The World of Klaus

By the time the officials and king snapped out of their stupor, the messenger was long gone. Ignoring the sycophants, Klaus’ cold-blue eyes locked on Erik, and while the duke stood several meters away from him, the king still quivered to no end.

“Y-you’re back? M-my good nephew, g-good to see, g-good t-to s-” Erik stuttered, but as his broken words struggled to leave his lips, Klaus raised one hand, and the king dared not speak further.

“Enough. Uncle, I’ve already told you that I don’t want your throne. But as a monarch, even a tributary ruler, how can you so easily forget your dignity? You’re not just one man, your face represents our state. If you can’t even keep your back straight in your palace, perhaps we do need another ruler,” Klaus half-joked. As the “son” of Otto von Karsten—the king’s cousin and former Duke of Kars—Klaus was Erik’s maternal nephew.

In his early years, Erik treated him with a gentle elder’s care. He was the type of man everyone wanted as a relative, but none would ever entrust important duties to. A fatuous, self-indulgent king, the 63-year-old monarch had yet to realize that his “beloved wife” was the reason why he’d have to pass down his throne to his daughter. Men like Erik convinced Klaus that hereditary and absolute power could not build healthy states. The Arcadian Empire could afford it because of the von Skolls’ might, but was it healthy? Of course not.

Shaken by Klaus’ joke, Erik clenched his throne’s arms as tight as he could, mustering his full strength to not collapse on the ground. “I...can abdicate, if you want. Our f-families intermarried for generations. I’m sure we can fabricate a claim to let you inherit. J-just say the words,” Erik offered. As a High Emissary, he shouldn’t have looked older than 40. Alas, the weight of a crown he could no longer endure wrinkled his face.

In less than ten years, he buried his five sons, some of whom he was forced to execute by circumstances he couldn’t control. His queen spent the majority of her time in the distant academy, not even bothering sending him words or answering his messages.

As a king, Erik had many faults, but as a father and husband, he tried his best. On the day he wedded Esther, he gave up his official mistresses. Although he kept their status in name to avoid shaming them or his sons, he never touched them again. For Esther, he ignored state matters, did all he could to make her smile, but only received the same apathetic gaze.

To obtain her hand, he exhausted one-tenth of the state’s treasury. For her love, he gave up the rest. Though he knew her heart lay with another man, he restrained his fears. Rupert killed the man to avoid scandals, but claimed it was for Erik’s sake. Knowing he shared the blame, Erik didn’t dispute.

Now he sat on an empty treasury, with one child left out of six, and fear ruling his life. What use did the crown have for him? And why would he let it fall on his only daughter’s head? To have her live the rest of her life as Klaus’ puppet? No, the blood of those 8,000 northern tribesmen, of Otto and the other von Karsten heirs, proved one thing: Klaus…was too ruthless.

They might as well abdicate.

But as if reading through Erik’s thoughts, the duke stepped forward, and faster than the king’s eyes could follow, crossed the hall to land before him.

“Fine. Then today, let’s make history. As I leave to handle the invaders, you will promulgate a royal decree that creates me Grand Chancellor and officially surrenders the crown’s authority to me. I will draft a new bill of rights, suppress the aristocracy, reform the government, and build a state run by competence instead of bloodline. The state will in turn allow you—and all succeeding monarchs—to live your lives in prestige and luxury—granted you don’t intervene in its matters.” While Klaus didn’t believe in absolute monarchy, a democratic republic or meritocracy didn’t hold that much appeal to him either.

In his eyes, all three were defective. At their worst, absolute monarchies fostered generations of abuse and incompetence, democratic republics led to constant squabble among conflicting political parties, and meritocracies bred elitism.

But for his vision of the revolutionary state, Klaus aimed to incorporate elements of the three, and with what little time he had left, make Orloth his testing ground. In success, Arcadia would have a new option. In failure, his successors would learn from his mistakes and build something stronger.

Unable to challenge Klaus’ words, Erik bowed in submission. Satisfied, the Duke of Kars spun and vanished from the court hall, leaving behind dozens of restless officials and their king-in-name.

…

At the border between Orloth and the Arcadian Empire, a 60 meters long, dark-blue aircraft hovered overhead amidst 720 fighters. The average man could never expect that an aircraft of that size hid an army of over 800,000 men, ready to pillage its way through Orloth’s 160 million lives.

Dark-blue mist swirled around the aircraft, projecting the invaders’ daunting presence to the border tribes and beyond. From the cold north to the capital, all could see that nightmarish image that presaged nothing but slaughter. In a flash, chaos filled Orloth.

In the aircraft’s cockpit, a middle-aged man dressed in a black military uniform stood with his arms folded, and his severe eyes peering into the distance.

“Von Karsten, you robbed me of my title, shamed me before my house and the continent’s elite, but in less than a week, went into a coma? What did I suffer this humiliation for? If I don’t wash this shame in Kars’ blood, how can I face my ancestors?” The former Grand Master of the Blood Rose grumbled. At first, when Klaus crushed him before the world, he had no complaints. The gap between them spoke for itself.

But soon, all the respect he used to command from his peers and relatives alike crumbled. For some it was contempt, for others merely pity, but be it friends, wife or children, without the Grand Master title, none looked at him the same. It didn’t take long for indignation to fill his heart. Klaus’ following mishap became the icing on the cake, making him choose rebellion at the first opportunity.

But as the rebel leader pictured a burning Kars, an amethyst projectile raced across the sky, aiming at his aircraft. The machine’s defense system activated, casting an energy shield that stopped the projectile in a deafening bang.

But as the light dispersed, the confusing sight of an unharmed amethyst statue awaited. Recognizing his messenger, the rebel leader frowned. And before he could attribute the deed to Klaus, a purple ray surged from the statue’s forehead, displaying the duke’s message for all to see.

“Commit suicide within the hour, and I pledge to spare your house. Refuse to abide, and all can join the pile of skulls that adorn Kars’ walls.”

The arrogance, as the words flashed before him, the rebel leader could picture Klaus’ leisurely smile and absolute confidence. It made his stomach turn, and with a finger snap, he blew the statue up.

“You’re back? All the better. I wouldn’t be satisfied if I didn’t crush you in battle! Men, to arms!” The rebel leader snarled, and instantly, dark-blue energies surged from the aircraft’s core, casting a column of light toward the ground.

The light column vanished, leaving behind a dreadful army of 800,000 clad in zuri power armors. Already in a battle formation, the army crossed the border, and alongside the hundreds of aircraft, invaded Orloth!

But as soon as they took the first step in, from foot soldiers to aircraft, all clashed with an invisible wall that prevented their advance.

“What the…” the bewildered leader stammered, but the words had barely left his lips that the most magnificent scene he would ever witness occurred. Golden light filled the sky, covering the entirety of Olroth’s heavens. And like an emissary of the divine, a kaleidoscopic crystal phoenix descended, suppressing the massive army with its mystical presence.

Awed, the legions stared dumbstruck, unable to react. And as they succumbed to its majesty, the phoenix spread its wings.

“Fifth Circle Spell: World of Crystals.” A rainbow-colored flash of light blinded all invaders, becoming the last thing they’d see. From men to aircraft, all turned into crystal statues. Amethyst, carnelian, labradorite and so many other varieties spread across the border. The hundreds of aircraft tumbled, crushing a substantial chunk of the sculptures as they cratered. Their fall ended the invasion.

“Saving 160 million by slaying 800,000. Does this count as a good deed?” Klaus asked himself, returned to his original form, and teleported back to Kars. Named the Garden of Crystals, for years to come, this magnificent display would remain Arcadia’s first wonder.

…

But as Klaus obliterated Orloth’s threat, reclining in a flying throne—Niklas appeared before the main rebel forces—and fired a Thermonuclear Blast at them all. At first, the rebel leaders believed their defenses enough to shoulder an Exarch’s strike. But when the red blast neared, they realized their mistake.

One spell, one crater, no survivor. Rupert and the Prince of Koln didn’t escape. Without delay, Niklas moved onto the last army and again ended them with one spell. Thus, in less than one minute, from the rebel army’s initial four million troops, not one man remained.

Or well, almost. For as the news of Klaus and Niklas’ contrasting feats spread, a living Rupert led a detachment of 3,000 cloaked aircraft—his true ace—and surrounded the Imperial Academy.