeniably better fed, better housed, and better employed than ever before in its history. King Dunbar remained within the fortified embassy, a useless, pathetic figurehead who existed only to sign the documents Max's proxies put before him, ensuring the legal veneer of annexation was flawlessly maintained.
Everywhere, new infrastructure was springing up like weeds, a biological metaphor for Max's inorganic, concrete will. The old, winding dirt paths of the Dunbar Kingdom—fit only for mud-caked carts and horses—were systematically ripped out and replaced by vast, perfectly level modern concrete roads. These weren't mere paved surfaces; they were engineered thoroughfares, ten meters wide, built with a composite concrete Max's engineers had perfected—a material designed to handle the perpetual traffic of Scorpian heavy supply trucks and military APCs. These roads were the arteries of control, built not to follow the contours of the land or the boundaries of old property lines, but to connect key logistical hubs in the shortest, most efficient straight line possible. Every kilometer was marked with standardized Scorpian sigils and distance posts, enforcing a universal system of measurement and erasing the local, chaotic customs of the past. Along these arteries, the very air seemed to thicken with the presence of the State.
Security was omnipresent and subtle. The most striking feature of the new urban landscape was the proliferation of cameras. Mounted on every new streetlamp, public plaza, and checkpoint, these weren't simple lenses; they were sophisticated ISB surveillance units, integrated directly into the new, secure Scorpian data grid. They observed public behavior, flagging everything from unauthorized gatherings of more than three people to deviations from the established curfew. These unblinking eyes provided the ISB and General Jakob with real-time insight into the psychological health of the occupied region, ensuring that nascent discontent was extinguished before it could even form a coherent thought. The very visibility of the cameras served as a profound psychological deterrent, reminding every citizen that Order was not only maintained by soldiers but demanded complete compliance, enforced by the pervasive, cold logic of Max's machines.
The chaotic, mismatched medieval housing that characterized the old regime was rapidly being replaced. Max's engineering corps instituted massive projects to construct standardized, functional modern concrete residential buildings. These blocks were identical to those found in the heart of the original Scorpian territories: clean, uniform, structurally sound, and connected to the central power and sanitation grids. This housing drive served a powerful ideological function: it literally paved over the architectural remnants of feudalism and arbitrary class structure, replacing it with the clean, egalitarian, and controlled logic of the State. Every new apartment came with guaranteed electricity, heat, and running water—amenities the old nobility had often failed to provide—a subtle, constant trade-off for the citizen: your freedom to dissent is replaced by guaranteed comfort under the State's Order.
But the most potent weapon in Max's arsenal was not the V-2 or the ISB, but the economy. The new territories, far from being plundered, were being systematically optimized for maximum productivity. Max's free education system, now implemented in the Dunbar region, had funneled thousands of young, previously disenfranchised citizens into vocational training programs, creating a massive, dedicated workforce. This instantly eradicated unemployment. Furthermore, Scorpia's advanced, scientifically managed agriculture—leveraging proprietary fertilizers and automated irrigation—had completely stabilized the food supply chain. The result was a dramatic drop in the cost of basic sustenance.
This economic reality was best illustrated by the metric Max often cited in his internal reports: food is cheap, with even the poorest family in Scorpia being able to afford a few rabbits for a meal. This was more than just a measurement of calorie intake; it was a measure of existential security. A poor family could, on a regular basis, afford protein. They were no longer one bad harvest away from starvation or two taxes away from destitution. Their children were fed, their homes were warm, and their lives, while completely subject to the State's control, were secure. This guaranteed quality of life was the ultimate proof of Max's ideology: the God of Order delivers prosperity where chaotic magic delivers only poverty and uncertainty. The trade-off was irresistible to a population that had endured centuries of unpredictable feudal rule.
The former Central Region, now simply designated the Central Territory, had undergone a similar, though less urbanized, transformation. The chaos of the warlords had been replaced by the ordered extraction of resources. The ASOG specialists and Army Rangers had spent the year performing final sweeps, neutralizing the last vestiges of rogue mages and bandit groups. They were followed not by settlers, but by Scorpian engineering corps who established massive, modular mining and logging nodes, all connected by the new central roads and protected by a sparse, mobile military presence. The Central Territory was now a vast, disciplined factory floor, its resources feeding the massive industrial engine of Scorpia, allowing Max to continue producing the technology that maintained his superiority.
Max, sitting in his spartan office overlooking the ever-expanding capital, reviewed the reports. The integration was nearly complete. Dunbar was productive, compliant, and structurally sound. The Central Territory was secured and being ruthlessly exploited. His kingdom was now a technological and military behemoth unmatched on the continent. Yet, despite the triumph, the strategic map still held two significant blips that demanded his attention. The success of Operation: Divine Retribution and the seamless integration of Dunbar had only heightened the urgency of addressing the remaining external threats before they could react to his consolidated power. He had secured the West, but the North and East remained unsettled. His agents were already in place, but time was always the enemy.
The diplomatic team, led by Ambassador Theron, was still deep inside the Kath Empire, their embassy a precarious intelligence node inserted into the heart of his only potential peer rival, the nation whose anti-mana towers still presented the biggest technical question mark to Max's dominance. Meanwhile, the powerful, conservative Eastern Dukes watched his expansion with mounting alarm, their feudal alliances and antiquated armies starting to show signs of unified, fearful movement. Max knew he could not wait for their alliance to solidify. The next move had to be swift, decisive, and based on the intelligence he had paid so dearly to gather. The clock on Operation: Serpent's Kiss was ticking, but the success of that operation depended entirely on the data gathered by the embedded Faceless Men in the Kath capital. Which threat to prioritize—the known technological risk in the North, or the forming military alliance in the East—was now the singular, critical decision.