"In politics,

stupidity is not a handicap."



According to the words of poets, writers and artists, Faria was simply the most enchanting city the world had ever seen.

Not even the mighty Maligrad or Connelly's still stupendous capital, Hadowald, could hold a candle to it.

Its high walls seemed carved in marble, a shimmering white hill rising from the center of a plain covered in fields and meadows perpetually blooming.

Even now that the Montgomery family's dominions had practically halved, the capital of the Grand Duchy never ceased to fascinate everyone who visited it.

Old Berthold Montgomery, the last grand duke of a dynasty that traced its origins to the legendary hero Sigmund, was a lover of beauty and a generous patron, one of those enlightened sovereigns who believed that the true greatness of a nation lay in the arts.

However, by now everyone knew that he didn't have long to live.

Because no matter how many sewage canals and spas you build, how many swamps you reclaim, if you're on its list, leprosy always finds a way to get to you.

For several years now, the Grand Duke had lived like a recluse, a prisoner in his rooms, with the large balcony facing the mountains to the west as his only eye open to the outside world.

He wasn't ashamed of his appearance – in fact he had never wanted to wear a mask – but he was simply afraid of inflicting his own curse on someone else.

The only person who could get close to him without fear was his second son, Victor, who had become very mildly ill when he was very young and easily managed to overcome it, and therefore certainly became immune to it.

But he didn't go to visit his father Victor often, because even though he was now the acting governor, his real interests were elsewhere.

At least he didn't have particularly difficult tastes.

Whether they were servant girls and maids looking for a little money or a little extra food, naive commoners or ambitious noblewomen, it made no difference: everything was fine with him as long as he could satisfy his lust.

The guards and servants were so used to seeing a new face come out of his rooms every day, most of the time in tears, that they almost didn't notice anymore; just as many had begun to ignore the more than eloquent cries and moans that came from beyond that door at any hour of the day or night.

Old Lefde, Earl of Hoope and commander of the western army, did what he could to comply with the will of his friend and lord and best serve his son while guaranteeing the good of Eirinn and the house of Montgomery. But every time it was enough for him to spend five minutes with Victor to understand why Berthold had done everything in his power to make sure that Aria took his place.

"My Lord." he said, knocking on the door one morning, and trying to ignore what he heard. "Sorry to bother you, but it's urgent."

The door suddenly opened, and a maid in a torn dress passed by the old general, running away in tears.

"What's up?" the young man grumbled, getting out of bed and pouring himself some water, without bothering to hide his virile qualities. "I was just starting to have fun."

"I'm sorry My Lord, but the matter is very serious."

"So come on, speak."

"Perhaps it would be better to discuss it in a more appropriate place. I took the liberty of having a council called."

"This sucks! All right, I'm coming."

After he had put on his riding boots, his fencing gloves, his fox fur coat and the silver medallion with his ax and scales, Victor followed his general into the audience room, listlessly sitting on the throne while the his ministers and generals rose from their seats to pay their respects.

Philippe, Berthold's younger brother and Count of Hatlen who sat on the Prime Minister's seat, felt nothing but contempt towards his nephew, who had taken the title of successor away from him with his birth. However, his love for Eirinn was so great that he was even ready to be his attendant in order to be able to do the good of his country.

It was his desire to best serve his nation and its interests that led to his downfall, after his brother discovered him being a little too friendly with various groups of fanatical reunionists.

Luckily for him, Victor was not as wise and astute as his predecessors, so convincing him to lift the exile and take him back into his service was child's play.

"The news is confirmed." General Lefde began as he opened the meeting "Merchants from Eirinn and beyond have started doing business with the west. The rebels have set up a free zone at the Grote Muren fort and in the nearby villages of Hemlin and Todlen, on both sides of the border."

"I heard they pay one and a half times the normal market price for wheat and grains." joked Baron Falkin, one of the nation's largest landowners. "Maybe I could think about it too."

"If you value your tongue Baron, I suggest you avoid similar phrases."

"His Excellency is right." Philippe intervened. "We were very clear. It was forbidden for anyone to do business of any kind with the rebels."

"It was an intimation valid only for private individuals and affiliates of our guild." Falkin objected. "Foreign trade guilds are not obliged to comply with it. The only result we achieved by promulgating that ban was to push many of our merchants to abandon the national guild for foreign ones. Some even joined the guild specially established by the rebels."

"And if I'm not mistaken it was you, Earl of Hatlen, who proposed that ban." Count Van Udren pointed his finger "How do you intend to take responsibility for this?"

"I did it and I'm proud of it!" Philippe defended himself. "Under no circumstances should the message be conveyed that one can do business with rebels! And if our merchants are so greedy that they circumvent the laws just to line their pockets, then there is no choice but to resort to drastic solutions."

"I hope for your sake you are joking!" shouted Lefde "Those lands no longer belong to us. Sending troops there would be like declaring war on the Empire."

"But the Empire is doing nothing to try to take them back. In fact, it almost seems as if the Emperor doesn't care at all."

"My Lord..."

"Well said, Your Excellency. I also want to remind our General Lefde that as a vassal state we are fully authorized to act in the interests of the Empire, provided that we are granted authorization to do so."

"And who should authorize us? Governor Longinus who ruled the province is worm food."

"As Prime Minister of my beloved brother I have spent years dealing with the imperial authorities, long enough to know that their administrative apparatus for handling cases like this is very flawed. As long as we declare that we are acting in the Emperor's interest, and unless he expressly forbids us to do so, it will be fully legitimate for us to use our army to bring those lands back under the control of Maligrad."

"These are just bureaucratic quibbles, and you know it." protested the old Count of Nolgern "If we do something like that the Empire will jump at our throats, and we could lose forever what little freedom we have left."

"So I am to assume that you are prepared to sit back and do nothing while the lands of our ancestors are defiled by a band of rebellious monsters?"

Philippe turned towards Victor, who was watching the debate without intervening but with an expression that was becoming increasingly disturbing.

"We have a unique opportunity here, my nephew. If we are able to resolve this crisis, it could be the first step towards regaining at least some sovereignty over the entire territory of our nation."

Moments of tense silence followed, with supporters of both sides staring menacingly at each other.

"It's been three months since those yokels took what doesn't belong to them, and it seems the Emperor doesn't care in the slightest." he said with a chilling smile. "It's time to do our work as devoted servants."

"My Lord!?"

"Wise decision, my nephew. Give me the order, and my soldiers will march against the enemy."

"No uncle, I have something else in mind for you. Your task instead will be to inform the Emperor of our intentions. Prepare an official document."

"As you wish."

"My Lord, I beg you. Think carefully about this decision. The village of Todlen where many negotiations take place is populated by our subjects, and in Grote Muren there are also many of our merchants."

"So much the worse for them." Philippe said sourly. "Everyone will learn what happens to those who befriend the enemy."

"My decision is made. General Lefde, prepare your men. As commander of the Western Army, you will be in charge of this. You and your army will drive the rebels from our lands, then assault Grote Muren, opening the way to the west. I expect a swift, total and glorious victory."

"... I... will do as you command, My Lord."

"Then I'd say that's all. Gentlemen, goodbye." and the young heir went back to take care of his own business.



"And therefore, having noted the absence of any decisive response to the crisis currently underway, and having to assume that Your Majesty is in a position to not be able to act as he would like, also in order to protect the safety and inviolability of our borders, the current circumstances compel me to act pre-emptively, and to devoutly carry out my duties as a faithful servant of the imperial family. I have already ordered to mobilize my troops, and unless otherwise ordered I am preparing to go to war against the traitors and rebels who have unduly seized power in the Castle and throughout the province. Upon my honor as heir of the Montgomery household, I solemnly swear to return the banner of the golden lion to fly on the towers of the Castle, and to personally bring in front of human and divine justice those who have committed such an act of treason against Your Majesty. With the auspices of Mother Gaia and Your Blessing, I trust that I can write to you as soon as possible to inform you of the liberation of the province of Eirinn and its return under the control of its legitimate rulers. Signed, the Acting Grand Duke of Eirinn, Victor Montgomery. This is clearly an unforgivable act of insubordination!" Marcellus blurted out after he finished reading the letter.

"Aria had warned us, after all. Don't tell me you're actually surprised it came to this."

"We know well that it is only a pretext. Now the Montgomerys will attempt to use this opportunity to regain control of the lands they ceded to us three hundred years ago."

"But that boy is clearly too naive and unprepared to have had such a thought. That snake Philippe is definitely behind it."

The emperor got up from the throne and looked out of one of the windows of the room; the city beneath him was as beautiful and bustling with life as ever, as if nothing could disturb its prosperity and tranquility.

However, Ademar was the first to know that it was only a façade, a thin veneer of marble resting on unsafe clay bases.

"Your Majesty, we cannot allow this. We have to order that crazy head to stop and..."

"Not at all. Let's let him do it."

"Your Majesty..."

"They are right about one thing. If I did nothing it would be seen as a sign of weakness. And there are too many here just waiting to see me fail."

«And what will we do if they win? If the whole of Eirinn were to return under the control of the Montgomerys, who can guarantee that they will be willing to give us back the West?"

It was an aspect that could not be ignored. Whoever wins wars is always on the side of reason, and if it had been the army of the Grand Duchy that defeated the rebels, demanding at least an unofficial return of those lands under the full sovereignty of the Montgomerys would have been a more than legitimate request.

"We must somehow make it clear that you are still managing this crisis. If someone sent by Your Majesty went there and took it upon himself to deal with the rebels in your name, the Grand Duke would be forced to always remember who he's fighting for."

"And who should I send? All our best generals are employed elsewhere. Should I send some bureaucrat from the capital or some recommended person who doesn't have the slightest idea how things work over there? It would just make me look bad."

"I was actually thinking of a military unit of some kind. Something small in size, easily deployable, but with the power to make a difference."

The emperor lowered his gaze for a moment, then turned back to his advisor.

"I can only think of one unit that matches your description."

"I will send a messenger immediately." Marcellus replied with the same smile of complicity.



Grote Muren had never been a particularly important fort, but it was in a favorable position in the center of the narrow valley which, crossing the southernmost part of the Khoral range, connected the east and west of the ancient Grand Duchy of Eirinn.

It was said to have been built during the period of tensions between the two branches of the family shortly before the crisis that would have marked the loss of the Western dominions to the Empire, and for more than a hundred years, it had been in an almost complete state of abandonment, a refuge for petty thieves and stragglers.

The revolutionaries had occupied it immediately after taking power, making it, together with the bridge over the Jesi and another small fort in the northern pass, the only point of contact between the Free State and the rest of the world.

Inside it was possible to trade, discuss and request authorizations to continue further, since in order to have full access to the Free State you needed documents very difficult to obtain.

The two villages on either side of the border, Hemlin to the west and Todlen to the east, were also part of the mechanism; it was there that the first recognition of those who entered the fort took place, which brought benefits to both, guaranteeing a constant coming and going of foreigners full of money.

Natuli hated being in such chaotic environments - one of the few things that united her with most elves - and throughout the journey from the northern territories to the borders of the new nation she had done nothing but mull over the best way to quickly finish her job and go home.

At least the stories she had heard about no distinctions being made were true. When she received permission to continue towards the fortress no one had made questions about her being an elf, even silencing and denying access to a stupid merchant from Patria who had alluded about her pointy ears before she could silence him herself with a punch.

Her initial enthusiasm, however, melted like snow when, once she reached the fort, despite the permit she had been issued, she was prevented from passing through the west gate.

"What should I do to move forward?" she had asked the only other elf she had met, a clanless one – as those who left their homelands to mix with humans were called – selling junk in the lobby of the main building.

"Good luck. They let very few people pass, and always give priority to fleeing slaves. I've been waiting two weeks for authorization. Otherwise you have to prove that you can help them, or that you have some talent they need."

In all this chaos made up of merchants, businessmen, mercenaries looking for a job, emancipated slaves and even some ill-intentioned people, it was up to poor Septimus, in the role of commander of the fort, to maintain order.

Daemon had placed some bureaucrats and notaries alongside him, as well as granting him a good number of troops, but although he was used to managing so many problems all at once, he felt he was now close to losing his mind.

He practically spent almost all of his time in his office, only leaving it to sleep for a few hours or quell various public order problems.

"Commander, the Ministry of Economy is still waiting for the list of merchants arriving this week."

"Tell Mary we'll send it to her by tomorrow."

"Commander, the Torian ambassador has not yet received his accreditation."

"He only arrived three days ago, he can wait a little longer. "

"Commander, those Maharadian mercenaries have made a mess at the tavern again."

"We had already warned them. Revoke their authorization and kick them out."

"Commander, there is a group of rabbits who insist on priority access, but the administration says that they have no documents with them that prove their being slaves."

"Commander..."

"Enough, I can't take it anymore!"

Luckily his aim was terrible, otherwise the inkwell he had thrown would have flown out the window and hit someone in the courtyard.

"Daemon, I swear you'll pay for this! What did you think of sending me here? I'm a soldier not a bureaucrat! I hate bureaucrats!"

"Please Commander, calm down. Someone might hear you."

"But does it seem normal to you? I certainly didn't make the Revolution to be stuck in an office, buried under a sea of paperwork! If you want someone to take care of the paperwork, ask Mary!"

It was quite common for the tower bell to ring, even if only to draw the guards' attention to some fight or moment of tension in the tent city that had developed over time in front of the fort, so at first no one worried about it.

The problem was when a large number of people began to crowd in front of the doors, pushing to enter.

"Commander!" shouted a dust-covered messenger as he entered the office. "An enemy army is heading here!"