For the moment information about the meeting had been leaked, the meeting had no chance to remain civil.
Schneizel understood the moment that his plan had worked the first explosion echoed across the western district of Pendragon.
He stood before the tactical display in his command center as crimson indicators ignited across the map.
Clovis' forces had been engaged by a join offensive of Guinevere and Carine.
So.
It had begun.
The scheduled negotiation between factions had collapsed before it truly started. Accusations had escalated into open confrontation, just as Schneizel had predicted might happen—though not this quickly.
"How unfortunate," he murmured.
Kanon glanced at him. "Shall we mobilize?"
Schneizel observed the unfolding battle calmly.
Clovis' Knightmares were advancing aggressively through the central avenue, attempting to split Guinevere's defensive line before Carine's reinforcements could properly coordinate. It was bold. Impatient. Very Clovis.
Then the private channel activated.
Clovis' voice cut through, strained but controlled.
"Schneizel. They moved first. Guinevere and Carine coordinated against me."
"I know you have troops close to the meeting site. I require immediate support. If we strike now, we can break them before they consolidate."
Schneizel allowed a brief silence.
The board aligned precisely as foreseen.
Clovis isolated.
Guinevere suspicious.
Carine reactive.
If he intervened now—publicly, decisively—he would become the indispensable axis of victory.
"I will deploy," Schneizel replied calmly. "Hold your position."
He turned to Kanon.
"Prepare the forward battalion. Inform Bradley, Bismarck and Gino to lead the attack."
Outside, Schneizel's forces mobilized with disciplined precision.
He allowed himself one final glance at the map.
This would be the decisive stroke.
---------------------------------------------------------
The battlefield stretched across the imperial administrative quarter.
Fires burned along shattered boulevards. Knightmares clashed between collapsing facades. Energy lances carved molten lines through marble and steel.
Clovis' formation was pushing—but barely.
Guinevere's units had entrenched themselves along elevated positions, using suppressive fire to stall the advance.
Carine's reinforcements were flanking from the south.
The situation was unstable.
Perfect.
Schneizel's battalion entered from the northern axis.
Immediate impact.
His forces struck Carine's flank with calculated ferocity, forcing her units to redirect. Simultaneously, Bismarck advanced directly into Guinevere's front line, cutting through resistance with brutal efficiency.
The balance shifted.
Clovis' troops rallied instantly.
Momentum returned.
Through the open channel, Clovis' voice carried triumph.
"I knew you would not disappoint, Schneizel!"
Schneizel watched the battlefield with cool detachment.
Victory was inevitable now.
Guinevere's line fractured.
Carine's units began retreating toward secondary positions.
However, both had a knight of round in reserve. The battle was not won yet.
Bradley reported in.
"Enemy resistance weakening. We can finish this within minutes."
Schneizel nodded.
"Press forward."
Then—
Gino's voice entered the channel.
"Your Highness. I have secured the eastern perimeter."
"Excellent," Schneizel replied.
Gino had always been reliable. Efficient. Loyal.
Until that moment.
Without warning, Gino's Knightmare pivoted.
Its weapon discharged.
The blast struck Bradley's unit at close range, shattering the defensive field.
"Gino—what are you doing?"
No response.
A second shot pierced the cockpit.
Bradley's machine collapsed into the street below.
In a fair fight, Gino would have struggled to defeat Bradley. But the surprise was absolute. Bradley never had the chance to react.
Kanon froze.
"Your Highness—!"
Simultaneously, Clovis' forward units halted their assault.
Then turned.
Guinevere's forces stopped retreating.
Carine's flanking units ceased repositioning.
All three formations reoriented—
Toward Schneizel.
Understanding struck with surgical clarity.
"…No."
The combat reorganized.
Guinevere's artillery redirected toward Schneizel's battalion.
Carine's reinforcements sealed the southern exit.
Clovis' troops blocked the western corridor.
Bismarck advanced to intercept Gino—
—but Suzaku suddenly struck him from the flank.
For a brief moment, it seemed the Knight of One was going to fall, but regained control at the last second, pushing back his two opponents. Despite the surprise attack, the knight of round was able to handle a knight of round and a pilot of similar skills. That alone showed how strong he really was.
But the situation was desperate.
Kallen rushed to this side of the battlefield. The right arm of her knightmare launched a radiant wave blast towards the knight of one.
Bismarck, pinned by Suzaku and Gino, could not disengage in time.
The blast pierced his cockpit.
Bismarck Waldstein fell without a word.
Schneizel watched the feed in silence.
His two strongest military pillars—eliminated within seconds.
Not by superior tactics.
By betrayal.
Gino's Knightmare landed directly before Schneizel's position.
Troops surrounded the command unit.
Weapons locked.
Schneizel and his last supporters were dragged outside of their command center, then inside the enemy one. There, Clovis, Guinevere and Carine were standing behind a throne. On the throne, a young man that Schneizel recognize instantly was siting.
Schneizel and his remaining supporters were dragged from their command post and escorted into the enemy command structure.
Inside, Clovis, Guinevere, and Carine stood behind a throne.
Upon it sat a young man Schneizel recognized instantly.
"Lelouch," Schneizel said quietly. "So you were alive. And you orchestrated all of this."
"You engineered the mistrust," Schneizel continued calmly. "You allowed me to believe I was accelerating events."
"Yes."
"You needed us gathered."
"Yes."
"To eliminate resistance in one stroke."
"Yes."
There was no anger in Lelouch's voice.
Only inevitability.
Schneizel closed his eyes briefly.
"There is one thing I would like to know. How did you secure Clovis, Guinevere, and Carine? And Gino?"
Even united, the three factions would not have guaranteed his defeat. Schneizel had calculated an escape contingency.
But Gino's betrayal had completely shattered his chance to run away.
"Knowing that will not change the results, brother."
"So," Schneizel said quietly, "this is the end of my move."
"No," Lelouch replied.
"This is the end of your independence."
The crimson sigil ignited once more.
Schneizel felt it before he could resist.
Pressure.
Absolute.
Overwhelming.
"Schneizel el Britannia," Lelouch commanded, voice resonating across the silent battlefield.
"You will obey my will. You will serve as my strategist when I command it. You will never act against me. You will never seek power beyond what I grant you."
The Geass burned into him.
For a fraction of a second, Schneizel struggled—
Not physically.
Strategically.
Searching for flaw.
There was none.
"…I understand," Schneizel said calmly.
The red light faded.
Lelouch studied him for a long moment.
Four factions.
Four heirs.
All secured.
Around them, the battlefield fell silent.
Pendragon had not been conquered through siege. It had fallen from within.
And the board now belonged to one player alone.
---------------------------------------------------------
The throne room of Pendragon had been restored with deliberate care.
The scorch marks from recent conflict had been polished away. The shattered banners replaced. Rows of nobles, officers, and foreign dignitaries stood in rigid formation beneath the vast imperial dome. Above them, massive broadcast lenses hovered silently, transmitting the scene across the entirety of the Britannian Empire—and far beyond it.
Every screen in every province carried the same image.
At the far end of the hall, before the elevated imperial throne, stood Lelouch vi Britannia.
He wore white and gold, the imperial mantle falling cleanly over his shoulders. The crown rested upon a velvet cushion held by a trembling chamberlain. Behind Lelouch, the surviving members of the imperial family stood in absolute stillness—Clovis, Guinevere, Carine, Schneizel and many others.
Composed. Silent. Obedient.
The Archbishop's voice echoed through the chamber.
"By blood and by right, before the nobility of Britannia and under the authority of the Imperial Covenant, we recognize Lelouch vi Britannia as the ninety-ninth Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire."
A pause.
Then the crown was raised.
For a fraction of a second, the cameras closed in on Lelouch's face.
Calm.
Unshaken.
The crown descended and settled upon his head.
"I accept," Lelouch declared, his voice resonating through the hall—and through millions of speakers across the world. "From this day forward, I bear absolute authority over Britannia. Disorder will end. Division will end. This empire will no longer be ruled by hesitation or corruption."
In living rooms, military barracks, government offices, and occupied territories, the image of the new Emperor filled every screen.
Lelouch's violet eyes seemed almost to look directly at each viewer.
"Those who stand with me will be protected. Those who oppose me… will be destroyed."
The hall erupted into synchronized kneeling.
"ALL HAIL EMPEROR LELOUCH!"
Across the world, the chant echoed—carried by broadcast, by fear, and by inevitability.