Author's Note: First off, let me begin with the obligatory disclosure; I don't own Valkyria Chronicles or any of its characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and not for profit.

Prologue: A legend is born

June 24th, 1908, Muscovy, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance

A 25 year old man was walking down the hallways of a hospital in the capital of the Imperial Empire. He was wearing his officer's uniform, mostly black with gold trimmings, and he had his peak cap under his arm. He wore glasses due to his rather poor eyesight, which thankfully wasn't hindered further by his blonde hair, which he swept back to keep it out of his face.

As he proceeded down the hallway, he wondered what in the name of the empire he was called away from his post. As Colonel of the Empire, he was currently commander of the Emperor's Royal Guard, tasked with defending the Emperor with his own life if need be. However, when he was told to head to the Muscovy hospital and that he would be relieved for a few hours, the Colonel was shocked. There was no duty higher than defending the Emperor!

Cursing at the notion that his attention was needed elsewhere, he approached room 205, and he saw his brother, two years his junior and a Count, talking with their father, the General of the Volga Military District.

His brother, a blonde hair and normal built man with no distinguishing features, was the Count of the Volga Province of the Empire, and was in his own right a powerful man. He was the backer of one of the Empire's largest arms manufacturers, Tula Armaments. His father meanwhile was a formidable General that earned his stars during the offensive in the Southern skirmishes against the nation of Kabul. With his practices of scorch Earth and siege warfare, his father earned the nickname 'General of Famine'.

The Colonel knew that there were only a couple of reasons that his father would be in the capital, and none was to be taken lightly. He took a breath, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He approached his father and brother.

"Colonel Gregor reporting in sir," Col. Gregor said, snapping to attention and saluting his father. His father shook his head while his brother laughed.

"Berthold, must you always be so serious?" his brother, Clemens, asked. Berthold Gregor's eyebrows furrowed as he pushed his glasses up.

"Lord Gregor, you must take your position as a nobleman more seriously," Berthold reprimanded his younger brother. "The Gregor family didn't become powerful and respected both in and out of the military by being light hearted."

"Be that as it may Berthold, there isn't a need for such seriousness at this moment," his father stated. "This is a time for rejoicing, as your brother has become a father."

Berthold regarded this information, frowning. He knew that his brother was married to a rather gorgeous woman. They had been married for about three years, and Berthold knew this was a possibility. While as the eldest child of the Gregor family, Berthold held no desires for a family of his own, as in his eyes the Empire was his family. If he fell in the field of battle, expanding the influence of the Empire, then so be it.

"That so?" Berthold asked rhetorically. "Then I offer my congratulations for a successful birth of your child brother." Clemens, smiling at his brother's ideas of sincerity, nodded. A sad fact was that even in the Empire, infant mortality was an issue.

"Thank you Berthold," Clemens said. "However, I suggest we check up on my wife and son." While Berthold wanted to leave, he knew that both as family and a nobleman that refusing such a request was rude beyond all hell. He followed after his father and brother into the hospital room, where he saw his brother's wife, Evelyn if he recalled, laying on the hospital bed, holding onto the newly born son.

"How are you two doing?" Clemens asked calmly, taking a seat next to his wife. She smiled.

"I'm fine, and our son has been quietly sleeping," Evelyn replied. "However, have you decided on a name yet?" Berthold raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually, his brother and his wife had everything planned down to the most minute of details, and yet they hadn't come up with a name yet?

"Not a lot of names would pair well with the family name and still give an air of power," Clemens admitted. "You and I hate commoner names, and the more 'respectable' names don't flow with 'Gregor'."

Berthold sighed as he watched as the married couple debate between various names, his patience waning. He never understood the importance of naming a child with some 'meaning'. How a person is name and how they turn out are more often than not radically different. He saw his father smirking as he peered out across the Muscovy River. Berthold finally decided to interject his opinion on the topic.

"How about Adolf?" Berthold suggested. "The name is short, direct, and powerful. Remarkably it isn't a commoner's name, given its meaning." He saw the couple mull over the name, before Clemens nodded.

"Yes, Adolf Gregor, a fitting name for our son," Clemens stated. "Your insight is much appreciated Berthold." Berthold nodded, glad that the conversation was over. He watched for a few minutes as the couple talk quietly while their son slept in his blanket bundle, before he saw his father motioning him to meet outside the room. Berthold walked quietly outside the room, shortly followed behind by his father.

"Colonel Gregor," his father, Major General Gregor, began. "The birth of your nephew isn't the only reason you were called out." Berthold nodded.

"I suspected as much," Berthold admitted. "There is very few reasons that the commanding General of a military district would leave his post, and family isn't one of them." His father smirked; glad that his eldest was as intelligent as he was.

"Indeed," his father agreed. "The reason I was called to the capital was on orders from the Emperor." He waited a moment to allow Berthold to take in this information. "He has plans to expand our Western Border before the end of the next decade."

Berthold felt a shiver run down his spine. Expanding West meant attacking the Federation and most likely several of the neutral nations, such as Principality of Gallia and the kingdom of Fhirald. It would be a massive war; if the battles the Empire had with the numerical inferior Kabul had shown. Those skirmishes took over a year to end, and the Federation had nearly as many men as the Empire.

Berthold mused on the prospect of a war with the Federation. If the Empire was to have a chance, they would need heavy weapons. The battles with Kabul showed that the emerging automatic weapons mixed with trenches and barb wire created a veritable killing field for the defenders. The colonel knew that many generals were asking for more mortars, but he personally thought that the empire needed bigger guns, ones capable of not only clearing but also destroying the trenches.

"Such a war is going to be a bloody affair," Col. Gregor began, giving his assessment. "The Federation has the economy and men to take losses, while the Empire has the military experience and discipline to make the most of that experience. If we are to make any gains, the Empire will need to strike hard and strike fast, as to prevent the Federation and other nations from digging in."

"That is the common consensus," Gen. Gregor stated. "I came to see your brother to see if Tula could produce such a heavy weapon to breach the inevitable trenches we will encounter. In addition, several Generals from the participating military districts will be attending quarterly meeting with the Emperor to draw up battle plans."

"That is a logic course of action," Col. Gregor stated. "I assume the Emperor has intelligence on the enemy's military and politics from his network of spies to aid in the creation of the battle plan?"

While not commonly known outside the Empire, the Emperor had a dedicated corp to the task of infiltrating countries that the Empire has an interest in. The corp is tasked during 'peacetime' with gathering intelligence such as the political leanings of the country, location of army groups, the level of technology used by the military, and their economy. However, when the Empire strikes, this corp becomes the silent knife, with assassinations against military and political leaders, sabotage of vital infrastructure, and bribing or outright aiding in the defection to the Empire.

"That would be correct," Gen. Gregor replied. "And the news isn't good to start. The Federation, while splinters in terms of politics, are at least able to maintain a level of stability that the corp states they couldn't effectively undermine at the present. Also, the economy of the Federation is being fueled by the overseas holdings of several Federal states, which means a war of attrition won't come easily. And finally, the Federation is currently getting more men into the army and building bunkers along our borders."

The young Colonel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the distaste he had for this information. If the Federation was already fortifying the borders with bunkers, than the war will become a long and dragged out affair, with mounting losses inevitable. If the empire wasn't careful, then the invasion could turn into a collapse, with the Empire losing land rather than gaining.

"I hope brother is able to get the Tula armaments rolling out more and bigger guns," the colonel admitted. "A fight against a prepared, competent, and dug in foe such as the Federation will strain our armies to their limits. What are the current goals for the invasion?"

"The Emperor wants to gain control of Gallia and Fhirald due to the ragnite deposits that lie in those countries," the general said. "The corp states that both nations are happily deluded at the moment, thinking that the Empire's aims are aimed as central Asia."

"Thank god for that," Col. Gregor said. "It should hopefully make the fighting in those country easier, as they will be scrambling to defend their provinces, instead of reinforcing a formidable barrier."

"That are my thoughts exactly." His father paused, seemingly lost in a moment's thought. "But Berthold, we must discuss something related with the family."

"And what would that be?" Berthold asked, still being formal despite noting that the conversation wasn't as serious. His father pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his monocle.

"As you know, when you were inducted formally into the military after completing the naval academy, you also forfeited your right to be Count to your brother," His father began.

Berthold remembered the day clearly; his brother was shocked when Berthold told him that he was joining the army. In doing so, Berthold had given up his title of Count to his younger brother, who while also a Count but one of lesser importance, increasing Clemens's influence practically overnight. But it was expected of anyone in the Gregor family; should the eldest son join the military and if there is another to take his title, the eldest forfeited his title to pursue a career in the military.

The reason was simple; politics. While there were many Counts in the military (often holding officer ranks well above what they should), this came at a huge risk. If for instance the Count/General die in battle, than the title of Count would go to the next in prominence. Normally, it would go to the next heir of the family, but if the family ended up losing favor with the Emperor, then the title of Count could go to another family. Thus the Gregor family always had multiple children, so the titles would always have a head to rest upon, and they took the precaution of forcing the current count to hand the title of Count to the next in line when they join the military to prevent a loss of prestige.

"Yes, what of it?" Berthold asked. "Nothing is out of the ordinary if I recall." His father sighed.

"Yes, nothing would be out of the ordinary if there wasn't a chance of conscription," his father stated. Berthold felt his skin crawl at the mention of conscription, knowing exactly where this was going now. "The Empire is sadly in need of officers, what with the fighting to subdue Kabul costing the lives of many officers, and at the moment your brother could be conscripted to become an officer if the officers corp isn't at its maximum by the start of the war with the Federation."

"I-" Berthold started, cleaning his glasses quickly, trying to calculate the likelihood of his brother becoming an officer in a massive land war with the Federation. "He isn't ready for that responsibility; he is an industrialist, not a war officer. His service to the empire is better served getting guns to the front than sending men to the slaughter."

"I know this," his father grumbled. "But the case is the same regardless; the empire is in need of officers, and the Emperor will be forced to call on the nobility to fill that gap, which is why we need to discuss what the family is going to do." Berthold saw his father pull out a paper with his father's precise handwriting on it.

"First, the issue of getting your brother ready for the reality of command must be made," His father began, listing off the issues at hand. "And the second is to determine where the title of Count falls to should your brother fall in battle."

Berthold was silent; the first issue at hand he could probably deal with easily. After all, he was a prodigy when he graduated the Naval Academy top of his class and became a Captain at 19, and became a Colonel just this year. But the other issue, well, he had no aspirations to become a Count and get caught up in the political machination of the Empire (his loyalty was always to the Emperor). Clearing his voice, he voiced his solution to the first problem.

"As the Head of Guard of the Emperor, I have time to perhaps instruct and guide my brother in the duties of an officer to the Empire," he stated calmly. "Of course, he would need to be in Muscovy for me to fulfill both my duty and teach him how to become a capable commander, but that shouldn't be difficult for him."

"I agree," his father said. "However, I think however I could instruct him more thoroughly than you could, as I am the head of the Military District of Volga, and I can meet him when I am off hours to teach him the finer aspects of command." Berthold nodded at this; it was logical, as his brother still had the duties of a Count to take care of.

"As for the others though," his father continued. "I already discussed the second with him; the title of Count should be deferred to you until Adolf is of age to adopt the title and fulfill its duties. And before you argue, the only other person it would logically go to is his wife, who between Clemens, yourself, and I, we all would agree she isn't fit to be a Countess."

Berthold merely nodded at this. Evelyn, despite her beauty and sophistication, was rather lacking in the area of being able to maintain a province as large or as important as Volga. She would get hung up on minor things and lose the larger picture, thus hurting the family's prestige, despite having the best of intentions. And his father was too old to be able to hold both Count and his position as Major General at his age of 50.

"Very well," Berthold said. "I will accept the responsibility of Count should my brother pass in the coming war." His father nodded.

"Good," he stated calmly. "Now then, let us get back inside, and try to ease our minds on the trying times ahead of the Gregor family." The colonel saw his father walk back into room 205, leaving him to wonder if he should really be worried about the future. The war wasn't for another few years, the Empire had the best military, and the Gregor line has survived famines, political upheavals, the Great Fire of Volga, and countless wars. So why did he have the sense of forlorn? Shaking himself, he reentered the room, and began planning in depth with his brother and father about the coming war.

A few hours after his brother Berthold and his father Ulysses left, Clemens was quietly talking with his wife Evelyn. It was now tense, as his wife had to listen to his family discuss the very real possibility of him having to go off to war in the future.

"But the Federation's power comes from their colonial holdings on the other colonies," Evelyn was saying, trying to figure out why the Emperor wanted to wage war with the Federation. "So even if we take over the core countries, we won't have the resources that fuel the Federation while losing god knows how many men in the process."

Clemens sighed at his wife's slightly naïve outlook. She grew up in one of the northern provinces of the Empire, far from war and politics, and thus had a sheltered outlook on the runnings of the Empire.

"Look, Ev, just because there aren't resources to be had doesn't mean that such a war would be useless," Clemens calmly began to argue. "The Federation has now been spreading propaganda portraying the Empire as war mongering tyrants to those surrounding our borders. If the Federation doesn't fall, then the Empire is very likely to collapse from the combined might of all of our neighbors."

Clemens could see the slightly frustrated look in his wife's face. He didn't like it, but the Empire's survival rested on making the Federation and its ideals look weak. If people elsewhere get the notion that the Empire can be beaten, then they will try to move upon the Empire like vultures over a carcass. Thus was why whenever anyone threatened the Empire the Empire struck and hard. One does not become powerful by words and ideas Clemens knew; they became powerful with cold steel and an iron will to rule.

"Even so, I don't want to lose you in a war for reasons I don't fathom," Evelyn stated. "I need you, and so will Adolf." Clemens nodded wearily, and he gazed upon his son. His son, as healthy as one could be, opened his eyes to look upon his father. Clemens looked into those deep red eyes, and he smirked. Perhaps Berthold was right in his suggestion for Adolf, as his son had the eyes of a wolf hunting down weak prey.

"I know," Clemens said. "I will not die easily Eveyln, you have nothing to fear."

Author's Note: Alright, perhaps not the best start to the story, but hey, the stage needed to be set up for the story to begin. Now a few things that I am sure you are curious about;

1: Berthold Gregor being a Colonel at his young age: Typically, no one under the age of 40 is made a colonel in the modern army, but there are three things working in Berthold's favor. First, he is a part of the aristocracy, and as I mentioned, they get benefits 'proper' to their station. Second, he was in a Naval Academy since he was 15 and he joined the army after graduating, giving him roughly 10 years of military experience, 4 in the academy and 6 in the army as an officer proper. And finally, he becomes a commanding general in EW1 during the fighting against Fhirald, and his rank in EW2 was Major General, so at the very least he was a colonel before the promotion in EW1.

2: Clemens and his wife being in the story: Err, I needed a way for my OC Adolf to be in the story, and really, does it look like Berthold would have kids of his own? Anyway, thank the aristocracy again as they provided me the wonderful excuse for Clemens; the rule of two. Typically, many aristocratic families would follow a rule of siring at least two eligible heirs in the event of one dying due to unforeseen consequences. So it would make sense if the Gregors followed this rule as well.

3: Adolf (his appearance and name): This will be covered more in later chapters, but Adolf will have albinism, which as many of you know can result in red eyes. Will it result in vision problems for him; perhaps, I don't know at the moment (and don't know how serious a problem it is for an albino), but he will suffer the issue of being sensitive to exposure to the sun, able to being sunburned rather easily.

His name meanwhile was an issue. Gregor isn't a nice last name to work with. After a while, I chose upon Adolf, the name being derived from the compound name Athalwolf (or Adalwolf depending on the translation) which can mean 'noble wolf'. This will become a fitting name for Adolf later on, but for now it won't be apparently obvious.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this prologue and as always, please follow, favorite, and review!