Nargoz’s Upheaval

Crossing the central courtyard leading to the castle’s gates, Kilian came across a squad of 14 men, 12 of which stood in a horizontal line, as immobile as the two ancient busts in Klaus’ study.

The 12 men wore Zurishells, platinum muscle fiber armors crafted in zuri. A rare mineral unique to Arcadia, zuri was primarily used to produce top templar armors. Its flexibility, robustness and reception to magic transcended that of all other minerals. It also served as an alloy for various electronic parts.

In the eighth year of Klaus’ reign, his Technomancy Department devised a way to craft zuri into muscle fiber armors that not only provided superhuman strength, resilience and speed, but incorporated the latest advancements in Technomancy. Supersonic propulsors, stasis fields, plasma lasers and a 360-degree vision ensured that whoever wore those armors could rip the average High Emissary to shreds.

“Junior Duke, by His Grace’s orders, I have selected these 12 members of the Seared Hearts as your bodyguards. I believe you’re most familiar with them,” Wilfried said, and the 12 bowed in greetings. Out of courtesy, they kept their faces exposed, enabling Kilian to identify them all.

Ignoring Wilfried, Kilian’s eyes stopped on the agent at the seventh place from the left, “Your face...you’re new. But did I not kill you? Or was it a twin?” He asked with as much tact as the king of oafs. But without straightening his back, the agent nodded.

“My brother failed the Seared Hearts’ examination, and in a moment of weakness, was bribed by enemy forces and attempted to murder Your Lordship. He shamed our family and deserved one million deaths,” the agent replied with no ripple in his voice. Klaus wasn’t the only one that sent assassins after Kilian. Disgruntled vassals, princes, dukes and marquises, all those that’d rather see Kars fall in the hands of Kilian’s imbecile of a younger brother, gunned for his life.

“Were you close?”

“Very much so.”

“Do you want vengeance?”

“Some people don’t deserve to be avenged. Anyone with the nerve to threaten His Grace’s world merits a brutal death. If Your Lordship didn’t kill him, I would have.”

“Is that so?” As if bored by the exchange, Kilian spun to face the 14th man on the scene, his younger brother, Florens von Karsten.

“Why are you here?” He directly asked. Undisturbed, Florens flashed him a fake smile and stepped forward.

“Father wants me to follow your lead and gain some experience. This is an opportunity to cement our brotherhood, grow closer, and show the world Kars’ unity,” Florens said, barely able to suppress his glee. Though two years younger than Kilian, he always saw himself as the true highborn and heir of Kars. On this trip, he intended to prove it. However, Kilian tilted his head to the left, and eyed his brother from head to toe.

“I screwed your mom,” he straightforwardly said, and startled by the words, Florens blinked in confusion.

“W-what?” To say nothing of him, Wilfried aside, all others’ faces experienced drastic changes.

“I screwed your mom. No, I screw your mom. Matter of fact, I’m the only one that banged her in the last two years. Father’s orders, couldn’t stop it.” Slammed hard by Kilian’s casually spoken words, Florens staggered and whirled to face Wilfried. The silent acknowledgment he saw in his uncle’s face sapped all strength from his legs, and he neared collapse.

But at that time, Kilian gently tapped his right shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I hope our brotherhood survives it.” He then walked past his dazed brother and led his men toward Kars’ gate where a Mach 2 frigate awaited them. Only now did Florens tumble, and after a brief observation of the boy’s state, Wilfried pressed his earchip to contact Klaus.

“Your Grace, I’m afraid Lord Florens can no longer join the delegation.”

...

“Before we reach Nargoz, let me make something clear. You have to drop your Arcadian, human supremacist views, less you cause me needless trouble,” sitting in a beige cabin, Kilian told his bodyguards who now had their faces covered by dark-gray helmets. Thanks to the empire’s millennia of propaganda, the belief that humanity stood supreme clouded the citizens’ eyes. In the Arcadian humans’ mind, other races were either inferior or abominations.

The view worked in most places, but in Nargoz, would only bring them hatred.

“Your Lordship needs not be concerned. As you know, His Grace has always advocated tolerance and reformed much of Kars’ culture. Although some prejudices remain here and there, they don’t affect the likes of us. Still, I’m confused. Aren’t the Nargozis human?” A bodyguard inquired.

“Depends on whom you ask. In short, Nargoz is a remnant of the Eternal Night. Founded a century before the empire by the bloodkins to act as a base for their chiropteran masters. The rulers of Nargoz, house Veidt, are direct descendants of the bloodkins that survived through a timely rebellion against the chiropteran invaders. Although they lost some of the original bloodkins’ features, their blood-red eyes and innate abilities remain, reminding the world that they aren’t quite human,” Kilian explained, making the 12 exchange curious glances.

The most secretive and isolationist of the four kingdoms, Nargoz rarely involved itself in Arcadian struggles. Likewise, information about that kingdom rarely circulated among aristocrats, to say nothing of commoners. Thus, it became a mythical land, with endless legends pouring from gossipy mouths. Yet, while most stories presented no truth, one was quite accurate.

Though the most powerful of the four kingdoms, Nargoz failed to thrive because its aristocracy, the Blood Court, lived in perpetual strife. But as his frigate crossed 20,000 km of blue sky to reach the foreign state’s border, Kilian’s thoughts remained glued on the two things he truly came for, and how to snatch them right.

...

Within Nargoz’s royal palace, Grand Prince Oliver, heir to Nargoz’s throne, sat alongside top-ranking nobles of the Blood Court and senior members of the royal council. Anxiety strained all faces.

“Who could think that the empire would shoot down our tribute-delivering aircrafts, force a three days delay, and then use that as an excuse to execute our king. Again, the emperor proves his cruelty unrivaled,” said an old Nargozi councilor with gray hair and blood-red eyes. Aware of their helplessness before the empire’s tyranny, several councilors and nobles sighed.

“Nargoz was never a thorn in the empire’s side. We administer this land because they allow us to, because we forsook human-blood-drinking, and remained docile to their laws. If the empire wishes to replace us, it doesn’t need such petty excuses. What then is this? A warning? A reminder?” A duke followed, but with a wave of his pale hand, Oliver dismissed the words.

“I’m afraid Emperor Niklas is branding us traitors, forcing us to renew the Covenant, break the Peace Barrier, and contact the Balmarian continent to ask the Chiropteran Dynasty for assistance. He must be ready for war and wants to use our despair to lure his foes into a fatal trap. But so long as I breathe, this will not happen,” Oliver said, making councilors and nobles nod in approval.

Still, their hearts soured. Nargoz couldn’t survive by lobbying the Chiropteran Dynasty. But for how long could it endure the Arcadian Empire’s pressure?

“August Orphan, can’t you ask the Duke of Kars for help? After all, aren’t the two of you great friends?” The gray-haired councilor offered, but instantly, Oliver sneered.

“Friends? Besides that mysterious man that groomed and protected him throughout his younger years, Klaus has no friend.”