Chapter 29. Falling off a Pedestal.
The Parpaldian Empire. Capital: Eshtirant.
The crowd was seething in the central square. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, waiting for something big. A tense silence hung in the air, like the calm before a storm.
"What are they doing?" a man asked, eyeing the soldiers as they set up strange devices with metal boxes.
"Looks like there's going to be a war announcement," the second man replied quietly, not taking his eyes off the scene.
"Russia beat us?" There was more disbelief in his voice than actual comprehension.
"Yes," the other replied curtly.
"What?! How could our mighty empire lose?!" the first man burst out, clenching his fists.
"Keep your voice down!" the second hissed, glancing around nervously. "The military police are everywhere. And don't forget—Russian troops are already in the city."
"Damn demons," the first man growled under his breath, venom in every word. "It's all their sorcery. Their cursed magic!"
Meanwhile, the soldiers kept working, setting up audio amplifiers. These magical devices—manacoms—were a reminder that magic still powered much of their world. But compared to Russian technology, they looked embarrassingly primitive.
Everyone had been warned in advance: an important announcement was coming. The square and the surrounding streets were jam-packed. People whispered, speculated, made wild guesses, but no one really knew what was coming.
Then, a sound.
A low, echoing voice rang out—deep and hollow, like it was coming from the bottom of a well:
"Greetings, my loyal subjects. We, Lucius the First of Parpaldia, your emperor…"
The crowd went dead silent.
"…hereby abdicate the throne of the Parpaldian Empire…"
The voice grew clearer now, every word striking like a hammer blow.
"…We relinquish all authority to Lord Kaios. This decision comes as a result of our catastrophic failures—both foreign and domestic. Our arrogance and foolish pride have led us to ruin. For the first time in centuries, we have suffered a crushing defeat…"
His words hung in the air like smoke—thick and suffocating. Some made the sign of the cross. Others covered their faces with their hands.
"…And so, I step down. I can only hope that my regent, Lord Kaios, can lead our nation out of this darkness…"
The voice cut off. For a moment, the city seemed to hold its breath.
Then another voice took over—lower, calmer, firm:
"I now yield the floor to the regent, Lord Kaios…"
The crowd stirred. People shifted in place. Some murmured. But no one dared move.
"Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty. The war between the Russian Federation and the Parpaldian Empire was a catastrophic mistake. And we've paid dearly for it. Because of our government's failures, seventy-two of our vassal states have declared independence and risen up in rebellion…"
The crowd buzzed louder.
"Had the war continued, we would've lost everything. That's why the government has decided to cease all hostilities and sign a peace accord with the Russian Federation…"
"What?!" someone shouted from the crowd. "That's insane! We're a global superpower! They humiliated us, and now you want us to surrender?!"
"Damn right!" others chimed in. "Fight to the bitter end!"
The crowd erupted in noise. Some shouted, some fell silent. Others started backing away, sensing danger. But they were the minority. The majority surged forward as one voice:
"Fight 'til we win!"
"Enough!" a coarse, worn voice suddenly cut through the noise.
A man stepped out from the crowd, dressed in ragged clothes. His face was scratched up, and his eyes burned with grief.
"What the hell are you talking about, you damn fool?!" he snapped at the loudest of the agitators. "Ever even held a sword in your life? You know what it's like to watch your brother bleed out in front of you? While you were haggling in the market, I was knee-deep in blood and mud, fighting Russians!"
The crowd fell silent, struck by the weight of his words.
"You couldn't imagine the hell it is to go to war with them. If we keep going, we'll lose everything—our homes, our families, our lives. They're stronger than we are!"
Yelling, crashing, screaming—chaos spread through the square like wildfire. The crowd boiled like a volcano ready to blow. Those with any common sense had already left, fearing the shouting match would turn into something far more dangerous. But those who stayed split into two camps, trading insults and threats, their rage growing with every second.
Amid the brewing chaos, the voice from the manacom kept talking—detached, almost indifferent:
"…Seventy-three nations have formed a coalition and declared war on us. It took immense effort for our government to negotiate peace. To preserve what remains of our empire, we must learn to coexist with this new power. I believe we can survive this trial…"
That was the final straw.
"No!" the same trader who had first riled up the crowd screamed. His voice cracked, his face twisted in fury. "Down with the usurper! Bring back our empire's glory!"
"Shut the hell up!" roared another man from the crowd—a former soldier, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. "You have no idea what you're saying! We won't let loudmouths like you finish destroying what's left of our country!"
And just like that, under a storm of furious screams and threats, the square exploded into violence.
People turned on each other like wild animals—punching, shoving, slamming each other to the ground.
Some grabbed stones, others snatched sticks and planks.
Blows rained down from every direction.
Screams of pain clashed with howls of rage.
— Stand down immediately! — a sharp, amplified voice rang out through the square, projected by the manacomm. It belonged to one of the officers. — Cease this riot at once! Or we will use force!
But the crowd wasn't listening. Their furious uproar only swelled louder.
Uniformed soldiers advanced toward the brawl, polearms in hand. Their faces were emotionless, their movements precise and rehearsed. The commander, a tall man with gray streaks at his temples, barked a curt order:
— Take down the wildest ones! Cripple them if you must, but no killing!
A second later, another command followed:
— Flashbangs! Ready! Throw!
A storm of flashbang grenades arced into the crowd. They exploded with blinding flashes and thunderous bangs that tore through the square, the noise stabbing into ears like knives. The chaos froze. Some people dropped to the ground, clutching their ears and covering their eyes.
The soldiers moved in. Like a single organism, they advanced with brutal efficiency, isolating the most aggressive clusters and subduing them quickly. The shafts of their weapons whipped across backs, legs, and shoulders. The unruly were restrained on the spot, their cries and curses ignored.
The joint announcement from Kaios and Ludius the First had sent shockwaves across the Parpaldian Empire. But understanding didn't come all at once. At first, people wept. Then came the cursing. And finally, the violence. Some accepted the news as inevitable. Others clung stubbornly to denial.
But the truth was undeniable: Parpaldia had lost.
Its imperial pride—nurtured for centuries through conquest and domination—was now cracking at the seams.
One week later. Russian Federation. Moscow. Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Andrey Maksimovich stepped into the minister's office. The papers tucked neatly under his arm were perfectly arranged, and his movements radiated quiet confidence.
— Our projections were accurate, he began, laying out the documents in front of the minister.
— Kaios is successfully restoring order in Parpaldia. All major resistance strongholds have been neutralized.
The minister listened closely, nodding as he absorbed the report.
— The former vassal states, now free from Parpaldian control, are gradually reestablishing their own governments. Most of them have already expressed interest in forming diplomatic ties with us.
— Excellent work, Andrey Maksimovich, the minister said, removing his glasses, giving them a quick polish, and looking at his subordinate with approval. — You've done well. You're dismissed.
Principality of Qua-Toyne. Territory under Russian Federation control. Prison city Vostochny-1.
This city had become a symbol of the new order imposed on the once-great superpower. Nestled on the rugged border between the Kingdom of Quilla and the Principality of Qua-Toyne, it stood in a harsh mountain range where the wind never rested—sweeping relentlessly across steep slopes, carrying with it dust and cold. When Russian geologists discovered vast deposits of osmium in the region, a mining frenzy erupted. Thus was born Vostochny-1—a mining town, a prison city, encircled by a four-meter-high concrete wall crowned with barbed wire.
Guard towers rose along the perimeter, each manned around the clock by armed sentries. Beyond the wall stretched a network of checkpoints and watchposts. Attempting escape wasn't just reckless—it was suicide.
Two thousand Parpaldian prisoners of war labored here. Once-proud soldiers of the Empire, they now spent their days extracting ore in stifling mine shafts. Their faces, caked in coal dust, all wore the same exhausted expression. Conditions were harsh, but not inhumane. No one died of starvation or cruelty—Russia was making a point: even in victory, it could show a certain degree of restraint.
— "Attention!" barked a rough voice over the loudspeakers installed throughout the camp. — "The Parpaldian Empire and the Russian Federation have signed a peace agreement. In five months, you will be released and escorted home. Remember: hard work is the best way to redeem yourself and leave this place sooner!"
Those words sparked an overwhelming wave of emotion among the prisoners. Some shouted with joy, hugging each other as if hope had finally returned. Others stood in stunned silence, still processing what they had just heard.
Among those listening stood General Sius, a prisoner of war. His shoulders, once held proudly high, now drooped; his face had grown gaunt and hollow. Silently, he wiped away the traitorous tears with the sleeve of his coarse gray uniform.
Sius had always prepared for the worst. When he was captured, he fully expected torture, humiliation—and eventually, execution. But none of that happened. Instead of agony, he was handed a pickaxe and sent to work. Sius lived under the same conditions as his soldiers, slept on the same hard cot, and ate the same bland rations.
Sometimes, he caught a blow from a guard—always deserved, whether for insubordination or trying to bend the rules. But even that seemed trivial compared to what he had feared.
— Sius! a familiar voice called out.
It was Reckmeyer, a dragon rider who had once served under his command. During their time in captivity, the lines between officer and soldier had long since blurred. They now spoke to one another by first name, as if all titles had been left behind in a distant life that would never return.
— We're really going home, Sius! Reckmeyer looked excited, his eyes bright with hope.
— Yeah... the general replied quietly, not looking up from the glass of fruit compote in his hands. His voice was low and weary. — Five more months.
He paused, as if weighing his thoughts, then added:
— Have we atoned for our sins? Have we paid for our mistakes?
Reckmeyer placed a hand on his shoulder. His fingers were calloused, but warm.
— Don't lose yourself, Sius. After this disastrous failure, our Empire still needs men like you. You're a seasoned commander. You can help rebuild what little is left.
The general raised his eyes and looked at Reckmeyer. A faint, barely visible smile crossed his face.
— Thank you, Reckmeyer, he said softly.
— Lunch is over! Back to work! barked a guard, clutching the forend of his MP-133 shotgun.
Their conversation was cut off by the signal announcing the end of the lunch break. The workers began descending into the mines again, returning to their grueling labor.
But now, they knew it would end in five months. They would go home.
The only question was—what would be waiting for them when they got there?
General Sius lifted his gaze to the gray sky above.
His thoughts were consumed by one thing: what kind of homeland would he return to, when his feet finally touched its soil again?
Russian Federation. Moscow. Government Assembly.
The meeting hall was spacious and solemn. Tall windows let in the pale winter light, offering a view of snow-covered Moscow, while a massive oval table around which the participants sat stood as a symbol of unity and order. The President rose, sweeping his gaze over the assembled officials, and began his address.
— "I congratulate all of us on the end of this chaos," he said calmly, though there was clear pride in his voice.
The hall erupted in applause. It was loud, yet restrained—reflecting a collective sense of relief after months of intense effort. When the noise faded, the President continued:
— "Georgiy Borisovich, what actions have you taken regarding the Parpaldian Empire?"
Georgiy Borisovich, a distinguished man with ash-gray hair, cleared his throat and prepared to speak.
— "After the sudden death of Ludius, negotiations with Lord Kaios went smoothly. Parpaldia has agreed to pay three hundred million pasos in reparations to the Kingdom of Fenn. These funds will go toward rebuilding the affected territories. In addition, Kaios has confiscated all the property of the ruling lords and dukes to secure the contribution payments."
He paused, allowing the others time to absorb the information.
— "We made sure the Parpaldian economy didn't collapse. That allowed our exporters to begin tapping into new markets. The Empire has lost all of its colonies, and its military has been downsized from three million troops to two hundred thousand. The richest former imperial territories are now under blockade by our forces, who are acting as mediators between Parpaldia and its former colonies. This is helping to prevent any further escalation of conflict."
He looked to the President, waiting for confirmation that his report was sufficient.
— "Thank you, Georgiy Borisovich," the President nodded. "And what about the Holy Mirishial Empire and Gra-Valkas?"
Georgiy Borisovich paused briefly before answering.
— "We've managed to establish contact with the first empire. They've sent a delegation, and we hope that continued talks will strengthen our relationship. As for Gra-Valkas—so far, every attempt to reach them has failed."
The President furrowed his brow slightly, though his expression quickly returned to neutral.
— "Understood. Thank you, Georgiy Borisovich. Valentin Eduardovich, please report on the planetary survey."
Valentin Eduardovich, a man with a sharp, scientific air about him, stood up. His face showed a trace of satisfaction—he clearly relished the opportunity to present the fruits of his work.
— "We've launched six of the twenty-four planned satellites. While this isn't enough for full orbital coverage of the planet, the data we've collected so far is already remarkable. The planet is enormous."
He activated a projector, and a map appeared on the screen.
— "Twelve thousand kilometers to the east, we discovered a previously unknown continent. Its habitability remains uncertain, but it's surrounded by numerous islands with varying levels of development. Some exhibit early medieval cultures, others more advanced ones."
The hall stirred with quiet astonishment.
— "Beyond a massive mountain range, we suspect the existence of additional continents. The volume of the world's oceans appears to exceed the surface area of Earth itself. This discovery opens up enormous prospects for further exploration."
The President thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
— "Fascinating… Thank you, Valentin Eduardovich. Now, Sergey Anatolyevich, tell us about progress in the academies and magical research."
Sergey Anatolyevich, a specialist in cutting-edge technologies, rose to his feet, a folder of documents in hand.
— "The academies are functioning efficiently, Mikhail Viktorovich. We've developed our first experimental prototype of electromagnetic weaponry powered by magic. So far, the results are underwhelming—but this is only the beginning."
He caught his breath and went on:
— "As for magic itself, the situation is… complicated. We haven't identified any magical abilities in students. However, newborn children monitored by mages have shown signs of what's being referred to as a magical reserve—mana. This discovery gives us hope that, within one or two generations, we'll have mages of our own."
— "That's good news…" the President said in an encouraging tone, allowing himself a faint smile. His voice was calm but firm, as if reaffirming a quiet certainty that much had been achieved—but even more lay ahead. "Is there anything else you'd like to add, Sergey Anatolyevich?"
Sergey Anatolyevich paused briefly, then leaned forward slightly. His voice was steady, restrained, the voice of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.
— "Yes, Mikhail Viktorovich. We need a remote, isolated location—far from civilian areas—where we can carry out full-scale research and testing in both magic and technology."
A moment of quiet settled over the room, broken only by the soft creaking of chairs.
— "Valentin Eduardovich mentioned the islands discovered by our satellites. Perhaps one of them is uninhabited. A site like that would allow us to work without posing any danger to the civilian population—and without the risk of information leaks."
The President thoughtfully steepled his fingers, his gaze fixed on Sergey Anatolyevich.
— "That's possible…" he said slowly, glancing around the room. His tone made it clear that the idea was already taking root in his mind. "What kind of testing are you planning exactly?"
Sergey Anatolyevich lifted his chin slightly, and his voice took on a sharper edge of conviction.
— "Research in nuclear fusion and plasma technology—this is the key to the next stage in our energy development. Also, the design of advanced weapons systems—ones that are not only powerful, but safe for our own soldiers. We're also developing next-generation personal protective gear."
His eyes lit up with passion, and he lowered his voice just a touch to emphasize what came next:
— "Beyond that, we must deepen our study of magic. Especially its practical application through alchemy, runic engineering, and artifact crafting. We want to understand how to merge it with modern science—to create real synergy."
The President leaned back in his chair, pensive, and turned his gaze to the other officials.
— "That's an ambitious vision, Sergey Anatolyevich. But projects like this require substantial resources."
Sergey Anatolyevich didn't flinch. His gaze was steady, unwavering.
— "We'll need funding—and a secure, isolated site. But if we lay the groundwork now, in just a few years this initiative will yield not only breakthrough technologies for our country—but a distinct strategic advantage on the global stage."
The President gave a short nod, as if finalizing a decision in his mind.
— "Very well. Draft the proposal, Sergey Anatolyevich. We'll review it as soon as possible. It's only a matter of time."
Sergey Anatolyevich bowed his head slightly, respectfully.
— "Thank you, Mikhail Viktorovich."
As the meeting drew to a close, everyone stood, and the President concluded:
— "Thank you for your work. Return to your duties. We still have a lot to accomplish."