"Those whom the Gods would destroy, they first make proud."

…

…

"Ram!"

Under the hot sun on a parade ground in Tristania, Napoleon was barking out orders. The soldiers under his command quickly attempted to follow his exacting orders as fast as they could. From a small tube on their muskets, they pulled their ramrods and stuffed powder and bullets down the barrel of their guns.

Of course, these men were no longer soldiers. They were now Guards. The official citation by Princess Henrietta would be given later this week, but after that they would formally become the 1st Imperial Guards. The other generals had proposed different titles for this division, but Napoleon had insisted on this name. They would be called the Imperial Guard, soldier whose loyalty was not to any general, but to only the Princess of Tristain and to their leader. Napoleon did know that their loyalty to the former outclassed their loyalty to him, but it was not something which overly concerned him. They were devoted to him, and that was all he asked for now.

"Arms!"

The Guardsmen now drew their weapons up, the butt of the gun resting against their shoulders.

"Aim!"

Now they looked along the barrel, their fingers upon the trigger and waiting for the final command.

"Fire!"

And as the sound of a volley of muskets crackled, Louise couldn't help but jump. It didn't matter that Napoleon had been drilling the guards all morning and that she had been accompanying him for the entire time. Every time they fired, she reacted. She just couldn't get used to the noise, especially since the constant volleys distracted her from reading the Prayer Book which she had kept ever since the battle at Tarbes. Even though she still couldn't cast Void Magic yet, there was nothing stopping her from trying to learn any more. But while the Guards were clearly becoming more efficient in their movements with their weapons, her annoyed expression and grit teeth showed all the success she was having.

Napoleon in the meantime closed a watch he was holding and put it in his pocket. Then he clapped his hands a few times, a smile on his face.

"It's a good start. 43 seconds between volleys, and completely unified this time around. Martin, you actually figured out how to work it this time?"

The wind mage grumbled at Napoleon's words. His face which he took so much time to polish for the ladies was now covered in soot from repeatedly firing his musket. Still, thought most of the soldiers next to him, they were lucky. They had honestly expected given how poorly he was treating the gun that it would misfire and explode in their faces. Even the other mage in their group hadn't as much trouble, though he had been pretty bad. Those whom had once lived in nobility had never learned anything about using what was a weapon given out to commoners

"I'm a wind mage, Bonaparte. What am I doing using a gun anyways?"

"You mean you can't foresee a situation when you may be using these weapons?"

"Of course not? I can get away using Speed! I have magic!"

"And what happens when you're defending a point you can't leave?"

Martin grumbled in response and looked down the ground, and Napoleon chose to continue.

"And that's not all there is to it, Martin. You are a member of the 1st Imperial Guards. Every single of you men will work together, will fight together, and will die together. I told every single one of you men on the day I was assigned command to all of you. Your days as glorious mercenaries, fighting individually for your own glory and plunder, are over. You will become one unit, prepared to fight for your honor as well as Tristain. Through discipline, you fifty men through your work will become the equal of a thousand.

I expect nothing less from any of you, and thus I expect every man here to learn how to use a weapon as simple as a musket, Martin. No man, no matter his rank, is so high that he can't learn how to use this gun."

"At least raise my pay so I can buy proper supplies. How's a man this dirty supposed to get girls worthy of my beauty?"

It was a ridiculous complaint, but the tone was not serious in the slightest, something which Napoleon was used to from the Old Guard in Europe. And the soldier next to Martin clapped him around the shoulder, his whiskers bristling as he grinned ear to ear. Napoleon knew his name as Rogier, a soldier whom liked his ballads even though he really couldn't sing.

"You know Martin, given how successful you are at actually getting them in your bed, you might try to looking like the rest of us commoners. What kind of lady would want to sleep with another woman like you anyways?"

The rest of the soldiers roared with laughter, and Martin was helplessly reduced to punching Rogier in the shoulder even as he couldn't suppress the small grin on his face. As the noise subsided, Napoleon finally took the moment to speak up and give the final orders for the day.

"Well, we're done with musket training for now, but time for the most important part, using the bayonet and forming proper formations. When I blow this whistle, you will form up in the ranks I tell you to. Understand?"

There was no sound at first, but it was an acknowledgment of their approval. And the whistling actually could wait a bit. Napoleon raised his right hand in the air, and the rest of the men followed, their hands raised as they gave a great shout, the first of many that these men would chant on the parade ground and on the battlefield.

"Long Live Tristain! Long Live the Princess! Long Live Napoleon!"

They continued their chant, and Louise looked up from her book. Even though she had been there the whole time, she had said nothing all morning. And a worried look was in her eyes.

She realized it, though she said nothing. Ever since she had summoned him, this had been the first time she had seen him when he was truly, completely happy. He was enthused when he spoke with her. But now, in front of men who had not known him a month before but who were now enthusiastically chanting his name, he looked like he had been blessed with youth once more.

And as the men and Napoleon began their drills, Louise slipped out of the courtyard. Not a single man there gave an overt sign of recognition that the pink-haired girl who always accompanied Napoleon had left.

…

In Albion, a guard walked nervously up and down the corridors of the Howland Palace. Just last night, the captain Wardes, he whom had betrayed Tristain to join Albion, had apparently now betrayed Albion in turn. He had broken out of the hospital wing, killed several guards, and had broken out of the castle after springing forth an important prisoner. As a result, security within the palace had been drastically increased even though it was unlikely that he would return. The guard would be meeting up with a partner in ten minutes, and would continue to be doing so every fifteen minutes in order to assure that no one could sneak in and kill the Albion leaders. Still, the guard's pace was a little too quick and efficient, almost as if he wanted to get out of his patrol and away from potential enemies and to the safety of the nearby barracks.

As he passed down, he looked down at the paintings, then out at the window of the courtyard of the Howland Palace. It really was a beautiful building, but these days less and less people were walking down its halls. Perhaps the emptiness made it a bit more ominous, but his brain continued to work on overdrive. Maybe there was someone behind him? How did he not know that someone wasn't stalking him, preparing for a knife between his shoulders or a terrible fate like that? Wasn't the lone guard the one who was the first to die in stories like these?

CRASH

"What?"

The guard whirled around. There had been the noise of something falling, breaking. And it was above him. If he wasn't wrong…

"It's His Excellency's office!"

Grasping a whistle that was dangling around his neck, the guard blew into it and caused a sharp tweet to blow through the halls. Without even hesitating, he ran to where he knew the stairs were and dashed up it. If someone had snuck past them, he might be attempting to assassinate His Excellency! If only he could get there in time.

The guard continued running, and as he reached the door to Cromwell's office, he could see another guard heading towards the same destination from a different location. The two looked at each another, and quickly without a word determined on a course of action. Without even checking if the door was locked, the first guard kicked it down, with the second guard following him.

"Your Excellency!"

SMASH.

It was a perfect throw. The first guard crumpled to the ground instantly upon being hit in the face by an object, but the second guard rushed past him, concerned about the duty to protect their leader from his assailant. However, he stopped in surprise.

The office was a mess. Cromwell stood there, his posture severely bent over and a wineglass in his right hand. His left arm was forward, as if it had just thrown something. And indeed it had. Upon seeing the guards, the leader of Albion's gesture had been to throw a bottle of expensive champagne at the first who entered. Now seeing what a perfect throw it was, he gave a little giggle and lazily moved forward back to his desk, which had papers irregularly strewn everywhere.

"Oh dear, I made a little mistake, didn't I?"

The guard stared in response to Cromwell's words, only moving down to check on his fellow guard. But as he did so, another champagne bottle smashed the wall behind, causing glass fragments to explode everywhere.

"Your Excellency!"

Cromwell had now sat down at his desk and had grabbed another bottle. Waving it around, he roared at the guard.

"Get out of here, you scum! Get out, take that stupid fool with you and leave me alone!"

Not believing his eyes and ears, the guards fell back to his instincts which had taught him to obey. Besides, the first guard was bleeding heavily and needed medical care, and Cromwell was apparently physically fine. Hoisting the unconsciousness man up over his shoulder, the two left, though the door was probably closed with a little more force than necessary. Cromwell was too distracted trying to open a third bottle to notice anyways.

With a pop, liquid spurted out of the bottle, and now soaked the papers that were on his desk. Cromwell cursed for a moment, but then with dull eyes sank back into his chair. He only put his glass in the stream of liquid before he removed it and took a drink, and the bottle eventually petered out.

What did it matter anyways? He was finished. The Albion fleet was dead. The army was devastated. Tristain was infuriated. Germania was not friendly to a country which had attempted to kill its royals. Even if Gallia joined in and saved Albion as had been originally proposed, Joseph would no doubt have Albion pay handsomely for his aid. It would almost be better for the country if Tristain invaded it and just installed Wales back on the throne as opposed to making it a Gallian puppet state.

But what would happen to him then? No matter what, Cromwell knew, he was doomed. Either Wales came back and executed him or Gallia would save him and he would become Joseph's pet. There was no way around it, after all. The days of Cromwell as leader of Albion were over.

Was this what he had wanted? He thought back to that day in the bar. He had treated a beggar to a glass of wine, and had been asked what he desired.

"I want to be king."

That had been his response. It was a joke, he told himself, a silly joke to a silly beggar who had told Cromwell that he could grant any wish that the priest desired. But the next day a woman in purple had met him, and after some time of fighting and campaigning, here he was, in an office. Not necessarily a king, but a ruler. A ruler of one of the four great nations of Helgekinia. But now there was no joy, no happiness at his position. The only feeling that he had was fear. Fear of dying in humiliation, whether at the hands of Henrietta or Joseph.

Wishing that the fear would go away, he tilted the glass back and took a deep drink, draining it and slamming the glass on his desk. But the wine did not serve to make the fear go away, the terrible emotions he was feeling to vanish. But just then, Cromwell could hear people mumbling outside his office. Even as drunk as he was, he might as well go do something about it.

The ruler of Albion stood up and thought about what he would say, but then a glint caught his eye. He looked down, and saw that it came from his right hand, from the Ring which he had taken from that Water Spirit so long ago. Somehow, the sight and realization that he still held such a powerful magic cleared his mind and loosened the hold of the alcohol. No. He could still win. Maybe conquering Tristain was now out of the question. But as long as he could wage a defense, he could defend Albion with enough ferocity and cause a white peace, one where things would go back to where they were. And he still had a few ships left. While they could not stand up to Tristain's navy, they could still be used for other means.

He was doomed if he lost anyways. He might as well try anything possible if it meant the slightest chance that he could secure peace.

Peace. With that single word hammering in his skull, driving the liquor from his mind, he lurched to the door and opened it. A crowd of courtiers waited in front of him, but not the one he was looking for.

"Where is Sheffield? Bring her to me!"

The crowd looked and murmured among themselves. Cromwell could see that a mage was tending to the guard he had injured. But that didn't matter. What did one guard matter against his country?

"Bring her to me. NOW!"

…

"Come on, come on, move faster, will you, Neptune? Get the rest of the ink out of storeroom!"

"Yes sir!"

Andre Giono grumbled as one of his assistants rushed past him, carrying a stack of papers. There was so much work these days. Brimir knows, it was much better compared to his days of lounging about in cheap bars after what that cursed noble had done to him, but printing really had taken over his life. He had finished with his translation of Don Quixote and had been hard at work printing enough copies in order to sell. His small shop would need to expand, and he had been looking at getting more equipment and supplies, as well as a few more rooms. His printing business was in a small house in the commoner quarters in Tristania, and he really needed more space.

There were the usual orders, of course. Wedding announcements, funeral announcements, the sorts of information which commoners always demanded. But Giono was at work attempting to deal with giving out the information in a more efficient manner. In the past, he had always just distributed pamphlets that were rarely more than a page. But in his correspondence with Napoleon, that military man had proposed creating what he called a "newspaper". It would be a document a couple pages in length, and once a week it could be sold to the public for a cheap price. It would contain all sorts of news, whether about Tristain, local news, or of course the war. No doubt, Giono observed, the people would like to know more about the war and about how well it was going.

Of course there was the problem that only about half of the commoners in the city could read. That was still relatively high compared to Tristania, but if Giono wanted to expand, perhaps he should offer reading classes. But getting teachers for that, and maybe paying a fee and…

"Arrgggghhh!"

Giono roared in irritation at how much he had to do, his hands gripping what was left of his white hair. But he knew despite how much he talked about his stress and what of left of his hair going away, he was in fact feeling pretty good. As he looked about his shop, with assistants running around and printing machines working, he felt right at home. And it was all because of a chance encounter in a cheap bar. Interesting what threads the fates wove.

"Oi, Boss!"

Giono turned around on hearing a shout from behind him.

"Huh? Neptune, what are you doing here? Did you get the ink yet?"

"Uh, no sir. But someone's here to see you. It's a girl, pink hair. Think she's a noble."

Giono furrowed his brows in thought. A noblewoman? He didn't know any. Nobles were trouble. Giono followed a policy to avoid selling his stuff to nobles unless they had a really good reason to want their stuff. Of course, they never did. But what would a noblewoman want here?

Ah well. One had to respect common courtesy.

"Bring her in the shop, Neptune. And then get the ink, already, will you?"

His assistant bowed and left for a moment, before he returned with a girl following him. She looked up in amazement at the machines, but Giono finally recognized her.

"Oh, hello there! You're Napoleon's partner, right? Your name's Elizabeth, right?"

The girl tore her gaze from the machines and looked at Giono. The printer could see that she looked extremely… tired? Worried? He couldn't tell.

"Louise."

"Okay, Louise! How's Napoleon! Don't have much time to be seeing him these days, but I have the new pamphlets out! You should see them, come on!"

"I- "

Louise made a small noise but Giono didn't hear it. Clapping his hand on her shoulder, he half escorted, half dragged her to one of the moving presses. It already had a large pile of papers sitting next to it. With a flourish, Giono grabbed the paper off of the top and pressed it towards Louise, who timidly grabbed it.

"It's pretty good, huh? I couldn't believe it when he told me about it at first, but I have a contact within the castle who told me it's true, the prisoners will be apprehended by the army tomorrow. 50 men taking down 60 ships! That is amazing, stupendous, and incredible! That's something that's supposed to only happen in the most fantastic and ridiculous stories! I have never met anyone like your partner, Louise!"

She said nothing, but Giono didn't seem to notice. He leaned right next to Louise so he could see the same pamphlet she was holding and point out details.

"Look! The artists which I recommended to him? They sent me a picture of him standing on a plain, overlooking a ship. It's a nice and heroic pose, perfect for up at the top. They even included you in the picture, Louise! You should be proud. Now I'd really like to include Henrietta in this picture, but well, she wasn't there, and my artists know best.

And then at the bottom, I have the details. How he persuaded them of the worthiness of our cause, how he told them of the evil deeds Cromwell committed, and so on. He'll become a real hero now!"

"But it wasn't like that."

Louise spoke those words quietly, and Giono stared at her for a bit. He hadn't really known her when they had met at Tarbes, but was she always this quiet? Still, she could use some lessons on proper techniques of journalism.

"Oh, I'm sure some details are off, but that's not important! We, Napoleon and I, we're creating a hero! It'll be great! Besides, he did cause them to surrender, and that's what really matters. Report the news, make up details to interest the people so that they know what great things are being done out there. They want to know more about their world, but it's fantastic stuff, amazing things that they want to hear about, not some realistic report that'll just tell them that the rest of the world is as mundane and boring as their own. Doing all of this work, it's so wonderful!"

"'Napoleon and I', you said?"

Louise now looked down the ground, and Giono became really confused with her behavior.

"Hey, are you all right? I guess Napoleon sent you down here to pick them up, but I guess you can come back if you're not feeling –"

"SHUT UP, YOU COMMONER!"

Instantly, all sound in the shop ceased. It seemed that even the machines had instantly shut down in response to Louise's outburst. Giono did nothing for a second, but then wordlessly looked up at one of his assistants and nodded. That man left the room. He was going to pick up the rest of the assistants and do what he could to kick this noble brat out.

But then he looked down. After those words, Louise had continued to stare at the ground again, without saying anything. But Giono saw that on her cheek dripped a single tear. He looked at his friend's partner while scratching a bald spot, and sighed. Then he knelt down to Louise's level.

"You want to come to my office? I have some tea."

Louise didn't say anything nor did she move, but Giono took it as a yes. Gripping the girl's hand, he began to move to his office. As he did so, the door opened and several assistants stood in the doorway, holding various implements such as staves and iron bars which could be used as weapons. Looking at their boss take the girl who had just been yelling at him into his office, the two groups simply stared at each other, before Giono let out a roar.

"What are you doing, you lazy bums? Get back to work!"

The assistants stared at each other and then the door slammed as they went to return their weapons. Giono continued to walk and entered his office, which doubled as his own living quarters. It was a small but crowded room, with a bed and a chair in it. Giono indicated for Louise to sit on the chair, before he went to a nearby iron stove and began to heat some water. He talked as he fiddled with the kitchen implements.

"So, what do you think you're doing? Barging in my office, yelling at me. I guess Napoleon didn't send you, eh?"

Louise hesitated for a bit, her eyes continuing to bore holes in the floor, before answering.

"No."

"So what then? You guys had a fight? Can't be anything worse than what I used to do with my wife, Brimir rest her soul."

"No."

"Well," Giono continued, a bit more confused this time, "what's up with you? You're pretty screwed up given everything you've done."

"Giono, who is Napoleon?"

"Huh?"

He lifted his head from the stove, now completely befuddled.

"You sure you're Louise, girl? I mean, you're the one who summoned him, right?"

"Yes, but, well, I'm scared."

"What do you mean?"

He finished lighting the stove and put some water on the kettle. However, Giono continued to stand next to it as he listened to Louise.

"Lately, he's not as focused on me these days. You know about what happened with us at the Valliere estate?"

"Of course I do. Don't underestimate my information network, Louise. An artist can go anywhere he wants, you know."

"Ever since then, he's been more distant. He's been speaking less to me and more to his soldiers. But we're partners. I summoned him. I'm scared we'll separate or we'll grow apart, Giono. I really am. And when I was at the estate, I realized it for the first time. I know barely anything about his past, or about him. It worries me."

"Huh."

Giono rubbed his chin for a moment before responding.

"So why'd you go to me then? I'm not a noble, and I barely know you and vice versa. You know the Princess really well, after all. She gets along with Napoleon well, and you were her playmate."

"It's because you're not a noble. I don't know much about my partner. But I've been around him long enough to tell. He doesn't like nobles. He barely associates with them unless necessary and the nobles can't stand him as well. He spends most of his time with Her Majesty or with commoners like his soldiers or you. And I wanted to talk someone who he's associated with."

Silence followed her words, only for it to be broken by the hiss of the kettle. Giono got to work making and serving the tea, handing it to Louise without putting anything in it. He sat down on the bed, taking a drink before asking Louise a question.

"Hey, Louise. What is Napoleon to you? It's not like you love him or something, do you?"

"What?"

Louise's face turned bright-red before she continued.

"S-s-stupid commoner! I don't love him! He's way too old! And he doesn't pay attention to me, and he doesn't actually fight for me! There's no way I could love someone like him!"

She panted out a bit after finishing that flimsy denial, and Giono looked at the girl for a moment with surprise and a small bit of revulsion.

"But…"

"But?"

Her face still remained red, and Louise looked down at her tea as she continued.

"No, I don't love him, Giono. But Napoleon's been like a father to me, and I view him as one."

"Are you saying that you've never had a father? You're a Valliere, right?"

Louise shook her head.

"I have a father, a real one. But he never spoke to me. Never dealt with me. I think he's spent most of his life disappointed with me because I've been such a failure with magic for almost my entire life, or perhaps he was just too busy maintaining Valliere power and prestige to think about me.

But Napoleon's believed in me. I wouldn't be here, a heroine, if it wasn't for him. I wouldn't be a great mage if not for him. I know that you wouldn't be here, successful, if not for him, Giono. The same applies to me as well.

And to see him going away like that? It scares me."

Having let it all out, Louise sniffled a little bit. But right then, she felt a hand on her head. Giono had stood up and was now over her, his expression concealing any emotion.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Man, do you always freak out whenever someone touches you, girl?"

The printer mumbled those words but continued before Louise could retort.

"I don't like nobles, Louise. But I'll be damned before I see a girl cry. Even an old printer has some ethics."

The two simply stayed like that for a bit before Giono was the first to disengage. He made for the shop before stopping at the door.

"It's getting late. You can stay here overnight, Louise. I am going to tell Napoleon where you are, and then the two of you can figure this out. Alright?"

Louise still said nothing. All the same, it was an acknowledgment of what he had proposed. Giono left his room and closed the door. Louise sat there, before jumping upon hearing a sound outside the door.

"NEPTUNE, I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THE INK ALREADY!"

…
It was night. Alongside a cliff, two robed figures walked, looking out at both the sky and the world that was below them. The lack of clouds meant that they could see Helgekinia below them, a sight that truly was sublime and beautiful.

"It is so much territory. To think that some people are thinking of unifying it all."

Fouquet muttered those words softly but then she turned around. Wardes had stopped walking, and he looked at the escaped prisoner.

"We're waiting here."

"For what?"

Wardes said nothing to Fouquet's inquiry. The two sat down on some rocks and waited. Fouquet looked around on the plain they were sitting on and then she realized that someone else was coming. The person was also hooded and cloaked as he moved towards the pair and stopped before them. The hood was removed, and Fouquet saw that it was in fact a woman. Her features were utterly stern and proud, and it was the face of someone who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Beneath her eyes were a pair of purple markings, and her hair was of a similar color as well.

Having arrived before Fouquet and Wardes, the person curtsied before them. Wardes bowed in response, and after a bit of hesitation, Fouquet also chose to bow. The person chuckled slightly upon seeing the greeting the thief gave.

"You should be a bit more feminine, thief. You are far too pretty to be a man."

"Thanks for the compliments." Fouquet said sarcastically while noting the lovely, velvety voice. "Care to introduce us, Wardes?"

"Certainly. Fouquet, this is Sheffield, the secretary of His Excellency Cromwell. She and I, however, both possess the same loyalty."

The thief nodded slowly at those words, taking in the implications.

"I see. You're the real power behind Cromwell, aren't you?"

"Cromwell has frankly done well. But he's cracking. It won't be long until he snaps completely as the strains of being a ruler are beginning to overwhelm him. Likely that will be what happens to him when he is confronted with final and inevitable defeat.

All the same, while Cromwell has done better than I expected, Tristain has surpassed all of our expectations. It's not the Void magic. It's something else, something which we haven't calculated for."

Sheffield held out a scroll of paper, which Wardes used his one hand to take.

"The two of you will be heading to Tristania abroad this small ship. You will unleash the mission written here."

Unable to open the scroll with one hand, Wardes passed it to Fouquet, who opened and read what was inside. Her face visibly blanched on reading it, but she passed the scroll to Wardes without saying anything. The wind mage looked at it, and then grinned savagely upon reading it.

"That is quite an amusing reaction, Fouquet. I thought it would be worse than that."

The thief glared at Wardes's words before straightening up and speaking to Sheffield.

"The only thing I value is the orphanage. What's the pay rate for this?"

"Nothing."

Sheffield laughed softly upon seeing Fouquet's anger before she continued.

"Well, nothing payment-wise. It's just that when Cromwell loses, there's a good chance he might do something… unpredictable. I can make sure where that blind rage will be unleashed. If you fail, well, an orphanage protected by one who's believed to have attacked an important Albion captain could be one target that he might attempt to strike against in blind retribution."

"You…bastard…."

"Call me what you like, Fouquet. The boat will be arriving in a few moments. Get ready for your mission."

With those final words, the secretary walked off into the night landscape. And it was only when she had finally left that Fouquet collapsed onto the ground in tears.