Chapter 128: The Declaration of War
Three days later.
The Holy Empire of Gusteko, The Pope's Study.
The messenger knelt on one knee behind Hupert, beads of sweat sliding down his cheeks to soak into the plush carpet.
"Your Holiness... regarding the Elven Forest... Queen Elina has formally rejected our petition for aid."
The messenger's voice trembled; he didn't dare lift his eyes to the Pope's face. Hupert, however, was focused on a small pair of silver shears, fastidiously pruning the leaves of a blue orchid on his windowsill.
"As expected."
Snip.
A redundant leaf fluttered to the floor. Hupert's voice was as calm as a morning mist, as if he were discussing a matter that had nothing to do with him.
"Elina-neesama is the same as she ever was."
The messenger went rigid.
Sister?
The century-old Pope was addressing the breathtakingly youthful Elven Queen as his elder sister?
Hupert cast a brief look over his shoulder. "Dismissed. Notify the Archbishops of the various dioceses. Prepare for the Crusade."
"By your command, Your Holiness."
The messenger rose and backed out of the study. By the time the door clicked shut, his back was drenched in cold sweat.
Left alone, Hupert walked to the window. Below, the people of the Holy City moved through the streets like tiny, industrious dots.
"Well," Hupert whispered, looking at the flowerpot. "At least you are still breathing. Regardless of the outcome, I have done my part."
The following morning, the Great Bells of the Holy City began to toll.
Every soul in the capital stopped their work, lifting their heads toward the Grand Cathedral. It was the call for a Holy Crusade—a sound that had not vibrated through the air for centuries.
Countless messengers on galloping steeds burst from the city gates, hurtling toward the four corners of the continent. Each carried a parchment bearing the crimson wax seal of the Pope.
The Holy Empire of Gusteko has formally declared war upon the Evernight Empire.
The news exploded across the land.
The Dwarf Kingdom, Anvil City.
Inside a gargantuan subterranean foundry, the air shimmered with oppressive heat. The Dwarf King, Barock, stood bare-chested, his corded muscles glistening with sweat. He swung a massive iron hammer, slamming it into a white-hot ingot again and again.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Sparks erupted like dying stars. A dwarven guard scrambled into the chamber, nearly tripping over a stack of iron billets.
"Your Majesty! Grave news! The Theocracy has declared a Holy Crusade against the Evernight Empire!"
Barock's hammer paused mid-air. "They did what now?"
He turned, his braided beard swaying with the movement. "Have those bible-thumping zealots finally lost the last of their marbles?"
The guard nodded frantically. "Yes, sire! They've sent a formal invitation to join the 'Alliance of Sanctity' to purge the undead!"
Barock snorted and slammed his hammer onto the stone floor with a BOOM that shook the entire mountain. "The Alliance of Sanctity? Ptui!" He spat a glob of phlegm into the dirt. "Has Hupert's brain been filled with molten slag?!"
The guard shrank back, whispering cautiously, "But Majesty... if we refuse, the Church might..."
Barock's eyes flared. "Might what? Those stick-figured priests can barely lift a hammer, let alone march on my mountains! Tell the couriers to keep a sharp eye out. I want to know exactly how the Orcs and Elves respond before I give those god-botherers a single scrap of my time."
The Orc Alliance, The Gale Plains.
Inside the largest hide-tent of the camp, Warchief Grom sat upon a throne of beast skins, gnawing on a roasted leg of beef that still glistened with fat. An Orcish messenger knelt before him, his leather armor caked in the dust of the road.
"Great Chief... the Holy Empire has declared war..."
Grom tore a massive chunk of meat away with his tusks. "And? What of it?"
The messenger swallowed hard, his stomach growling at the scent of the roast. "They... they request our strongest warriors to join their Crusade."
Grom's chewing stopped. He tossed the bone onto a platter and stood up, his massive frame blotting out half the light in the tent.
"They want my warriors? To fight the dead?" Grom's voice rose into a thunderous rumble. "For the sake of humans who do nothing but sit around and sunbathe?!"
He kicked over a nearby table, sending wine cups and meat platters flying.
"Go back to those white-robed weaklings! Tell them the Orc Alliance remains Neutral! If they want a war, they can bleed for it themselves! Stop bothering me!"
The messenger scrambled out of the tent in a blur of panic. Grom sat back down, retrieved the bone, and took another savage bite.
The Merchant Coalition, Freeport.
The Council Hall was packed, the massive round table surrounded by the wealthiest men on the continent. Every person had a fresh intelligence report before them, the ink barely dry.
"Gentlemen, the Theocracy has declared war," the Speaker began. He was a portly man whose fingers were heavy with gemstone rings. "The question is: which side do we back?"
A tall, gaunt merchant spoke up immediately. "The Holy Empire, obviously! They represent Order! They are the protectors of the status quo!"
A balding merchant across the table let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Order? Status quo? Are you auditioning for a comedy troupe? We are merchants! We follow the gold!"
The bald man slammed the table. "My caravan returned from Iron Fortress last month with triple the expected profit! You expect me to support a Crusade against my best customers? Have you gone mad?!"
The tall merchant turned red. "But... if the Church wins and we didn't take a side..."
"And what if they lose?" the bald man countered. "What then?"
The hall devolved into a shouting match. Some supported the Faith; others supported the dead; many argued for the safety of the fence. The Speaker rapped his gavel on the wood.
"SILENCE!"
The room went still.
"Gentlemen, we are merchants, not warriors. In this war, it does not matter who wins—it only matters that we survive. Therefore... we shall place bets on both sides."
"Publicly, we support the Crusade. We shall dispatch a token shipment of supplies to the Holy City. Subtly, however, we continue our trade with Evernight. That way, no matter who stands atop the heap of bodies at the end, we remain on top of the market."
The hall was quiet for a few seconds. Then, a wave of knowing, greedy smiles spread across the room.
"Brilliant, Mr. Speaker."
The Evernight Empire, The Valley Base.
Kaito sat by the river, his eyes fixed on a bobber floating in the still water. A Skeleton Guard approached from behind.
"Master. The Holy Empire of Gusteko has formally declared war upon us."
"Oh." Kaito didn't look away from the water. "And?"
The Soul Fire in the guard's sockets flickered with confusion. "Er... My Lord, do we need to make preparations?"
Kaito reached into a bucket and tossed a handful of fish feed into the water.
"Preparations? We've caught quite a few 'unruly' elements during the sweep lately, haven't we? Tell them: if they want to keep their lives, they go to the front. If they win this war for me, they earn their Citizenship. It's a simple exchange."
"By your command."
As the guard departed, Kaito watched the ripples in the water, murmuring to himself.
"A declaration of war, huh... I hope they're ready for the grind."
The bobber twitched.
In the various cities of the Evernight Empire, life continued with a noisy vibrancy. Merchants hawked their wares. Children raced through the streets. Succubi stood outside their shops, enticing customers into dreams.
No one discussed the far-off declaration of war. Here, life simply went on.
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