Chapter 20: The Irnetia Crisis Part 2
Skies Above Amanoki, Fenn Kingdom, Central Calendar Year 10641, Month 5, Day 26
The early morning sun cast a golden hue over Amanoki, the capital of the Fenn Kingdom. A light breeze rustled through the lush gardens of the royal palace, where King Haruto stood with his closest advisors, Sword King Shihan and Lord Kiritoshi. They were joined by Marquess Kaios, director of the Third Foreign Affairs of the Parpaldia Empire.
From high above, Commander Susanow of the Storm Dragon Unit of the Divine Army of the Gahara Thearcy surveyed the bustling city. Today, twelve of his elite storm dragons continued to demonstrate their prowess as goodwill ambassadors. The dragons' flight formations and dazzling aerial maneuvers were a sight to behold, drawing gasps of awe from the assembled dignitaries and spectators.
Down below, the streets of Amanoki teemed with activity. Factories hummed with the production of weapons and supplies, a testament to the rapid modernization brought about by the Parpaldian Technological Outflow Program. Workers toiled tirelessly, their efforts contributing to the kingdom's preparations for the anticipated conflict with the Gra Valkas Empire.
The second day of the festival commenced with a grand parade, showcasing the military might of various nations. Over a hundred elite wind dragons from Parpaldia soared through the skies, their agility and speed—capable of reaching 500 kilometers per hour—mesmerizing the crowd. Enclosed in glass cockpits, the riders skillfully maneuvered their dragons, performing intricate aerial acrobatics.
"Magnificent!" King Haruto exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the sky. "Parpaldia is a true superpower."
Marquess Kaios smiled, pleased with the king's reaction. "As a gift of friendship," he said, gesturing towards the port where three old dreadnoughts were docked, "Emperor Ludius wishes to present these to you."
King Haruto's eyes widened with gratitude. "Such generosity will not be forgotten."
Suddenly, the serene atmosphere was shattered by the blaring of alarms. Radar stations had detected dozens of unidentified flying objects approaching at high speed—600 kilometers per hour. These objects bore no mana signatures, a clear indication that they belonged to the technologically advanced Gra Valkas Empire.
"Those Gra Valkasian bastards dare to attack during a military festival with foreign dignitaries present!" Kaios exclaimed, his face contorted with shock and anger.
"Unforgivable!" King Haruto roared, his fists clenched in fury. "We must teach them a lesson."
Commander Susanow, observing the unfolding crisis from above, swooped down on his storm dragon, landing gracefully near the gathered officials. "King Haruto, allow us to assist. The Storm Dragon Unit stands ready."
The Chinese delegation, meanwhile, retreated to their destroyers, bound by orders not to intervene unless directly attacked.
In the Skies Above the Fennese Sea
The ominous drone of engines filled the air as the Gra Valkan Imperial Navy's first wave of aircraft approached. Numbering thirty-six, the fleet consisted of sixteen Carsline Type-09 Antares fighters, eight Sirius four-engine heavy bombers, and twelve Vega twin-engine bombers. Flying in flawless formation, the bombers' heavy engines grumbled like the prelude to a symphony of destruction.
The Carsline Type-09 Antares fighters, sleek and deadly, were superior to most of the flying creatures in this world. Their pilots, trained rigorously, were confident but cautious. The Sirius and Vega bombers, laden with explosive payloads, lumbered behind the nimble fighters, ready to unleash devastation upon Amanoki. Captain Allman, leading the formation, scrutinized the horizon. "Stay alert," he barked over the radio. "The enemy has over a hundred flying dragons, giving them a three-to-one advantage."
The Parpaldian wind dragons, renowned for their deadly "Spiral Wind Spheres," launched their attacks. However, the Gra Valkas fighters, capable of reaching speeds up to 720 kilometers per hour, deftly dodged the magical projectiles. The Gra Valkan aircraft retaliated with their 25mm cannons, tearing through the ranks of the wind dragons. The air was filled with the shrieks of dragons and the staccato bursts of gunfire. Flames and smoke trailed from the wounded beasts as they plummeted to the earth below.
"Not only are they fast, but they turn well too," remarked one Parpaldian rider, struggling to keep up with the nimble aircraft.
The tide began to turn when the storm dragons entered the fray. With speeds up to 880 kilometers per hour, these creatures outmatched even the fastest Gra Valkan fighters. Their enormous, muscular forms cut through the air with breathtaking agility, defying the laws of aerodynamics.
Sirius bombers attempted to fend off the storm dragons with 20mm cannons, but their rounds bounced harmlessly off the dragons' magic shields. The storm dragons, seemingly impervious to the attacks, circled the bombers with mocking grace.
Captain Allman watched in horror as twelve storm dragons unleashed beams of lightning, obliterating the Gra Valkas aircraft with ruthless efficiency. "Impossible..." he muttered, his voice betraying his despair.
The aerial battle raged on with ferocious intensity. Wind dragons darted through the sky, their riders launching spiral wind spheres that exploded in brilliant flashes of light. The Gra Valkan fighters responded with relentless machine-gun fire, bullets tearing through the air and finding their marks on the less protected wind dragons.
Commander Susanow led his storm dragons with unparalleled skill, directing their lightning attacks with precision. The storm dragons moved with uncanny fluidity, their bodies twisting and turning in ways that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Each strike of lightning was followed by the fiery explosion of a Gra Valkan aircraft.
Amid the chaos, Captain Allman fought to maintain control of his squadron. "Form up! Keep those dragons off the bombers!" he commanded, his voice filled with urgency. His pilots, well-trained and disciplined, responded immediately, weaving their fighters through the maelstrom of dragon fire and magical explosions.
Despite their best efforts, the Gra Valkan forces were steadily being overwhelmed. The storm dragons, with their near-invulnerable shields and devastating lightning attacks, proved to be an insurmountable challenge. Each maneuver by the fighters to outflank them was met with swift and deadly retaliation.
Aboard the Type-055 Destroyer Anshan, the Fennese Sea
Captain Ma stood on the bridge of the Anshan, his eyes glued to the unfolding spectacle through his binoculars. The battle between Gra Valkas's World War II-era aircraft and the fantastical dragons of Fenn and Gahara was like something out of a surreal dream. Ma had seen many things in his career, but nothing quite like this.
"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, watching a Storm Dragon effortlessly dodge a barrage of gunfire before unleashing a beam of lightning that tore through a Sirius bomber. The sheer power and agility of these mythical creatures were astounding.
Beside him, the Chinese ambassador, Ambassador Liu, looked equally engrossed but also concerned. "Captain Ma, this display of power… should we be worried? Could these dragons pose a threat to the PLA?"
Ma chuckled, his confidence unwavering. "Ambassador, these dragons and their magic are impressive, no doubt. But they are nothing compared to the firepower and technology of the People's Liberation Army. Our Type-055 destroyers are equipped with state-of-the-art radar systems, surface-to-air missiles, and advanced electronic warfare capabilities."
He pointed towards the radar screens, which were tracking every movement in the sky. "Our missiles can lock onto these dragons from miles away and take them out before they even realize they're being targeted. Those World War II-era planes? They wouldn't stand a chance. We could blast them out of the sky like bugs."
Ambassador Liu nodded, reassured by Ma's confidence. "It's good to know we have such an advantage. Still, this battle is a stark reminder of the diversity of threats we might face. We should remain vigilant."
"Absolutely, Ambassador," Ma agreed. "But today, we observe. And what a show it is."
As the battle raged on, Captain Ma continued to watch with a mix of professional interest and personal excitement, knowing that while this was an impressive display of ancient and magical warfare, modern technology remained the dominant force on the battlefield.
Above Amanoki, the Heart of the Battle
As the battle raged on, the skies above Amanoki were filled with the sounds of combat. The Parpaldian wind dragons continued their dogfight with the Gra Valkan fighters, while the storm dragons unleashed their fury on the bombers. The once serene skies were now a cacophony of roaring engines, thunderous lightning strikes, and the screams of falling aircraft.
In the chaos of battle, one Antares fighter, piloted by Lieutenant Commander Falk, broke formation, attempting a daring maneuver. He aimed to take down one of the Storm Dragons. He lined up his shot, his finger tightening on the trigger. But before he could fire, a blinding beam of lightning struck his aircraft, disintegrating it instantly.
Captain Allman, now realizing the gravity of their situation, made a desperate call. "All units, retreat! We must regroup!"
But it was too late. The storm dragons, relentless in their pursuit, showed no mercy. Commander Susanow led Raijin and the other storm dragons in a final, devastating charge. They dove through the Gra Valkan formations, their lightning breath tearing through metal and flesh alike.
The remaining Gra Valkan aircraft tried to escape, but the storm dragons were faster and more maneuverable. One by one, the enemy planes were brought down, crashing into the sea or exploding in mid-air. The sight of their comrades being obliterated drove the remaining pilots to the edge of panic, their disciplined formations dissolving into chaos.
Captain Allman, his aircraft heavily damaged, made a final, desperate attempt to escape. He pushed his Antares fighter to its limits, weaving through the air in a frantic bid for survival. But Raijin, with a roar that echoed across the battlefield, unleashed a lightning bolt that struck the Antares fighter, disintegrating it in a brilliant flash of light. Allman's last thoughts were of failure, swallowed by the blinding explosion.
On the ground, the Fennese and Parpaldian forces erupted in cheers. The sky was now clear, save for the smoldering wreckage of the Gra Valkan planes. The defenders' jubilation was palpable, their cheers mingling with the crackling of burning debris. The battlefield, once a serene landscape, was now a testament to their fierce resistance.
As the smoke began to settle, the surviving dragons landed gracefully, their riders dismounting to the adulation of the ground troops. Commander Susanow, atop Raijin, surveyed the battlefield with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "We have defended our skies," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of their hard-won victory. "But let us not forget those who sacrificed everything."
Back on the ground in Amanoki, King Haruto and his advisors watched the aerial conflict unfold with a mix of relief and grim determination. The once serene festival grounds now bore scars of battle, yet the resolve of Fenn and its allies remained unbroken.
"We have repelled their first wave," Haruto stated, his voice resonating with authority. "But Gra Valkas will not relent. Prepare our defenses for the next assault."
Shihan, his sword at the ready, spoke words of caution. "This battle is far from over. We must remain vigilant."
Kiritoshi, his eyes gleaming with fierce pride, nodded in agreement. "We shall meet them with the full strength of Fenn. They will regret provoking us."
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its golden light upon the wounded landscape, the leaders of Fenn and Parpaldia stood united in their determination to defend their lands and uphold their alliance. The battle for Amanoki had begun—a battle that would test their courage, skill, and the bonds forged in the crucible of conflict.
And amidst the chaos and turmoil, amidst the clash of magic and machinery, they knew that the future of the entire Third Civilization Area hung in the balance.
Valarionth-Esparith Myridan, Nigrat Union, Mu Continent, Second Civilization Area.
The Holy Milishial Empire stands as the most powerful and influential nation in the world of Novus Orbis, revered and feared for its magical prowess and rigid societal structures. This nation, predominantly inhabited by elves, has a long and tumultuous history marked by apocalyptic wars, strict eugenics policies, and deep-seated social hierarchies. To understand the contemporary Milishial Empire, it is essential to delve into its past, its societal norms, and the evolution of its policies, especially regarding gender roles and the status of women.
The origins of the Holy Milishial Empire date back over 10,000 years, to a time when the ancient Milishial elves faced near extinction following a devastating war against the demonic Ravernal Empire. This apocalyptic conflict decimated the Milishial population, leaving the survivors in a precarious position. In the war's aftermath, the first Milishial Emperor enacted drastic measures to ensure the survival and recovery of his people. Central to these measures was a strict marriage and breeding policy grounded in eugenics theories, aiming to rebuild the elven population while preserving the magical potency of their bloodlines.
Under the first emperor's decree, Milishial males were permitted to marry two wives, a policy designed to accelerate population growth. Each wife was mandated by the government to give birth to at least one boy and two daughters, ensuring a steady increase in the number of future mages. To supplement their population, the Milishial military embarked on wars of conquest against their wood elf and sea elf cousins, whom they deemed inferior. The conquests provided a substantial influx of female elves to be used as breeding stock to fulfill the Empire's reproductive needs, further bolstering their numbers. The Milishial military was not only a force of conquest but also a tool of internal control. The regime used the military to enforce its policies and suppress dissent. Any resistance to the breeding policies or the rigid social hierarchy was met with swift and brutal retribution. The Milishial military maintained order and ensured the continuation of the Empire's eugenics-based reproductive program.
Over the millennia, these policies bore fruit, and the Milishial population not only recovered but flourished. However, the unintended consequence of such extensive interbreeding was the dilution of their magical bloodlines. Modern Milishial elves, though numerous, are significantly weaker in magical ability compared to their ancient pureblood ancestors. This shift led to a rigid societal division between the noble pureblood elves and the commoner mudblood elves, exacerbating class tensions and entrenching the power of the elite.
The societal structure of the Milishial Empire is deeply patriarchal, with a marked division of gender roles that has evolved over the countless centuries. Women in the Milishial Empire have traditionally been subject to the imperial doctrines of "Survival of the Race," which promoted their exclusion from political, academic, and executive spheres. The regime encouraged and pressured women to fulfill roles centered around domesticity and reproduction. The ideal Milishial woman was envisioned as a good wife, a careful and conscientious mother, and proficient in household chores such as cleaning and cooking.
Training and education for women were severely limited, typically revolving around domestic tasks and child-rearing. Women were restricted from teaching in universities, working as medical professionals, or holding political positions within the government. Despite these restrictions, some Milishial women did manage to rise to positions of influence, often through sheer numbers or lack of local organization, but these instances were exceptions rather than the norm.
One of the few official roles available to women in the Milishial Empire was membership in the League of Mothers. This organization was dedicated to promoting and enforcing the Empire's reproductive policies. Women in the League of Mothers were responsible for ensuring that the breeding mandates were followed and that children were raised in accordance with Milishial supremacy ideals. The League also provided support to mothers, offering training in domestic tasks and child-rearing techniques. Membership in the League of Mothers was both a privilege and a responsibility. While it offered women a degree of influence and respect, it also bound them to the state's reproductive agenda. The League played a crucial role in maintaining the societal structure and ensuring the continuation of the Milishial race.
The Third Milishial Emperor epitomized the prevailing attitudes towards women during his reign. He notoriously summarized the expected role of women with the words: "Take a pot, a dustpan, and a broom and marry a man and spread that cumdumpster wide for him." This statement encapsulated the regime's view of women as mere tools for reproduction and domestic labor, devoid of political or academic ambitions. Such attitudes reinforced the rigid gender hierarchy and limited the opportunities available to women, confining them to the domestic sphere.
However, significant changes began to emerge during the reign of the current emperor, Milishial VIII. Faced with pressing economic realities and demographic imbalances, the empire began to relax some of its restrictions on women. Milishial females outnumbered males two-to-one, creating a societal pressure where a single man was expected to care for two wives and six children. This burden led to increased instances of domestic violence and suicidal behavior among men, prompting the government to reconsider its stance on women's roles.
Under Milishial VIII, women with exceptional talent began to be accepted into economic, academic, and even military spheres. This shift was driven more by practical economic reasons than any ideological commitment to gender equality. The inclusion of women in these sectors helped alleviate the pressures on men and contributed to the empire's overall productivity and stability.
In the economic sphere, talented women were allowed to pursue careers in commerce, industry, and finance. Their contributions helped drive economic growth and innovation, providing a new source of talent and labor. In academia, women began to gain access to higher education and research opportunities, leading to advancements in magical theory and practice. This inclusion also helped address the dilution of magical bloodlines by fostering a new generation of skilled and knowledgeable mages.
The military was perhaps the most surprising area of inclusion. Traditionally an exclusively male domain, the Milishial military began to accept women into its ranks, particularly in roles that required strategic thinking and magical prowess. Female mages, in particular, were valued for their unique abilities and perspectives, which complemented the existing military strategies and tactics.
Despite these advancements, the struggle for equality in the Milishial Empire remains far from over. The societal mindset and cultural norms that have been ingrained for millennia do not change overnight. The rigid class divisions between noble purebloods and commoner mudbloods further complicate efforts towards equality, as the elite often resist changes that threaten their traditional power and privileges.
Despite the recent attempts at modernization, Milishial remains a deeply patriarchal society. Many women still face significant barriers and discrimination in their pursuit of careers and personal aspirations. The progressive changes aimed at integrating women into various sectors, including the military, have sparked severe backlash. The rigid gender roles, unchallenged for centuries, have created a friction that threatens to tear the fabric of Milishial society apart. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the military, where hyper-masculine cultural norms resist the inclusion of women officers.
Marcus Alvar, a weapon officer in the Milishial Navy, embodies this resistance. His refusal to take orders from a female superior resulted in a disciplinary transfer, exiling him to a remote station in the Nigrat Union, half a world away from the Milishial homeland. This punishment did little to curb his disdain for women and those he considered inferior. Instead, it fueled his descent into alcoholism and debauchery, with Marcus spending his nights wasting himself at local bars and brothels.
XXXXX
The streets of the Valarionth-Esparith Myridan were alive with the usual evening bustle. The distant hum of street vendors peddling their goods, the laughter of children playing, and the occasional strum of a street musician's guitar painted a veneer of normalcy over the simmering tensions beneath. Marcus Alvar staggered down the cobblestone path with a bottle of half-empty whiskey clutched in his hand.
"Outta my way, you filthy bastards," he slurred, shoving a passerby aside. His uniform, once a pristine emblem of Milishial superiority, was now stained with the remnants of countless nights of debauchery. The locals parted for him, not out of respect but out of fear.
As a citizen of the almighty Milishial Empire, Marcus operated with impunity. His belief in Milishial supremacy afforded him a sense of invincibility and an overtly racist attitude towards the local population, whom he regarded as barbarians. The latest order from his superiors was a welcome distraction for Marcus. His Silver-Class magic cruiser submarine was to join a flotilla headed for Irnetia. The reason? Prince Caspian sought to provoke a conflict with the Chinese. Marcus relished the prospect, viewing it as an opportunity to demonstrate Milishial superiority. However, before setting sail, he sought to indulge his vices one last time.
As Marcus approached the familiar facade of the Hopscotch Tavern, he felt a twisted sense of comfort. The tavern was a haven for him, a place where he could drown his frustrations in potent liquor and lose himself in the embrace of hired companionship. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he was greeted by the raucous laughter and clinking glasses that marked the establishment's nightly atmosphere.
Hopscotch Tavern is a dimly lit, smoky establishment with an eclectic mix of patrons. The walls are adorned with trophies from monster hunts—fangs, claws, and pelts—creating an atmosphere of primal adventure. Bramptovich, the owner, is a figure of fascination and mystery. His wings, half-black and half-white, mark him as a member of the Winged People from the Annonrial Empire, renowned monster hunters and merchants of rare and exotic goods. Bramptovich had built a reputation for mixing strong wines with monsters' blood, concoctions potent enough to sate even the most hardened Milishial soldier. His whores, too, were renowned for their exotic allure, drawing patrons from across the city and beyond.
"Marcus, my friend! Welcome back," boomed Bramptovich, the winged owner of the tavern. With his massive wings folded neatly behind him, Bramptovich cut an imposing figure. His face, always adorned with a disarming smile, betrayed none of the secrets he harbored.
"Bramp, you sly bastard," Marcus grinned, swaying on his feet. "Got any of that good stuff for me tonight? Gonna need a lotta it. Big mission coming up."
Bramptovich's eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and calculation. "Oh? And what mission might that be?" he asked, his voice silky smooth as he guided Marcus to his usual seat at the bar.
Marcus slumped onto the stool, leaning heavily against the counter. "Prince Caspian wants to teach those upstart Chinese a lesson," he sneered. "About time someone put those barbarians in their place. We Milishials are the true rulers of this world, not some inferior humans."
Bramptovich chuckled softly, pouring a glass of a particularly potent blend of wine mixed with monster blood and red whale semen. "Ah, a noble cause indeed. You Milishial always know how to put the lesser races in their place. Allow me to celebrate your impending victory with a few drinks, on the house."
Marcus took the glass and raised it in a mock toast. "To the glory of Milishial," he slurred before downing the concoction in one gulp. The liquid burned as it went down, a sensation he had come to crave.
"Tell me, Marcus," Bramptovich began, his tone casual but his eyes watching intently, "how do you feel about taking orders from women? I hear things are changing back home."
Marcus's face twisted into a mask of contempt. "Those damn women don't know their place," he spat. "A woman's job is to breed and serve, not to lead. It's bad enough they're letting them into the military. No way in hell I'm taking orders from some skirt."
Bramptovich nodded sympathetically, refilling Marcus's glass. "Of course, of course. It must be very frustrating for you, dealing with such… changes."
"Damn right it is," Marcus grumbled, taking another swig. "Sent me out here to this backwater because I wouldn't bow down to some female officer. Can you believe that?"
"Unthinkable," Bramptovich agreed, his smile never wavering. "But soon, you will have your chance to show them all. A glorious victory against the Chinese will prove once and for all the superiority of the Milishial way."
Marcus's eyes gleamed with drunken fervor. "Yeah, yeah! We'll crush them. Show 'em who's boss."
Bramptovich leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Marcus, there are those of us who appreciate men like you. Men who understand the true order of things. Perhaps, after this mission, you could be of use to us in other… endeavors."
Marcus blinked, trying to process the words through the haze of alcohol. "What… what kind of endeavors?"
"All in good time, my friend," Bramptovich said, clapping him on the shoulder. "For now, drink and enjoy yourself. You have a big day ahead."
As Marcus continued to drink, his vision began to blur, and his thoughts grew muddled. Unbeknownst to him, the potent brew Bramptovich had given him was laced with a substance designed to lower his inhibitions and make him more pliable. The winged tavern owner watched with satisfaction as Marcus's head lolled and his speech became increasingly incoherent.
"Another round," Marcus demanded, slamming his empty glass on the counter.
"Of course," Bramptovich said, pouring another glass. "To your health, Marcus."
Marcus grabbed the drink, downing it in one go. The liquid burned its way down his throat, leaving a fiery trail. He slammed the glass on the bar, his eyes already glazing over. "Now, where are those whores? I need a good fuck before I go."
Bramptovich nodded towards a door at the back of the tavern. "Through there, my friend. The finest whores, just for you. Enjoy yourself."
Inside the dimly lit room, Marcus was greeted by a chorus of sultry voices and the soft rustle of silk. The whores, their faces painted and their bodies adorned with jewelry, circled him like predators sensing easy prey. Marcus, already unsteady on his feet, allowed himself to be led to a plush bed draped in rich fabrics.
One of the women, a slender dark elf with piercing green eyes, leaned close to Marcus, her breath hot against his ear. "Relax, soldier. We'll take care of you."
Marcus's mind was already swimming, the sedative working its way through his bloodstream. He mumbled something incoherent as the women undressed him, their hands roaming over his body. His vision blurred, the room spinning as he sank into the bed.
Bramptovich watched from a hidden alcove, his eyes narrowed. The mind-altering substance would begin to take effect soon, loosening Marcus's inhibitions and making him susceptible to suggestion. Bramptovich waited, his patience unwavering.
Xxxx
The next morning, Marcus woke with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like sandpaper. He groaned, clutching his head as he tried to remember the events of the previous night. Flashes of Bramptovich's smiling face and the endless flow of drinks swam through his mind.
"Ugh, what the hell did I drink?" he muttered, staggering to his feet. The room spun around him, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from toppling over.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his stupor. "Alvar! Report to the dock in one hour," a gruff voice called.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Marcus grumbled, splashing some water on his face in a feeble attempt to sober up. He dressed quickly, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
As he made his way to the dock, his mind drifted back to the conversation with Bramptovich. There was something unsettling about the way the winged man had spoken, but in his drunken state, Marcus couldn't quite put his finger on it.
At the dock, the sleek, silver hull of his magic cruiser submarine awaited him. The crew bustled about, preparing for departure. The ship's second-in-command, a stern-faced elf named Liora, approached him with a clipboard.
"You're late, Alvar," she said curtly, her eyes narrowing. "We need to be underway soon."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Marcus snapped, brushing past her. He could feel the resentment simmering just below the surface. Taking orders from a woman was an insult he still struggled to stomach.
As they boarded the submarine, Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. His mind was clouded, and his body felt weak. He glanced around, noticing the wary glances his crew cast in his direction.
"Alright, let's get this over with," he muttered, taking his place at the helm. The mission to Irnetia loomed ahead, and with it, the promise of battle and bloodshed. For now, that would have to be enough to quell the growing unease in his gut.
Bramptovich watched from the shadows as the submarine slipped beneath the waves, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. His plans were already in motion, and Marcus Alvar was but a pawn in a much larger game. The future of the Milishial Empire, and perhaps the world, hung in the balance.
