Steel and Mana

Chapter 336 – The Other Sides

Chapter 336 – The Other Sides

The silence of the Imperial Palace was broken by the sound of the deafening shattering of glass. Then came the crack of wood, the splintering of something heavy. Then, another sharp noise, followed by the cluttering of metal. Inside Pascal's chambers, a pool of crimson liquid spread like a stain of spilled blood, gathering around the fragments of broken glass and the destroyed wine cabinet, reflecting the pure anger glowing in the old man's gaze. Finally, after giving way to his childish frustration, he felt his mind settle and his body straightened up. Even then, his rapid, heavy breathing echoed through the chamber, taking multiple minutes until it finally settled down.

Pascal stood at the center of his most recent uncontrollable tantrum, an outburst of anger, his hands trembling at his sides. The regrown, long strands of his hair were disheveled and wet, falling across his face, sticking to it and hiding half of the rage still visible on it. He realized that what he was experiencing wasn't normal. He knew it had to be the aftereffect of his body and its constant degeneration and rejuvenation through the centuries. Which was, in the past years, extensively tested and stretched to its limits thanks to all that was happening in his empire.

Somehow, it all came crashing down at once, making him lose control of his faculties, blank out, and wake up to pure destruction surrounding him—just like in life. He knew it: his mind was becoming unstable. He had to deal with all of the issues and return to his routine, which kept him whole. He had to preserve what was there until he finished completing the Emperor of Magic's legacy and, finally, be genuinely reincarnated.

Just thinking about it, his breathing, which was still ragged and unsteady, began calming down as he recovered the calmness and confidence that he had portrayed for centuries for those who knew he was still alive. Yet, it wouldn't convince those like Mirian, who could feel how the air around him felt heavy, charged with the instability of his rage simmering within him.

“They are already in the Central Region...” His voice came out as a whisper, each word dripping with venom, glancing towards the torn-apart bird in his window, the one that brought back the sudden news, sending him into a rage. “They march freely upon my lands... to MY city!”

After collecting himself and entering the throne room, he sent for people to confirm the news. He didn't need to wait for long, as only an hour later, the reports returned and were handed to a young man to bring to the Emperor, as no nobles or officers dared to be present when it happened. They still remembered how Kathrien Ishillia killed half of the dukes of the Empire in a fit of rage... and Pascal didn't look any better, not after the Geth Empire was still occupying the South, even a year later.

"My Emperor..." The poor servant spoke, trembling where he knelt, trying to look as small as possible as he pressed his forehead to the ground, his fingers digging into the cold marble. “Your Excellency. The reports confirm it. The traitor Mirian and her... her allies have cut through Duke Itelhad's lands with little to no resistance.”

“No resistance?!” Pascal’s voice cracked like a thunderclap, reverberating off the high ceilings of the room and sending a shudder through the young man's body. Hearing the report, Pascal clenched his fists, his long nails digging into his palms until they began leaving marks, almost drawing blood. He stopped at the last moment, not because it hurt, but because he knew shedding blood would just worsen his body's health. Even if he was siphoning off the vitality of the dying men in the Empire to freshen his mortal coil... It was temporary. The pain accompanying it was a distant thing, though, which was nothing besides what he felt within his soul. “Where is Kiva?! He should have reached me by now... I ordered him back weeks ago! Go, boy! Call in my Dukes... I want to hear it from them, not from a commoner!”

The young man didn't argue. It was his pardon, and he would rather face whatever came later than an enraged emperor. This time, those who swore loyalty to Pascal had no way of cheating out of meeting with their ruler. Even if they didn't want to, they were kneeling before the throne not even an hour later.

"Your Highness..." An older man, one of the older dukes present, swallowed hard before answering. He cursed his age because the others used it to push the responsibility of speaking onto him. Deciding that action was better than inaction, his voice was as measured as he could force it to be, but his hands betrayed him, fidgeting with the hem of his robe. “Your Excellency... the latest intelligence reports indicate that... that Kiva’s forces have been delayed in the East."

On that gloomy, colorless, depressing morning, Emperor Kadosa of the Geth Empire stood at the edge of his war tent, his tired stare fixed on the horizon. His empire's once-proud banners were tattered, flapping weakly in the bitter wind, the white colors within them almost black, stained with soot and the ash of the fallen. His armor, just the same, was dented and stained with dried blood, a testament that he himself was taking to the battlefield by the end, leading his people, using his Medallion of Life to heal and keep his people alive and in the fight. To salvage their morale before they simply turned on him. His face was gaunt, the toll of the miscalculated campaign forever etched into every line and shadow he would carry until his death. Something that not even the godly artifact could heal.

This whole campaign had drained him. And his Empire. His men were exhausted, their morale barely holding, and yet his enemy, this Lucca, that damnable Ishillian, refused to break. What kept him and his people fighting?! He couldn't understand. But he knew of the old tales of the Ishillians... their resilience and their disposition for war... Could it be that? That bastard's forces, though outnumbered and outmatched, fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness, constantly pushing back just enough to thwart Kadosa's advances.

“How the hell is he able to hold us back with mere scraps of an army?!” one of his generals spat, pacing in frustration nearby as their midnight operation was thwarted. Again. His armor clinked with each step, the sound grating against Kadosa’s nerves, but he tried holding it together. “They are too few! They should have been overrun weeks ago!”

“Weeks? Months... Yet they still stand,” Kadosa muttered, rubbing his chin. His voice was almost a growl as he stared out at the battlefield. He could feel the increasing weight of his failures pressing on his shoulders, but now was not the time for regret. That will come when he withdraws and probably loses the throne. “Lucca has stalled us for far too long... We may have to...”

"Your Excellency!" a messenger yelled before he could utter the word 'retreat,' and they watched as a man rushed into the tent, nearly tripping over himself as he bowed. His face was pale, and his eyes were nervous, with urgency glowing in them. “My Emperor! Critical news from the north!”

"The north?" Kadosa turned sharply, his patience worn thin. They tried sneaking around Ishillia; he had sent agents away right at the start of his campaign. He thought they were lost, but after almost a year, was there really news coming back? Could it be real? “Speak.”

“It is about the Eternal Emperor, Your Majesty. Ishillia’s heartland is in chaos! The Rebel Empress has launched her attack, and her army... her army is marching upon the Capital! They will reach it and do it soon!”

Silence filled the tent, making it even heavier and suffocating. If that was possible. Finally, Kadosa exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as he considered if it was a fluke or fake information... But, even if it was, it could allow him for a last push. A truly last one. If anything, it may make Lucca finally commit a mistake. Something that they can capitalize on. He turned to his present officers, and for the first time in a year, he saw something new in their eyes, too: opportunity.

“Even if it isn't true,” Kadosa murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We must use this... Make our troops feel something and, more importantly, make Lucca doubt! Maybe this would be what finally tips that bastard out of balance, and we can break through!”

His generals straightened, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. The air in the tent seemed to shift, the tension giving way to a renewed sense of purpose. For one... last... time.

“Gather the men,” Kadosa commanded, his voice filled with grim determination. “We will launch our final assault on the city.”@@@@