A general born to rule

the end of a rule

In the dimly lit war room, Emperor Valdrak slammed his fist down on the table, cracking the wood beneath it. His golden armor gleamed faintly in the candlelight, but there was a fury in his eyes that no one dared to meet.

"How could this happen?!" he roared, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Our entire supply line…gone! Those damned Silent Eye assassins have crippled us!"

Valdrak's generals, a mix of former soldiers of the Golden Orcest Empire and mercenaries, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. No one had expected Valorcrest to strike so precisely, so effectively. Without their supplies of muskets and cannons, their armies were drastically weakened, and they could already feel the grip of desperation tightening around them.

King George, sitting across from Valdrak, leaned forward, his face pale and drawn. His once-proud bearing had been eroded by years of exile and constant defeat. His ornate military jacket, now frayed at the edges, hung loosely on his frame.

“We’re bleeding out,” George said quietly, a tinge of hopelessness in his voice. “Without those supplies, we don’t stand a chance against Valorcrest’s forces. Their volunteers alone are mowing down our soldiers, and now our own troops are demoralized.”

Valdrak glared at him, his fiery temper barely held in check. “You think I don’t know that, George? You think I’m blind to the fact that our empire is on the brink of collapse?”

The two men locked eyes, the tension palpable. Their alliance had always been one of convenience, built on mutual hatred for Valorcrest and the empires they had lost. Now, faced with the reality of their dwindling resources, that fragile alliance was beginning to crack.

A soft voice broke through the tension, cutting through the air like a blade.

Theophilus, the once-great ruler of the Holy Gates Kingdom, had been silently brooding in the corner. His sharp eyes narrowed as he finally spoke.

“We cannot afford to fall apart now,” Theophilus said, his voice cold and controlled. “If we do, Valorcrest will pick us off one by one, and this revolution will end with all of us hanging from a noose.”

Valdrak shot Theophilus a dark look. “And what do you propose? We have no muskets, no cannons, and no means to resupply. Our black market contacts have been captured, and our puppet states are useless now. What would you have us do?”

Theophilus stood slowly, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. His icy demeanor never wavered as he surveyed the crumbling war effort around him.

“We still have our armies. And we still have the people. If we can keep them from knowing just how badly things are going, we can buy ourselves time. We need to keep morale high, keep them believing in the fight.”

George shook his head, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Morale? They can barely stand to hold the line against the Valorcrest volunteers. If word gets out that we’re out of weapons, they’ll desert us. We’re running out of time.”

Valdrak paced the room, the floor creaking under his heavy boots. His mind raced, trying to think of a solution, anything to turn the tide. Theophilus was right—they couldn’t let the soldiers know just how dire the situation had become. But how could they hold the line without weapons, without the very means to fight?

“Theophilus,” Valdrak said at last, “you’ve been holding your capital together, even as this revolution threatens to tear it apart. What’s your plan?”

Theophilus regarded him for a moment before answering. “We fortify our defenses. What muskets and cannons we have left, we ration carefully. Spread the men thinner, but make it seem like our forces are growing. Keep them moving constantly so the enemy can’t get a clear picture of our numbers. And we lean on our propaganda. We make them believe they’re winning.”