The vast square was still echoing with the cheers of the crowd when Emperor Gavin Ward raised his hand once again. His deep voice rolled across the field like thunder.
"Varuk and the six orc kings, step forward."
For a moment, silence fell. Everyone on the viewing platform looked stunned. The audience of nobles, soldiers, and foreign envoys turned their eyes toward the orc delegation in disbelief.
"Did His Majesty just summon the orcs?" someone whispered.
"Why would he call them to the platform?"
"Who knows… but whatever it is, it's big."
Under the gaze of hundreds of thousands, Varuk, king of the Northern Orcs, stepped forward. His broad chest rose and fell as excitement burned in his heart. One by one, the other six orc kings followed him, exchanging uncertain glances before joining his side.
The tension in the air was thick enough to feel.
When they reached the emperor, the seven kings knelt on one knee, their massive forms bowing before him. The Imperial Guard stood motionless around them, their rifles glinting in the sunlight.
"Varuk," said Gavin Ward, his calm yet commanding tone echoing through the silence, "I ask you and your fellow kings to swear your allegiance to me, now."
Varuk raised his head, his eyes filled with pride. "Your Majesty," he said loudly, his voice deep like a drumbeat, "we who are weaker swear loyalty to the one who is strong. Your sword's edge will be our direction of attack. We will never break our oath. Your enemies are our enemies. Your goals are our goals. Please, accept our allegiance!"
One after another, the other six orc kings repeated the same vow, their voices overlapping like a battle chant.
"We swear loyalty to Emperor Gavin Ward of the Ross Empire!"
The Emperor slowly bent forward, placing his hand gently on Varuk's head.
"I, Gavin Ward, Emperor of the Ross Empire, accept your allegiance."
The declaration echoed across the square. The people roared, but the nobles and envoys could only stare.
"Incredible!" someone gasped. "I thought the orcs hated humans!"
"Impossible… The seven orc kingdoms have actually submitted to the Ross Empire?"
The kings exchanged uneasy looks. This alliance changed everything. If the orc kingdoms—once fierce and independent—had truly pledged loyalty to Ross, then the balance of power across the continent had just shifted.
Some whispered nervously. "If the Ross Empire marches, the orcs will march too."
"Then where do we stand?"
On the viewing platform, several kings of smaller nations began to waver. The Tongsley Empire's alliance suddenly didn't seem so stable.
Although the Tongsley Empire boasted hundreds of millions of people, that number only existed on paper—formed by adding up all the kingdoms under its banner. In truth, half of those states were weak, divided, and barely loyal.
As the whispers of doubt spread among the guests, the Golden Lion delegation clenched their fists in fury. Their eyes burned with hatred as they glared toward the Emperor on the distant dais.
They wanted to act, but none dared.
Then Gavin Ward lifted his hand again. "Varuk, as my most loyal vassal, I shall reward you."
He gestured to the side, and several soldiers rolled out a heavy object covered with a dark cloth. When they pulled it away, a bronze cannon shimmered under the sunlight.
Varuk's eyes widened. "A… gun?"
The weapon was massive—its barrel thick and held together by iron bands. Two sturdy wooden wheels supported its weight. Though different from the sleek cannons used by the Ross military, it was clearly a deadly weapon.
"This," Gavin Ward announced, "is a twenty-four-pound bronze infantry cannon. Along with it, I grant you the knowledge of its construction. This is the Empire's gift to your people."
A gasp spread through the stands.
Even the kings who didn't understand warfare could feel the weight of this gesture. A weapon from the Empire itself—and not just any weapon, but one capable of changing battles.
In truth, the twenty-four-pound cannon was based on designs from centuries ahead of this world's time. Though it took several minutes to reload and had a range of just over a kilometer, it was enough to tear through enemy ranks like paper.
Against rows of foot soldiers, the solid iron shot could carve an open path of blood and destruction in an instant.
The orc king stared in awe. "Your Majesty… this is beyond honor."
Around him, the six other orc rulers couldn't hide their envy. Their eyes lingered on the bronze cannon with greed and yearning.
"Such power… If we too serve the Ross Empire faithfully," one whispered, "perhaps we'll receive the same."
King Wallace IV murmured quietly to King Gunther III, "That thing—just one of them—could decide a battle. We must stay close to Ross."
"Yes," Gunther nodded. "This alliance may be our best hope for survival."
Meanwhile, the Golden Lion knights exchanged glances, a spark of greed flashing in their eyes. They understood what that weapon could mean on the battlefield.
But they also had another thought—to steal it.
After the ceremony concluded, after the vows and military parades, the guests would remember only two things:
First, the army of the Ross Empire—its tanks, guns, and soldiers—was terrifying beyond imagination.
Second, the Ross Empire had declared war against the Golden Lion Principality, openly challenging the might of the Tongsley Empire itself.
Every envoy knew that when they returned home, this news would shake the world.
---
That night, in the diplomatic quarter of Los Angeles, the kings and envoys gathered again. Though they could leave at any time, few wanted to.
The city was dazzling—streets lit by gas lamps, airships flying overhead, and shops full of inventions unseen in their own lands. For many, it was like stepping into a dream of the future.
Compared to the gloomy capitals of the Tongsley Empire, Ross City was paradise.
So the foreign nobles stayed—spending gold freely, feasting, and exploring this strange, shining city. It was common to see a foreign monarch walking through the marketplace or sitting beside commoners at a café.
Most of all, they loved the food. The Empire's chefs prepared dishes so rich and flavorful that the visiting kings couldn't stop eating.
Gavin Ward himself had opened an elite restaurant in the city—only officers of regimental rank or higher could normally afford it. Tonight, however, it was reserved for the foreign guests.
---
It was close to midnight. Inside one of these restaurants, King Wallace IV, King Gunther III, and several other rulers were laughing, wine glasses raised.
"This beef stew," Wallace said with delight, "is divine! Perhaps I should bring one of these chefs back home."
The laughter was loud, the mood relaxed—until—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shattered the peace. The windows rattled. A red splash of wine spilled from Wallace's cup.
"What was that?!" he cried, jumping to his feet.
Before anyone could answer, something crashed outside—the sound of breaking wood and screaming metal.
They rushed to the window just in time to see a body flying through the air.
It landed hard on the cobblestone street with a sickening thud. The body was split in half, blood spraying across the ground.
Wallace's face went white. He stumbled outside, his eyes wide with shock.
The mangled corpse wore the armor of the Golden Lion delegation—the mark of a great knight.
"By the gods…" whispered Gunther, stepping back. "That's one of the Duke's own men."
Wallace swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Who… who could do this? Who's strong enough to tear a great knight in half like that?"
The street was silent except for the crackle of flames in the distance. Somewhere in the shadows, footsteps echoed—slow, deliberate, powerful.
A chill swept through the kings as they realized…
Something far more terrifying than politics had just arrived in Ross City.
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