Cent. Calendar 13/12/1639, Embassy of Japan in Esthirant, Parpaldia, 19:50
The port of Esthirant, easily one of the largest in the region by area and amount of tonnage docking at its piers, disappointingly stood in second place to the more prosperous harbor of Le Brias. Even then, the sheer amount of square-rigged sail vessels, iron-hulled steam ships, and modern-esque merchant vessels coming and going from the port was a testament to an efficient system of communications present to make this all possible, and that was in addition to the vast economic power Parpaldia held. Sure, Altaras may have the biggest and busiest port in the region, but Parpaldia has several more port cities just like Esthirant.
As one of the busiest ports in the region, it also housed a number of warehouses, crane machinery, land transportation hubs, and even a station for freight rail to take cargo to and from the port. Out of all of these places for commerce stood a single building of considerable size yet smaller than the cargo depots flanking it. The lot it was in was also wide, but the building that stood in its center took up much of the space available, leaving only grass and stone pathways for the remaining area. Erected in front of the red-bricked facade, an architectural style reminiscent of the Marunouchi facade of Tokyo Station, was a flagpole that flew the Hinomaru–the state flag of Japan.
This was the Embassy of Japan to Parpaldia. In spite of the latter’s recognition of the former as an equal that should be treated with respect befitting a regional power, the plot of land they gave them to build their embassy ran contrary to that line of thought. One may think that this was in retaliation to the fact that Japan provided a lot in Naha, Okinawa–a city that was definitely not the Japanese capital–for the Parpaldians to build their embassy on, but that was hardly Japan’s fault in the first place; unrest and disorder still plagued Tokyo and contact overall was easier in Okinawa since it was geographically closer to both Philades and Rodenius. At any rate, given their accessible location next to the port, it was easier for personnel and supplies meant for the embassy to go to and from Esthirant, so all’s not lost.
While relations between Parpaldia and Japan remain rather amicable and with several high-profile deals such as the Eastern Offshore Joint Resource Exploration Agreement decorating their joint diplomatic portfolio, the same cannot be said for the relationship between Parpaldia and Altaras. Maintaining diplomatic and fruitful economic ties between the two nations–notwithstanding domestic reasons following the controversy surrounding Operation Zanzibar–Japan has taken a position of non-alignment, which is shared by many others such as Mu, Fenn, Qua-Toyne, and so on. However, with the increasing belligerence between the two parties, especially recently given their economic spats against one another, the worsening situation in the Altaras Strait, a body of water where so much of everyone’s trade, including Japan’s, goes through, they may soon have to do something to calm everyone’s nerves; although as much possible, there mustn’t be any side-picking in the first place.
However, as everyone will soon see, hopes for calmer solutions to prevail will be dashed.
“Hey, Ninomiya! Turn up the volume, will you?”
“On my way.”
A group of Japanese embassy personnel huddled around a television while one of them increased the volume output. They were supposed to be working on their computers and doing paperwork but a certain broadcast caught their ears and now they were completely glued to the television’s monocolor screen.
“What in the goddamn–?! Stop slacking off you morons and get back to work!”
A man so tired from work that his hair and tie were disheveled had walked into the group of personnel crowded around the TV. In spite of his graying hair, the man, Tanaka Noboru, was still full of cocky spirit. While someone else had been assigned to the position of ambassador, he was still assigned to the embassy as chief of mission, much to his chagrin.
“Shh!”
One of the personnel, a supposed subordinate of his, flat-out shushed him. Having had enough of work and now the audacious disrespect coming from his juniors, he was just about to lose it.
“Why you–”
But something else caught his attention. The television, a TCH R38-2000 bought from the local store selling Mirishial appliances, was showing a black and white news broadcast from the Imperial Broadcasting Company (IBC), a Mirishial state-owned news company. While he couldn’t make out the squiggly characters on the screen, he could understand what the newscasters were talking about.
Two male elves in the formal white fantastical robes of Mirishial dress were discussing amongst themselves with a picture of what appears to be a massive conflagration at the port of Le Brias displayed on a screen behind them.
“Details are still coming in but to all those that are only now tuning in: earlier this afternoon in the port of Le Brias, Altaras, at approximately 14:35 local time, a gigantic explosion leveled a granary complex. Casualties are currently confirmed to be at 184 with a further 10,000 wounded but local officials tell us that the death toll is expected to climb as search and rescue efforts continue...”
The embassy personnel, who were already well-versed in Asheran common, understood what the newscaster said. They were completely stunned.
“Holy shit.”
“Reminds me of Beirut back in 2020... What the hell...”
Some of them even vaguely remembered hearing a loud boom that came out of nowhere earlier that afternoon. If the explosion was powerful enough to be heard from Esthirant all the way across the strait, there was little doubt that the death toll may indeed be higher than what the current numbers show.
“An investigation carried out by the Altaran Royal Guards has already determined the cause for the explosion. As per a report issued just hours ago, they conclude that the Barezan granary explosion is ‘undoubtedly an act of sabotage and terrorism against the Altaran people by clandestine Parpaldian state forces.’ They claim to have evidence for this but so far they refuse to release them publicly, citing fears of ‘counterespionage.’”
The Japanese looked at one another with raised eyebrows. The explosion was without a doubt tragic but the speed at which the Altaran government pointed their fingers at Parpaldia was a tattletale sign that something was up; either that or they were more than eager to use the occasion to slurry mud at their enemies. Just then, the other newscaster cut them off with a tone that conveyed a sense of urgency.
“This just in: the Foreign Affairs Minister, Count Erdithas of Rydwheg, is currently live and is about to make a statement regarding the Barezan granary explosion.”
The broadcast was then changed to that of a glass podium located in what appears to be a purely white hall. Flanking the podium were the flags of the Holy Mirishial Empire with the golden imperial insignia emblazoned on the side facing the camera. Seconds after the live broadcast had started, an elf with graying hair and sagging facial features walked up to the podium from the right. Facing the cameras and the crowd beyond them, he started to speak, surprising the Japanese with the clarity of the sound and his somehow young-sounding voice.
“On behalf of the government of the Holy Mirishial Empire, its benign and proud people, and His Imperial Majesty Uevareth I, I extend condolences to the bereaved of the tragedy that occurred at the port of Le Brias in the kingdom of Altaras, as well as prayers to the innocent lives who were lost.”
Count Erdithas lowered his head slightly and stayed silent for a few moments before resuming his address.
“Peace and fraternity among coexisting peoples are part of the values enshrined in both the Imperial Charter that proclaimed the Empire centuries ago and the Asheran Charter that established the norms and values that ought to dictate international relations and international society. As we had done with the insufferable act of insolence committed by the Gra Valkas Empire in invading and taking over the Federal Empire of Leifor months ago, the Holy Mirishial Empire will once again stand by these values in the face of this unprecedented unilateral attempt at destabilizing the world order.”
After briefly looking away to cough, the Mirishial foreign affairs minister turned back to look at the cameras with a sharp glare in his eyes.
“We have been long standing friends with the Parpaldian Empire and our economic and military ties speak of this, but the shared interests of all when it comes to peace, order, and stability come first; I hereby extend the immense disappointment of His Imperial Majesty Uevareth I and his will to denounce the Parpaldian Empire for its horrendous, barbaric act of violence against the kingdom of Altaras and its people! We call on Emperor Ludius to immediately reexamine their erroneous foreign policy, claim responsibility for this blatant attack on Altaran sovereignty, and cooperate with the Altaran government to pay for reparations!”
As soon as he finished his address, the camera shutters, flashes, and reporters armed with microphones started assailing the old count.
The Japanese embassy personnel sighed in exasperation. They were barely in shape to work due to the immense energy they spent tiptoeing between everyone’s interests in an attempt to both get foreign trade into Japan to try and boost back their economy and to satiate domestic demands for more careful diplomatic conduct and to prevent what had happened with Operation Zanzibar. Unfortunately with this new and unwarranted development in the burgeoning cross-strait crisis, things may just be about to get uncomfortably hot. Tanaka, meanwhile, stared at the television screen with eyes of clear and unabated skepticism.
Well, that has got to be odd, no? Why is the Mirishial foreign minister already taking the word of the Altaran Royal Guard for truth? How could they already conclusively point to a definite cause for the explosion when they’re only starting to get people into search and rescue efforts, meaning that they’ve hardly touched ground zero? Is the so-called ‘evidence’ the Altarans have really legitimate or are they perhaps–
“Tanaka!”
Interrupting his stream of thoughts was the voice of his superior, the Japanese Ambassador to Parpaldia, Hamakubo Tatsunosuke. He could never quite get used to the ruffian-like voice of his Showa-esque superior, especially since he has a habit of barking at him.
“Yes, Ambassador?!”
Careful not to modulate his voice louder than his boss’s, Tanaka replied to Hamakubo.
“Come with me! We’ve just received word from Kasumigaseki!”
Tanaka followed him as they walked through the brightly lit hallway.
“May I ask what it is that they said that’s so urgent, Ambassador?”
“The Mirishials have just issued an official statement regarding the Barezan granary incident. The Muish ambassador has told us that their government is about to do the same so we are under pressure to issue our own statement too.”
“And what’s our official stance, Ambassador?”
“We don’t really have much in the way of credible influence over the Altaran deciding making apparatus so we’ll unfortunately just have to side with the result of their government’s investigation–yes, I cannot lie that it’s downright suspicious but we’re also hard pressed to prove ourselves a mediator of peace in this region to our citizens back home. We’re going to condemn the Parpaldians and tell both of them to exercise restraint and to resolve this issue diplomatically.”
So basically we’re going to do nothing, thought Tanaka. He wasn’t the least bit surprised but he hoped there was more that they could do in this situation. Be that as it may, despite the so-called ‘international society’ that the Asherans have propped up, diplomacy was still largely conducted in the manner of dog-eat-dog or survival of the fittest. Having grown a generational, almost natural aversion to this kind of militarist, gung-ho attitude and stance towards other nations, it’s only reasonable that his countrymen would be against Japan continuing to ‘speak in the natives’ language,’ especially after Prime Minister Takamori’s reckless–yet undoubtedly beneficial in hindsight–decision to greenlight Operation Zanzibar.
“Ah well, here we go again, I suppose.”
With Japan opting to try and play the advocate of peace, they have chosen their path down the winding road of local geopolitics.
Cent. Calendar 15/12/1639, Mausoleum of Yasmin, Le Brias, Altaras, 10:00
The bright white and beige domed rooftops of the residential districts of the Altaran capital reflected back into the viewers’ eyes a sort of image evoking feelings that they had reached “Paradise.” Sailors aboard ships destined for the major port city’s bustling harbor, having come a long way across the treacherous, mostly-still unmapped expanse of the Altaras Strait, would have definitely fallen on their knees in gratitude to the gods upon seeing the gleaming towers of Le Brias. What a time to be alive, they’d often pray.
As one traces the skyline of the capital, they’d inevitably come across a gigantic structure topped with an equally impressive dome, all clad in rusted, earthen red bricks. Flanked on all four corners by towering spires, one would be forgiven for thinking that this was the Royal Palace–the center of the richest and most powerful kingdom in the East–due to the daunting turrets and walls at its base. In actuality, this was nothing but a mausoleum, a grand memorial to death in the midst of a city filled with life and vigor. Today, however, the city mourns... and seethes in explosive anger.
“O Altaras! How perverse and degenerate are the enemies seeking your subservience!”
Almighty King of Altaras, Taara XIV, spoke to a weeping crowd of thousands with the kind of confidence and presence that more than befitted his title. Flanked by his Royal Guards and the equally austere figures of the three princesses, his daughters, he opened his speech with the patriotic opening line of the Altaran national anthem, “For Land and King.”
Shedding a tear or two underneath his eyes filling with nationalistic ardor, he sympathized with the pain his people were going through; putting his enclosed fist high into the air, he was exuding a message for all Altarans: fear not the adversary and stand!
“Our kingdom has seen countless enemies bash their heads against our impenetrable walls and lay down their useless, futile lives at our indomitable beaches! It may have been at the cost of thousands of our own countrymen–a cost we could never repay–but we cannot let their memory be in vain!”
He looked down at the people that filled the mausoleum courtyard below. Everybody held a brightly lit candle; the elderly, children, their hardworking parents, the poor that made the streets their home, the rich merchants that otherwise couldn’t have cared less, and so many others. Not a single one of them showed no signs of sadness and anguish. As a king, it was his obligation to comfort his people and rouse them from this infectious sadness. However, it was also his duty as a king to use this to his–no, Altaras’s advantage.
“The tragedy of Barezan we cannot forget but above all: we must never forget that this is an act of war!!! Not just any act of war; this is an act of war against all Altarans!”
He could hear the sorrowful cries of his people from below him. The pained, cracking voices of his benign people only served to anger him further.
“The enemy laughs at us in our moment of weakness but we must show them that they are mistaken! Blood must be shed a thousand fold for every Altaran drop of blood!”
Soon, he started to hear a different kind of cry, one that seeped to the very core with rage.
“To hell with the usurpers!!!”
“Avenge Barezan! Avenge Altaras!!!”
“The eternal kingdom will never falter!!!”
It was working, almost smiled Taara. Just one more should be enough
“For Land and King, O proud people of the land between two continents!”
He cried out in pained rage the closing line of “For Land and King,” a verse that was echoed throughout the mausoleum–if not the entire, weeping city–by the sorrowful, vengeful voices of his people.
“FOR LAND AND KING!!!”
In one, easy stroke, the so-called despot of Altaras turned his people’s despondency into raging fury and he did not even need to imply who their “enemy” was. There was only one enemy in the minds of the Altarans and indirectly reminding them of that was more than enough. He closed his eyes; while there was more work to be done, silently reveling in one’s success did not hurt. With his vision out of the way, all that his senses picked up were the cries of a population thirst for retribution.
Good. Very good.
He patted himself on the back for a job well done. Barezan was a tragedy, but it was nothing more than a scratch on top of a larger wound on the king’s heart, one which to this day has not healed. It is in the background of the brokenhearted cries of his people that he heard a faint cry echo from the deepest abyss of his heart. Upon hearing of it, he couldn’t help but shed a tear.
<<Yasmin!!!>>
A name he had not heard in what was perhaps a lifetime–but it was also a lifetime ago he had last seen anything resembling hope for a future in the East.
The cutthroat Altarans and the exceptionalist Parpaldians had always been at each other’s throats for as long as both states found each other blocking the other’s road to hegemonic power in the Third Civilized Region. But things weren’t always so savage between the two. For once, there was hope for a–while admittingly begrudging–coexistence between the two. That was when a young, up-and-coming king Taara fell in love with a noble from Palnea, one of the subordinate realms underneath the Parpaldian Empire. She was endearing and he was ambitious and the two could not have been more driven towards the eventual normalization of ties between Altaras and Parpaldia. Her smooth, curly yet free flowing hair was more comforting than any silk and her smile shone brighter than any full moon. She meant the world to him but the world exacted a high toll for their ultimately unacceptable pairing–a toll she’d ultimately pay for with her life.
He remembered now. Her blood-stained body lying devoid of life in his arms. The defiant, almost insulting eyes of the men–people whom he once deemed as his family–looking back at him as he gave the order that condemned them to eternal damnation. The three daughters who were hardly capable of walking with whom she left parts of herself with: her beautiful blue eyes that glimmered in the light like pearls, the apple-red cheeks with no hints of artificial blush, and the curly yet flowing brown hair that captured his heart. And then the conviction that the blood that was spilled that day would herald no more concessions to any of the enemies that seek Altaras’s submission.
He opened his eyes and caressed the red, earthen bricks of the mausoleum, a symbol of the dried blood his beloved wife Yasmin and every Altaran before and since then had spilled.
“The day of our enemies’ judgment is nigh. There will be no more peace.”
- - -
As crowds cheered vengefully at the vigil being held at the Mausoleum of Yasmin, the city mourned but with explosive anger. All across the beautiful, industrial-era cobblestone streets of the Altaran capital were gangs of protesters, consisting mostly of middle class workers, determined small time journalists, and angered nationalists, all armed with torches and crude, homemade staves. Some flew sky blue banners while some had signs with “down with our enemies!” painted in bright red. In all such instances, no matter where in the city, the cries they propagated made clear to all that heard them their unquenchable thirst for revenge–revenge for Barezan, for the high prices brought by the trade war, for the humiliation brought upon them by their so-called “enemies.”
“JUSTICE FOR BAREZAN!!!”
“THE PARPALDIANS MUST PAY!!!”
They vented their naked anger on what they deemed deserved it: their “enemies.” Conveniently, Le Brias has a couple places where their “enemies” could be seen in plain sight.
“Stop! No!”
A man wearing an apron powdered to the white with flour in the business district was at his wits’ end trying to stop a gang of chanting, angry rioters from destroying his shop. How could they? He was a baker with a legitimate license and the necessary permits to operate in the city. He had a family of three to feed. But perhaps the most obvious flaw in his profile was that he was a former Parpaldian citizen.
“Please! I am no enemy! I have been here for three decades!”
They listened not to his pleas as his windows were smashed, broken by rocks and sledgehammers, his oven set ablaze, and his freshly baked bread were thrown onto the ground and crushed underneath the soles of the same neighbors who mere days ago were buying them by the droves. All because he was a Parpaldian–the “enemy.”
“That bastard’s gotta be colluding with the enemy! Get ‘im!”
All their infuriated eyes, thirsty for retribution, turned to him.
“What?!”
Men and women armed with bloodied fists and half-broken wooden clubs converged on him. In the midst of this difficult moment, all that he could now think about was his family whom he left upstairs at their apartment. He glanced for a moment to check if the door had been barricaded. It was. Thank goodness, he thought. And then the blows started coming.
Whack! Bam! Kapow! The blows kept on coming. Every single hit he received did not serve to satiate the vengeful desires of the people he once called neighbor, friend, or even brother; if anything, the fact that he was not yet lifeless only served to make them angrier. Two minutes of anguish later, the rioters were exhausted but their rage was not yet satiated. The man, the “enemy,” was now pacified, but there could still be more enemies.
“Spread out! I heard the Rox family a few blocks down the road was about to head back to Esthirant! Make sure they don’t escape!”
“Yeah!!!”
Another hour, another “enemy” lay bloodied and lifeless in the streets of Altaras. There were more enemies, more blood to be shed. Still, it was not enough. Until the martyrs of Barezan are avenged, they will never be enough.
Esthirant, Parpaldia
Across the pond from the magnificent capital of one despotic state was the magnificent capital of another, Esthirant. Equally impressive and majestic in its appearance and skyline, the imperial capital of the world-recognized regional power of the Third Civilized Region did not lose to the underdog capital of Altaras in many more aspects. One of these aspects was the immense violence the streets of the capital were seeing in recent days. Anger seeped through every nook and cranny of the massive metropolis but it was different from the one afflicting Le Brias. The Parpaldians, having witnessed days ago the Altaran dictator Taara XIV vilify them on the world stage as a “brutal, underhanded state sponsor of terror,” were livid–and even that is a massive understatement. The Mirishial, Muish, and Japanese embassies, the countries which backed the Altaran statement, had closed for the day and were on the highest alert possible for any sort of violence that could target them. To help contain the riots in order to preserve their international image, the Parpaldian Constabulary was out in force to make sure none of them got out of hand.
Unfortunately, whether intentional or not was anyone’s guess, the streets outside the Altaran embassy were devoid of constabulary presence. As a result, the center of gravity of the riots–and in turn the violence–could be easily traced to the fortified walls of the Altaran embassy. The armed guard patrolled walls rigged with layers upon layers of inter-coiled barbed wire were desperately being climbed over by enraged Parpaldian citizens. Modest profit-earning businessmen, glass factory workers, newspaper journalists, and even educated teenage boys were but some of the demographic makeup of the angry rioters trying to get into the Altaran embassy. Even if they were not united by cause, what they had in common came in the form of a resounding cheer:
“Expel the Altarans, expel the barbarians! Expel the Altarans, expel the barbarians!”
The company of Altaran guardsmen tasked with guarding the embassy and armed with surplus Mirishial Great War-era bolt action rifles–cutting edge weaponry in the East–were close to cowering beneath the wave of furious Parpaldians. They had gone through several wars as mercenaries before and had withstood so much contempt from civilians over the years but none of their experiences remotely matched what they were witnessing. Mere boys burning with nationalistic ardor were clawing their bare little hands onto the barbed wire eager to get it off–all for revenge for Altaras vilifying the glorious empire. Their determination alone scared them. Even if it was their order to protect the embassy, they were reluctant to point their rifles at such brave men and women.
“S-Stay back! I’m w-warning you!”
An intimidated Altaran guard whimpered as he pointed the barrel of his FB/04-ALT rifle at the protesters. He, along with every single one of his peers posted along the walls, were under strict orders not to “make a scene.” But it felt like his life was at stake. If he doesn’t do anything, the rioters may just get their hands through the interlaced barbed wire and pull him in to maul him. His finger shook uncontrollably as it hovered over the trigger, a single jerk could very much end the life of the little boy bloodying his hands over the barbed wire.
“Dammit!”
An idea had popped into his head. If he could not shoot and kill them, perhaps he could scare them? But what exactly could scare someone who’s so angry that they’d personally try and wrangle a coil of barbed wire loose with their own bare hands? One way to find out, thought the guardsman.
“I said back off!!!”
Just as he pulled the trigger, he pointed the rifle up into the heavens.
BANG!
The dry, resounding thunderclap of a rifle shot was followed by the clinking of the spent casing hitting the floor. Silence then followed.
Holy shit, did it work? Thought the guardsman. The others looked at him with eyes that said “what the fuck are you doing?!” but seeing the rioters stop in their tracks made them think twice. Perhaps it did work after all?
“That’s right! I’m not gonna ask twice!”
Shouted the guard that fired as he pointed the end of his still smoking barrel at the rioters. His arms now shook vigorously not from the recoil of the shot he just made but rather from the extreme nervousness. In all his colorful background, he had never actually been made to do crowd control; all he knew was to point his gun at a target and make sure it was dead. For a while, the rioters appeared to have been pacified, but then...
“The motherfucker just tried to shoot little Jean! Kill the bastard!!!”
A lone cry from the crowd broke the silence and all hell once more broke loose. Anger stiffened the resolve of the citizenry as the mere thought of an Altaran trying to kill a little Parpaldian boy fanned the flames of ardent nationalism within their hearts. How dare they?!
“Get ‘im!”
“Justice for little Jean!”
“Maul that ugly face of his!”
Unable to break through the barbed wire, the citizens got smart. They started throwing whatever they could find that was within arm’s reach: stones, foodstuffs, empty bottles, their staves, torches, wooden placards, and so on.
“Eeek!”
The guard never expected them to start throwing literally everything at him. With only his rifle and his arms to shield him, he stood no chance against the onslaught of steel, hardwood, and glass.
“Hey! Stop!”
Seeing the violence starting to re-erupt, the other guardsmen tried to intervene. They were, unfortunately, too late. An elliptical, sharp-edged rock thrown by an individual they’ll never know found its mark on the guard’s forehead. The edged rock hit with enough force to break open the poor man’s skull, ending his life before he could even wrap his head around the circumstances. In mere seconds, the guard went from trying to intimidate the rioters to falling back over the ramparts. Seeing the event unfold, the rioters cheered with relentless vigor, crying out that “justice had been served!”
“Fuck! Yusuf was hit! Quick!”
Witnessing what had happened, the guards quickly tried to band together and enact tougher crowd control measures while some went ahead to check on the fallen guard. Back at the embassy, the commanding officer of the guards, had been informed about the worsening situation and opted to check what was going on for himself. Looking through the windows, he found a situation far worse than he had feared: masked guardsmen throwing their new crowd control weapons, tear gas canisters imported from abroad, into the rioter masses tried to break into the compound as a couple of his men put a body-sized white cloth over one of their fallen comrades. Overwhelmed by exasperation at the scene, the officer couldn’t help but let out a heavy groan.
“Just why is this even happening?..”
Like the commander of a garrison besieged by a fanatically determined opponent, he lamented everything that had happened and was yet to happen. The violence, he fears, is only going to get worse from now on.
Imperial Palace, 16:30
As riot violence gripped the capital, the Imperial Palace, standing tall over the city from its relatively safe hilltop position to the north, was about to host a press conference with His Highness, Emperor Ludius. The road into the expansive palace complex was lined with all sorts of vehicles belonging to mass media companies from all over the globe with civilizational giants IBC, ONN (Otaheit News Network), and even the Japanese NHK, along with local news media such as The Esthirant Times, Philades Daily, and many others. Inside the palace, the room where the press conference was to be held was where the Parpaldians typically held meetings between heads of state. As such, it was decorated with stainless silver mirrors bound by golden frames, its porcelain pottery and lifelike sculptures made of the finest marble serving to occupy the in-betweens. Shining gold chandeliers hang from the ceiling with their brightly lit candles giving the room a tender yet strong orange glow. Journalists and news crews filled the room as they checked through their questions and equipment. Lights, microphones, and cameras were set up all along a line demarcated with chalk dust roughly two meters away from a jeweled table that was positioned next to a chair with velvet red cushions.
After several minutes of chattering amongst themselves, they were interrupted by the clapping of a uniformed man by the door at the far end of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, His Highness, the Emperor of Parpaldia, Ludius.”
The dual set of gilded doors next to him opened from the inside, revealing the dignified person of Ludius, who then proceeded to calmly walk towards his seat. He was bathed by a barrage of camera flashes but the Emperor kept his posture and expression firm and stoic as he flawlessly took his seat to face the crowd of journalists.
“If you’ll allow me to speak.”
The flashes stopped as soon as he made his words crystal clear.
“Well then, I will get straight to the topic.”
Putting his gloved hands on his lap, the Emperor leaned forward with a difficult face.
“Let me make myself clear: the Parpaldian nation and its peoples will not stand for the uncalled for vilification of its dignified name by the mad dictator, Taara XIV. The so-called ‘investigation’ by his phony Royal Guards concluded with pitiful evidence and laughable inconclusiveness that the empire is responsible for the tragic accident at Barezan. We condemn this unjust accusation made on baseless lies!”
“Not only did the Altaran government make its hostile intention to slander the empire clear but the mentally deranged Taara XIV even went so far as to insinuate outright racial violence against innocent Parpaldians in his own capital! On top of that, its own soldiers fired on a crowd of protesters on Parpaldian soil, a clear violation of imperial sovereignty! They lambast us for actively provoking them when they clearly are in the wrong with these injustices to the Parpaldian people and nation!”
The camera flashes resumed to capture history in the making but Ludius was not done. No, he had more to say and he curled his fist as he started feeling the gravity of the words he was about to say.
“Barezan was not an act of war. It was a tragedy, yes, but we had no part to play in it.”
“Most importantly, in spite of the strong reception we have received over the last several days, glorious Parpaldia will not back down: we will push through with the economic measures regarding Altaras and the trade of mana-sensitive materials.”
Just as the last words left his mouth, the crowd of journalists erupted into a frenzy. News crews intensified the frequency of their camera flashes as journalists extended their microphones while bombarding the Emperor with a hurricane of questions.
“What does this mean for Parpaldian-Mirishial relations?”
“Will you condemn the acts of violence said to be happening within Esthirant itself?”
“What will the imperial institution actually do with the mana-sensitive trade? Any specifics?”
A drop of sweat traced across his forehead. There were many questions and none of them palatable. With careful maneuvering and diplomatic restraint, Ludius started to entertain some of the questions being hurled at him.
Cent. Calendar 16/12/1639, Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 8:40
The stench of violence in the form of burning houses and barricades and faint irritants from the countless tear gas canisters being emptied into the crowds still permeated the streets of the Altaran capital. As these awfully brutal demonstrations took place all across Le Brias, in the background a storm had been brewing behind the colossal walls of the royal castle. Inside, at the king’s study, the king’s trusted ministers which formed his so-called “inner circle,” his military commanders and advisors, and his daughters Semira, Alila, and Lumies all gathered around the Altaran monarch. Each and every one of them reflected the same expression of uncertainty, for his foreign minister had just briefed him about the Parpaldian emperor’s remarks in his press conference last night. For five, agonizing minutes they stood in awkward, excruciating silence as their eyes darted to and from Taara’s thousand yard stare. None of them–not even his beloved daughters–could tell what was going on inside the mind of their sovereign. No longer capable of withstanding the pressure, the optionless ministers turned their gazes to Semira, the eldest of the princesses and the closest to Taara. They thought that with her appearance, which bears a striking resemblance to the late queen, she may be able to get their king back from the brink.
Feeling the pleading stares of the ministers upon her, Semira relented. She turned towards Taara and gently placed her slender hand on his.
“Father?”
Hardly a moment after Semira spoke with her voice, the gentleness of which was like a mother caressing a baby in her arms, life returned to Taara’s eyes. He then turned to look at her, gripping her hand as if he had been on the verge of losing her. Something must have happened to him in the five or so minutes he had been staring into nothingness, thought Semira. Either way, he was back with them and the next thing he did was turn his attention towards the foreign minister.
“D-Did I get that right? They are not withdrawing their protectionist measures?!”
Like a lion released from its cage, the king raised his voice as his glare got sharper. The foreign minister, fearing both the king and his life since he knew what had happened to previous “unsatisfactory” ministers, tried to control as much of his stammering as possible in answering him.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
The king then stood up and extended his fingers in the direction of the cowering foreign minister, his wide-open irises brimming with unmatched fury. He opened his mouth and his Royal Guards, upon seeing this, stood at the ready to enact his so-called “disciplinary” orders. However, as if restraining his ugly tendencies, the king stopped short of speaking and curled his fingers into a fist instead. For a short four seconds or so, everyone was on their toes expecting another one of their ministers to be “sent away for disciplinary measures.” But none of the sort happened and what they got instead was the sight of their monarch fuming. Taking this as his chance, the foreign minister tried to explain his way out of his predicament.
“Your Highness! Forget not the fact that we have the Mirishials, the Japanese and their Rodenian allies, and the Philadean Northern Alliance backing us! If we maintain this pressure on those Parpaldian snakes, they will eventually–”
“No they will not!!!”
The king thundered, cutting off the foreign minister and setting the atmosphere in the room. At this point, even his beloved daughters started to sweat underneath their palms.
“Listen closely...”
Taara began his slow march towards the foreign minister with his unyielding, menacing glare pointing straight into his trembling eyes. Every step he took felt like a thunderclap that dictated the rhythm of their heartbeats.
“Our treasury will run dry before the Parpaldians exhaust theirs. Our economy may be big, but it relies a lot on actions taken by foreign actors abroad and once they see that we’re not performing well, they will bail along with a huge chunk of our economy. The Parpaldians may be declared the pariah for their actions today but things will normalize around their system should we do nothing to change it. In the long run, the Parpaldians will be victorious and we will be none the better for it.”
Taara then turned for validation from his economic minister, who then nodded softly in affirmation. In short, despite their favorable diplomatic standing against the Parpaldians, the Altarans will suffer more and more as time goes on. Even the Mirishials, whose glaring dependency problems are widely known, will soon have no choice but to yield to the Parpaldians’ insolence. There was no denying the great power the Parpaldians wield and even by upsetting the status quo, their position was advantageous; most worrying of all however was that it would come at great expense for Altaras. If they don’t do something soon to pry the Parpaldians’ stubborn hands, they will without a doubt lose.
In the midst of the immense pressure weighing over him in the form of the king’s deathly stare, an idea came to the foreign minister. If hurting Parpaldia was the aim, there was one place where they could do a great deal of damage that’s short of outright war.
“In that sense, may I suggest a plan of action, Your Highness?”
Taara’s glare loosened, his ears tickled by the possibility of a way to hit back at the Parpaldians harder. Seeing this as permission for him to put forward his idea, the foreign minister continued.
“There is only one place more important to the Parpaldians than their own mana stone mines. This is the place where if we could successfully present to them that we could credibly threaten it, they will be backed into a corner.”
The foreign minister need not say it for everyone in the room immediately realized what he was pertaining to. Soon, they were exchanging anxious hushes amongst each other. To say that the foreign minister’s idea was audacious and reckless was an understatement. However, King Taara, desperate for a solution to the economic deadlock, did not shy from showing his delightment to this idea. He promptly returned to the map of the Third Civilized Region sprawled over a table, his eyes drawn towards a tiny speck of land some hundreds of kilometers to the east of Altaras. His ministers, commanders, and daughters, seeing the enthusiasm in the king’s eyes, were deeply worried, for written next to the tiny island read...
“Sios...”
In just one word, the kingdom of Altaras has set its sights on its next move in this crisis.
