"I knew it. She wouldn't even listen to us." General Heindhöff cursed as the two left the Ivory Palace, walking to a military convoy. Three Black SUVs awaited them, and the two entered the middle one. Once they were seated, Heindhöff gestured for the driver to start driving, and the convoy began moving.

"Well, we shouldn't have expected much. She would naturally listen to her fellow aristocrats."

"At this rate, there's no way I'm accepting any ideas for demobilization. Reforms are becoming more unlikely. How well is Plan O going?"

Alfonso adjusted his glasses. "Pretty well. The infiltration phase has been difficult and slow, but our assets are now embedded on most key targets."

"Good. I always trust the OIA to do its job well." He said sarcastically.

"...Thank you, sir."

The General frowned as Alfonso went silent for a few moments.

"What of Unit Eighteen?"

"Basilisk? We already tracked and executed the officers and men involved in the assassination. Their ties to us have been severed and cleaned."

The General still looked angry.

"Look, I apologize, but some of the OIA can get gung-ho at times."

"You can't just 'sorry' the death of the Queen, Alfonso!" The Director flinched. "Get your assets on a leash! This stupidity has almost caused our plans to crumble. If they find out that Unit Eighteen is connected to the OIA, we're boned, Alfonso, boned."

"Look, we didn't expect that those agents were extremists-"

"Then scan your men and recruits for extremists! Don't make excuses on my face, Alfonso. You head the OIA, the fucking OIA. Can you do the 'intelligence' part?"

"Yes sir, please, forgive me for this. I'll make sure it won't happen again."

"Make sure of that."

The two stopped talking as Alfonso pulled out a tablet. He tapped a few things, displaying Amelie's profile and personal information. He took a deep breath.

"As of now, there doesn't seem to be anything we don't know about her. It appears that most of her public records are true."

"That so? No underground activities? No connections to other factions?"

"No sir, she seems to have really lived a life quite separate from politics until now. We monitored her activities in the University, although minimally for the last year. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"...Well then, in that case, the situation is really lining up to our convenience."

"Indeed it is, sir."

The General took the tablet and began scrolling. "She's a naive kid. Her promises practically favored us men and our Republican brothers. It's funny how a monarch would openly call for full democratic reforms."

"Which works best for our advantage."

"Yes, but that also means she's a spineless idealistic kid. The Prime Minister is already getting uncomfortably close to her, and while she won't agree with that woman's political views, she might sway her to act against our interests."

"So, are we gonna attempt to sway her to our side?"

"We can't. She's still a woman and a highborn. She will favor her peers at the end of the day. The best we can do is convince her not to interfere with our power struggle with the conservatives."

The Director looked neutral. It's not like they ever had many options. Men naturally didn't. The only way for them to go on was to bite the short end of the stick and struggle with what they had.

It's why extreme means had to be achieved. They could not compete with their political power, and for centuries, their magic. But now - they held the power of violence in their hands.

"I see...what's our plan on the ORP then? Still the same?"

"Alfonso, I want this to be crystal clear. Do not dare interfere with the ORP." The General warned. "They may be a bunch of foolish moderates, but they are our fellow brothers fighting for the same rights and reforms. Remember, the only difference between us and them is the means. They are our allies. For now, at least."

Alfonso nodded. While the Orlish Republican Party would undoubtedly get the lion's share of votes and support, rather than the National Redemption Front - they still believed in nearly the same ideas as them. And they, indeed, are the only male-dominated political party that had a chance of challenging the fracturing United Orland Party.

The National Redemption Front's aim was in the name already - Redemption. The redemption of men from the abysmal situation they faced since they lost the Arcane Wars. The redemption of the rights they had lost ever since magic appeared and was seemingly granted only to women.

No matter the cost, the Front would not shy away at any means to regain the rights men deserve. If they have sacrificed millions in the trenches of the Great War for the petty matriarchs of Pollos - then they would be prepared to sacrifice tens of millions more for their rights.

Hence the resistance of the military for demobilization, and the secret preparatory operations being conducted jointly by the OIA and the Armed Forces for one purpose - a violent armed revolution should the situation demand it.

"General, I understand. I would never sabotage our fellow brothers."

"Good. You spooks are just too difficult to trust these days. But I will remind you - you are just a spook, not a puppetmaster. Do not cross the line and play stupid games."

"There's no need to insult us that way. We are just doing our job."

"Good, because if you think that just because you're on our side, does not mean your fuck ups will be ignored. I can let you off the hook for now - but another stupidity from the OIA, and I will personally deal with you."

That sent shivers down Alfonso's spine. While the OIA held a lot of power and influence, it paled in comparison to what the General and the Army wielded. All it would take was one word from the General Staff, and an SF unit would eliminate anyone they so desire.

And the veteran special forces of the Army were leagues away in proficiency and skill from the best agents of the OIA.

So, he gulped.

"There's no need for that, sir. I swear, no more screw-ups."

"Make sure of it."

+++

The city of Eirhow was a strange Orlish city. An industrial city filled with factories, mills, and other heavy industries. So much so that smog covered the city each day. So toxic was the smog, that it singlehandedly caused its inhabitants to have a life expectancy of twelve years less than the national average.

What made Eirhow truly peculiar, however, was its inhabitants. Hundreds of thousands of men lived for a few months (usually) in the city to work and make money - nothing else. So much so that Eirhow was never regarded as a city to live in - but a city to work and make money on. The smog and living conditions would almost always drive anyone with enough sanity away.

And because of this, almost no woman lived in Eirhow. In fact, many women would look at Eirhow as an abomination. A dystopian product of men's reckless technological and industrial pursuits.

The Military-Industrial Complex dominated the city. Tanks, aircraft, artillery, and much more military equipment would be churned out by the workers of the city each day. The concentrated chain of supply that was developed in Eirhow and her surroundings made it the most efficient city to be a manufacturing hub - at brutal costs.

Costs that no one cared about. Even the men who ran the city didn't, as profits were hard to come by without sacrifices - not when Royal Corporations could outcompete them without their cheap labor.

"Today has been smooth." The manager of a major plant said to a man with a suit. The office they were in was relatively clean. But just outside, as seen on the glass window that overlooked the production lines below, it was a different story.

"We have increased the production of the engines you ordered by twenty percent last month. Today is no different." The businessman smiled in response.

"That is good, my friend." He took a puff of smoke. "Our friends in the military are ordering more of our tanks. Naturally, you could expect an increase in orders on our contract."

The manager chuckled. "Do inform me of the increase soon. I'll let the boss know."

"Good, it is nice to know that our two companies can work smoothly together."

"That's what Eirhow is for, after all. To smoothen everything up and maximize everything."

"Indeed, good friend."

The manager took a swig of wine before returning to the conversation, but something caught his attention first. He looked down at the assembly lines, as a commotion occurred. A worker had just made a mistake and lost his hand.

Naturally, he brushed it off and ignored it. He looked back at the businessman.

"Well, more tanks, more weapons. We're doing good work here anyways."

The businessman chuckled in agreement.

"Indeed, if the military is the defender of us men, then we shall be their suppliers. Brothers support brothers!"

"And we make money from it."

"Truly a splendid arrangement. Something we at PHI love."

"Heh, so do we."