The Gears of War

Three hours ago, at the Hageritz Palace.

After escorting the emperor back to his chambers, William watched as Charlton II dismissed all the attendants in the room.

"Father..."

In the quiet of the chamber, William spoke hesitantly.

Even now, he had no idea what his father intended to discuss, but judging from the rare solemnity on his face, it must be something urgent and of great importance.

After a long moment of contemplation, Charlton II finally asked,

"William, you and Ophelia have been at odds in private. Do you know how far she has progressed with that ability of hers?"

"This..." William froze for a second. "Father, are you referring to... the Dreamworld?"

He had initially thought his father was about to reprimand him for their rivalry, but instead, the question was about that.

Ophelia's bloodline talent was exceptionally rare in the Wegnar family. Throughout the imperial lineage, only the founding Emperor Antius and one other great ruler had ever awakened such an ability.

It was a power favored by the gods—one that allowed them to enter the surreal realm of the deity Nodens and even create worlds of their own.

Ever since learning of this, William had envied his sister deeply. Now, however, that envy was mixed with wariness, for anyone who had clashed with her knew just how troublesome that ability could be.

Not only was she brilliant, but her supernatural gifts were formidable. That was why William remained wary of Ophelia, never daring to underestimate her despite his own considerable influence.

"Not long ago..." William recalled, "an opposition group called 'Night Crows' was completely apprehended, and Ophelia was present at the scene."

"Her ability proved invaluable to the police. It's said that every possible escape route through the sewers was sealed—not a single criminal escaped."

"I see..." Charlton II fell into thought. "Her mastery over the Dreamworld has grown more refined, and she can now exert near-perfect influence on reality..."

He sighed. "Who knows what she has experienced in such a short time? Her progress over the past year alone has been astonishing."

William was puzzled. His father seemed unusually concerned about Ophelia's ability.

"William, investigate Ophelia's activities," Charlton II suddenly said with gravity. "The Dreamworld poses a great danger—not just to our safety, but to the future of the empire itself."

The future of the empire? William was stunned.

But he nodded immediately. "Understood, Father."

After lingering in the palace for a brief conversation with Charlton II, William prepared to leave. Just then, an elderly attendant hurried into the chamber.

"Your Majesty! Urgent war report—the Weston Holy City has been destroyed, and all high-ranking officials of Norsgul have gone missing!"

"What?" Charlton II frowned. "Is the intel confirmed?"

"Confirmed!" the attendant affirmed. "The intelligence minister delivered it personally. He rushed here the moment he received the news."

For the first time, the usually composed emperor looked genuinely startled. Even he had not anticipated such a catastrophic turn of events for Wegnar's century-old nemesis.

His expression shifted from shock to exhilaration. Suppressing his overwhelming delight, the emperor let out a hoarse, lion-like roar:

"Go! Summon the defense minister, the army and navy marshals, and the general staff—immediately!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

...

The resplendent Hall of the War God, located at the heart of Hageritz Palace, was adorned with murals depicting the military triumphs of the "Dragon Sovereign" Emperor Antius. As William listened to the heated debates among the generals and marshals around him, his gaze lingered on the most famous of these paintings.

In it, Emperor Antius seized the crown from the pope's hands and placed it upon his own head, transforming the kingdom into an empire.

Having grown up in these halls, William had passed these war-and-glory murals countless times. Yet he had never imagined that he would witness a feat rivaling Antius' in his own lifetime.

It seemed everyone had underestimated his aging father. His ambitions were far from the placid, status-quo image he projected—nor was he content to merely be a caretaker ruler for Wegnar.

The moment he learned of the holy city's fall, he had unhesitatingly chosen war. Recalling the lion-like fire in his father's eyes earlier, William realized this was a moment the emperor had waited decades for.

"His Majesty's plan is..." the defense minister explained, "to divide our forces into three rapid-strike units, penetrating deep into Norsgul's heartland and seizing key strategic regions along the way."

"Twelve legions will be mobilized. The northern front will occupy enemy resource cities—critical zones for iron and magic ore production. The southern front will assault and burn the agricultural heartland, a densely populated area. Meanwhile, the central legion will secure transportation hubs before pushing straight to the ruins of the Weston Holy City, ultimately taking control of all major enemy cities."

The army marshal pondered. "A swift strike is the right approach. Our newly upgraded magic-armament equipment this summer makes it feasible. But dividing our forces is risky—we should concentrate our strength..."

"But this is His Majesty's directive, and it's based on solid reasoning. The intelligence minister also mentioned—"

"Enough! We all know His Majesty loved micromanaging in his younger days. Old habits die hard..."

A general interjected, "I propose focusing on the southern front. The vast majority of Norsgul's population lives in the southern plains. Assign me six legions, and I can inflict nearly fifty percent casualties, crippling their population recovery for a century."

"No, the northern resource cities are more vital," another general countered. "Our military relies too heavily on industrial supply—we must sustain the war with captured resources."

"And what about the navy?"

"This isn't a naval matter," the army marshal scoffed. "Norsgul has no coastline."

"I hope you keep that tone when we're escorting your supply convoys," the navy marshal shot back.

As the perennial rivalry between army and navy threatened to boil over, the defense minister quickly mediated. "The navy has its role. You are both His Majesty's sharpest spears."

Amid the marshals' and generals' heated debates, the Hall of the War God grew thick with tension. Every man present burned with ambition, eager to march their armies into the enemy's heartland, drink from the rivers beneath Weston's sacred mountains, and carve their names into history for the emperor.

William could not join their discussions—his task was different.

With war imminent, his father needed a stable capital.

"Grandmaster Hawkins," William greeted as the chief mage approached, nodding slightly.

"His Majesty has sent me to assist you," Hawkins glanced at the clamoring generals before turning his gaze to William. "He will contact me through magical communication later. He’s exhausted and needs quiet seclusion to recuperate."

"Seclusion?" William frowned in confusion. His father wasn’t a transcendent being—why would he need seclusion?

"I knew you’d be puzzled, but you’ll understand soon enough." Hawkins stepped out of the grand hall, looking down at Saint Callen City from above. "This is His Majesty’s ability, one he’s never revealed to you before. He’s studied it for so many years, and now, at last, he can truly use it—just once."