Prompt : Two old friends, two ideologies. Once in agreement, now at odds. A warmonger and a pacifist must reconcile their differences, or convert the other to their side. 

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  Kharis motioned for his men to lower their weapons, stepping over the battered remains of the main gate. 

  He understood their nervousness, and appreciated they were only trying to protect him, but such caution was unnecessary. Even if there was still someone in this city capable of harming him, something he very much doubted, he knew how honorable his brother was. under the white flag, no harm would be done to them. 

  Yet as he strolled down the citadels’ ruined main avenue, he too found himself unconsciously grasping his casting amulet, not out of fear, but to seek comfort. 

  He was traversing a ghost city, an unwelcome conqueror treading upon land that hated him. Hundreds of lifeless faces, young and old, peeking through windows, filling the side streets, sometimes even staring down at him from rooftops and towers. They were unnaturally still and silent, but as they beheld the monster who had caused so much death and suffering, their eyes clearly expressed an abyss of fear and resentment. The entire city was covered in an aura of defeat and despair, rendering the once glorious fortress of the God of War practically unrecognizable.  

  However, despite the eerie atmosphere, there was no ambush, no violence, only a few shuffling figures proving the city still had some vitality. He arrived at the central palace gate with no trouble and hailed his city lord with the traditional victory greeting. 

  “I, Lord Kharis of Royal House Tyr, have fought for this land and been declared victorious. With our Imperial Ancestors as witness, and under the eyes of the almighty Ahriman, I have won the right to rule, and request to be given the keys to the city.” 

  He had intended to shout victoriously, but all that came out was a muted cry, which sounded unbearably soft even to his own ears. He resisted the impulse to repeat himself, knowing that it would only make him look more foolish. 

  He had dreamed of this moment countless times, imagining how glorious it would feel to stand in front of his old mentor as a victor, and the ecstasy that defeating a living legend would bring him. There would be anticipation and hope too, as he finally took this first step towards accomplishing his dream. 

  Years of training, preparation, and planning had led to this, a victory that would be the start of his righteous crusade, his path against destiny to liberate the world from the tyranny of his father. With the fortress as a stronghold and the Adris tribes as allies, he could finally stand tall before the empire’s army, and bring down the hammer justice upon the depraved empire. 

  Truly, the spark of his battle frenzy had been roused for the most fleeting of moments, only to be ruthlessly drowned by the oppressive melancholy of a defeated legend. This was not his day to shine, it was a day to mourn, for the birth of legend cane at the cost of the death of another. 

  A creaking sound woke him up from his somber reverie, and he looked up to see the ornate palace doors slowly opened, revealing the majestic figure of the defeated general.  

  Even in his last moments, the man still wore an unimaginably imposing temperament, and his mere gaze was enough to make Kharis feel that he was facing a giant, or an eternal demigod who held limitless wisdom and strength. 

  He knew the man was a crippled to which the doors to become Extraordinary had been closed forever, but the serene aura he exuded would force even timeless dragons to kneel. Such was the Majesty of Master of Strategies, the man who had defeated gods. 

  Kharis barely stayed conscious as he completed the traditional ceremony and received the title of Lord of Andoset. Only decades of harsh education let him thoughtlessly follow and play his part in the ancient ritual as he focused on fighting off the vanquished general’s tranquil aura. 

  It was only much later, as he found himself alone in the previous city master’s chambers, and as the ocean of aura that had been resting upon his shoulders melted away like snow in spring, that he stumbled into a chair and regained all his mental faculties. 

  “You are the best student I have ever had. Your talent is astounding, your courage admirable and you possess a heart of gold. Yet not a single night goes by when I do not regret teaching you the art of war, and not a single day goes by when I do not regret being able to take up my sword and end your life.” 

  Kharis watched on mutely as his elder half-brother laid out a huge battle map on the table, carefully arranging thousands of small statues to represent all the various armies in the world and their respective positions.  

  “Alas, I have failed, and it is too late now. The die is cast, and nothing can stop the start of this ill-conceived war now. All I can do now is to prepare you for the carnage that is sure to come, and pray that by the time you sit on the golden throne, there is still a nation to rule over.”

  This rekindled the flame inside Kharis, and he suddenly sat up straight, looking intently at the stoic general, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. 

  “Then join me! I will let you keep your citadel and give you an army of Extraordinaries the likes of which the world has never seen, and together we will crush this degenerate empire under foot, and rebuild a golden nation that will bring peace and prosperity to all! With my sorcery and your wisdom, this war would end in a fortnight!” 

  “Join you? You may be ready to trample your honor by plotting to commit the triple sin of regicide, patricide, and deicide all at once, but I will have no part in it. All my life, I have done my utmost to never do anything that could bring shame to my ancestors, and it will be so until my death.  

  I wholeheartedly hope you obtain a quick and easy victory, for a defeat or prolonged civil war would be disastrous for the entire world, but I also wish for you to never find peace in the afterlife, and be forced to linger as an earthly spirit, left to wander in the red dust, and atone for the atrocities you have and will cause.” 

  “Atrocities I have caused? You think I am to blame for all the suffering in this war? I am not the one at fault here, the empire is.” 

  Agitated, Kharis violently stood up and swept away the battle map, illusory flames coating his body as his rage overflowed. 

  “What about the countless officials who live in luxury while the country’s most vulnerable live penniless on the streets? What about the innumerable slaves that have lost even the freedom to live or die? The millions of souls that our Imperial Father’s taxes have turned into hungry ghosts? 

  Have you even forgotten what happened to your own mother? Do you think sending aging concubines to the cold palace, to be slowly driven insane by yin qi, just to preserve the luck of the dynasty is right and just? “ 

  The old general did not bat an eyelid at this outburst, not even when the magical flames licked his hands, or when Kharis unintentional mental attacks made blood pour out of his eyes and ears. He only whipped away the blood, and bent to pick up his discarded battle map. 

  “One does not fight fire with fire. One does not quell the flames of resentment through blood and hatred. One does not repay injustice with blind revenge. The epitome of the art of war is to become unnecessary, for there is no victory in war, only death.  

  There are innumerable ways to better the empire, and war is the most inferior one. You are just an impatient kid who has lost the upper hand and knows no other way than to flip the board and treat mutual destruction as victory. 

  You have no idea how many of these officials have toiled day and night to save lives and help those less fortunate, or how many virtuous men and women have fearlessly sacrificed themselves to fight evil moving one piece at a time to regain the advantage, and to bring forth the fire of righteousness. 

  Our empire is sick and tired, but one does not kill the wounded soldier, one does his utmost to heal him, so that he can once again spring forth with incomparable vitality and righteousness.” 

  Kharis' mind was a mess, and he did not know what to think. He trusted his childhood teacher, but he had peered into the abyss of magic, and heard the fateless crow’s oracle. This rebellion was not an impulsive decision or a battle for glory, it was just crusade, one that, until a few seconds ago, had wholeheartedly believed in. 

  However, before he could organize his thoughts, he realized the battle map had been completely set up.  

  “Enough wasted time. The winter months are fast approaching, which means no army will be mobilized to fight. This is both a blessing and a curse for you. You desperately need the time to consolidate your rule over the citadel, and train your new troops, but managing a war fortress that has just succumbed to a prolonged siege during a harsh winter will be extremely challenging. 

  You claim to be the future ruler of the empire, bringing forth a new era of prosperity for all, and this will be your first trial. By governing a starving population through a famine, you will prove to the world that you have more to offer than fancy speeches and pretty ideals, and that you can open up a future brighter than what the empire can offer them. 

  Ruling is about more than the number of troops or the amount of magical power you have. Leadership is not about being heroes or villains, good or bad. It's about making sacrifices, compromise, and making tough decisions for the good of all, despite the cost. 

  Do not expect to be left to deal with your problems in peace either. While winter will protect you from the gathering of armies, the empire has contacts with many of the northern Ymir tribes, and it will surely use them to wear you down.  

  Let us discuss countermeasures and prepare your spring assault. Their Synodic Festival is approaching, so you should take the opportunity to…”  

  Much later, Kharis stumbled out of the governmental office, leaving behind the corpse of his esteemed mentor, who had chosen to commit suicide according to a traditional ritual. This had been the only way he had seen to atone for his sins and offer an explanation to all the virtuous men and women that have valiantly laid down their lives for a victory he failed to grasp. 

  Rigidly walking to the balcony, overlooking his city, citizens and army, dyed red by the fading light of the setting sun, he took a deep breath and forced himself to shout.  

  “Victory is ours! For the Golden Lady, and for freedom!” 

  There would be time for doubt and regret later. For now, it was time to finish what he had started, and bring forth a new era of prosperity. It was time to forge his own legend, and fight the war to end all wars.