167. Kim City’s First War Part 4: Hidden Schemes Part 1

From the upper ramparts of the Southern Port’s defense wall, Ravenna stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze fixed on the dense wall of fog curling across the sea. Below her, the harbor was alive with motion: steam hissing, ropes creaking, orders shouted and echoed back by the wind.

Beside her, Hughes lowered his spyglass with a frown. He had tracked the first of the unmanned steam-powered assault boats until it vanished completely into the mist.

“We can’t confirm if it struck a target,” he said grimly, his voice low. “The fog’s too thick. It may have hit something or it might still be floating aimlessly.”

“We don’t need confirmation,” Ravenna replied, her voice steady but cold. “We need . Send more.”

Hughes gave a sharp nod and turned toward the command crew below.

“Start the steam engines!” he barked. “We’re launching another wave, now!”

The response was immediate.

On the edge of the port, a dozen more unmanned assault vessels hissed and rumbled as their engines ignited. Thick coils of steam billowed from their exhaust vents. The rotor blades on each side of their reinforced hulls began to spin with a high-pitched whir, slicing through the morning air like the wings of steel dragonflies.

With anchors untied and rails pushed clear, the ships were nudged into the sea one by one. Twelve… thirteen… fifteen vessels surged forward in tight formation, vanishing swiftly into the fog bank ahead. Their bows cut through the water with precision, their trajectories straight and silent, guided only by their pre-set navigation paths.

Ravenna watched them disappear.

The dense fog rolled inward, swallowing them whole. For a moment, the sea seemed empty again.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Let’s hope,” she murmured under her breath, “they don’t make it to shore.”

Reserve Fleet Holding Zone, Somewhere in the Ancorna Sea, Between the Mainland and Kim Dukedom

Within the velvet-lined luxury chamber of the imperial family cruiser, Prince Nolan Solarius stood near the observation window, holding a half-empty glass of wine. Outside, the reserve fleet floated silently in formation, motionless beneath the golden stretch of morning sky.

He had just finished reading the latest update from the front lines, A slow smirk crept across his lips.

“All according to plan,” he muttered, savoring another sip of wine. “Let’s see how long Ravenna’s little dukedom holds against the teeth of the Empire.”

Just then, a knock echoed through the chamber.

One of his knights stepped inside and bowed. “Your Highness. The Paladin Captain of the Solious Church Fleet requests an audience.”

Nolan turned slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “Oh?” he mused aloud. “What might that zealot want now?”

Still, he gave a casual nod. “Let him in.”

The knight bowed and departed. Moments later, the Paladin Captain: tall, clad in gleaming silver and white robes adorned with sunburst emblems, entered the chamber. He bowed deeply, his face unreadable beneath the hood.

“Your Highness,” the Paladin said. “I come bearing a message from His Holiness, High Priest Caldus.”

Nolan raised an eyebrow, already suspicious.

“So he finally reveals his true motives,” Nolan said, setting his wine aside. “I suspected as much the moment he started ‘offering help’ so generously. Lending ships, helping in convincing Edward Jola, moving his pawns without cost... It was too unnatural.”

He eased into his ornate chair, exhaling with calculated nonchalance. “Still, I assume whatever mission he’s given you must align with mine, at least enough to justify this farce of cooperation?”

The Paladin gave a measured nod, stepping deeper into the chamber. His eyes swept the room, scanning every corner, every shadow. Nolan noticed.

“There’s no one listening,” Nolan said with a faint smirk, lifting the wineglass again. “I’m alone. Speak freely. The Solious Church has been generous, I’m willing to return the favor if your true objectives don’t interfere with mine.”

The Paladin paused, then approached.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said finally. A strange glint flickered in his eyes. “But the will of Solious transcends all bargains.”

Before Nolan could respond, the Paladin leaned close, and in a low, cold voice whispered in Hilde langengue “Cestia prasadhanlo jivinnce adrstam meku kaluguntundali” (Best of luck living in Cestia Castle.)

Nolan blinked.

A searing pain exploded in his throat.

The Paladin’s hand drew back, slick with blood, a small concealed blade now visible, its tip coated in a shimmering, blessed toxin.

Nolan stumbled back, choking, clutching his throat as a crimson fountain of blood gushed down his chest. His wine glass shattered on the marble floor. Gurgling, eyes wide with disbelief, he collapsed to the floor, his legs giving way beneath him.

No sound escaped his lips, only the soft, wet rasp of a man trying to scream through a torn windpipe.

The Paladin watched without emotion, then muttered in the same foreign tongue, “Nyayam jarigindi.”(Justice has been served.)

Without another word, he began removing his armor piece by piece, dropping it onto the floor. The sacred tabard followed. Then, walking to the window, he threw the entire ensemble into the sea below.

From his sleeve, he pulled a small, shriveled flower, violet and black. He placed it on his tongue and swallowed it.

Almost instantly, his veins began to shimmer faintly, his eyes glowing for a brief moment. Then, without hesitation, he leapt through the window, diving into the sea and disappearing into the white-capped waves.

Alone on the floor, Prince Nolan struggled to breathe.

His fingers scratched at the floor, dragging trails of blood as his vision swam. His mind spun, trying to understand what had just happened—why.

And then came memories like knives. “If I end up gutted in my sleep by one of His Holiness Caldus’s pious madmen, do me the courtesy of remembering that I warned you.” Count Jeremy’s words from a few hours ago.

Then another voice. Not from the court. Not from a noble. A man on a dock, weathered, trembling, filled with grief: “Na kutumbalu ninnu ksamimmcavu. Na kokani santati ki nivu nyayam ceyala.”(What you did to my daughter will be answered, you monster. You’ll die like a dog, not even knowing why… just like her.)

Blood pooled around Nolan’s hands. His limbs went cold. His breaths, shorter.

Was this… justice?

As the final moments slipped from his body, all he saw was the polished ceiling above, opulent, uncaring.

He died alone. And at last, Prince Nolan Solarius, The Eldest Imperial Prince, master of nothing, died like nothing.

Sundar Valley, Hidden Path of the Chain-Heart,Somewhere in the Kingdom of Sundravan, Western Continent

The wind howled through the high, frostbitten hills of Sundravan, the sun barely piercing the grey clouds clinging to the cliffs. On a narrow mountain pass deep in the valley, a lone rider dismounted his black steed before a seemingly unremarkable wall of stone. He carried with him a sealed scroll, branded with a crest no nation would dare admit existed.

Without hesitation, the man approached the stone and touched a hidden rune. The surface shimmered briefly before fading away, revealing a narrow entrance leading into the darkness.

He stepped inside, his boots echoing softly on the cold stone floor.

The interior walls were lined with ancient murals, faded but still powerful, depictions of titanic beasts being shackled by chains of light, and a massive heart pulsing with blood and flame. These were stories from the Creation Era, passed down only in whispers.

Deeper still, the cave opened into a vast subterranean world.

The chamber was enormous, so wide and high that a city could be built within it and still not touch the ceiling. In some ways, one already had.

Guards in full black ceremonial robes, faces hidden, stood with polearms shaped like hooked spears. Torches burned blue in sconces across diverging corridors, lighting the endless paths with a ghostly sheen.

The man followed a preordained path, one of the few routes permitted to outsiders with limited access. Every few meters, a new set of guards stood vigil, motionless, watching.

At last, he reached a narrow tunnel, its walls carved with prayers in an ancient tongue. As he passed through, a low hum filled the air. Not sound exactly, but vibration. Life.

He emerged into another cavern, smaller, but far more terrifying.

Here stood the Heart.

A massive stone-like structure, sculpted into the grotesque form of a pulsing, organic heart, towered before him. Chains the size of trees were nailed into the surrounding bedrock, binding it from every side. Each link was larger than a grown man. The heart throbbed, slow and steady.. alive.

At the base of the Heart, a throne sat atop a stairwell carved into blackened stone. Around it, robed generals waited, seated in a circle. None spoke.

The man approached, his footsteps quiet. As he neared the stairs, he fell to one knee, bowed, and whispered in Sundarn, the secret tongue of this ancient order:

“Nātha, ēśvar-dēśāt prāptam sandēśam anitāmi.”

(Master, I bring word from the eastern continent.)

A voice answered from the throne. Controlled. And chillingly familiar. It always came from the shadows the figure seated on the throne had never shown their face.

“Sundaraṁ.”

(I see.)

The man remained bowed as a guard stepped forward and collected the scroll from his hand, carrying it up the stairs toward the one above.

The voice spoke again.

“Tasya paryāpti—Nōlan prāṇān jahāti. Kaṇṭakaṁ nirastam iti?”

(So… Prince Nolan is dead. The thorn removed?)

The man swallowed. “Saḥ svīya pakṣam sraṣṭum ārebhate. Tatra amātya-jñānaṁ na āsīt.”

(He began forming his own faction within the Ancorna succession. We could no longer monitor him safely.)

He took a breath and continued.

“Yuddha-mahimāṁ sādhitum saḥ yojanaṁ akarot. Yuddha-velāyām tasya antam kartum saukaryam.”

(He sought to earn glory through military action. We used the war as an opportunity to eliminate him.)

The Voice replied “Yuddhē maraṇam iva darśayiṣyatha?”(You’ll make it appear as though he died in battle?)

“Ām, nātha.”(Yes, master.) The man nodded, There was a long pause before the voice asked again.

“Yadyēvaṁ, yōjanāgatiḥ kutra? Itōparaṁ kasya dēśasya samarthanam bhavati?”

(If so, what of the plan’s progression? Which power now shifts in our favor?)

The man answered without lifting his head. “Nolan-duṣkṛti-vārtāṁ Hilḍē dēśē prasārayan, jūliyan-rājam Ancorna-pakṣē vīrahatēna kartum asmahi saphalam.” (We orchestrated Nolan raping a scholar in Hilde, to make King Julian question the Empire’s integrity. It succeeded.)

He inhaled slowly, then delivered the next blow. “Tasya duṣkṛtiṁ nihitam. Kanyāṁ tyaktvā, samudrē nikṣiptā. Conley dēśasya sahāyatāṁ praāpya, Hilḍē svayaṁ sthānaṁ parivartayatē.”

(We discarded the scholar girl, making it seem as sucide. Hilde, now aligned with Conley, has already begun handing over the Free Cities.)

He added, quietly: “Yuddha-yōgyatām vilōkya, Nolanasya maraṇam avasaram abhavat. Sarvaṁ śīghratayā calati.”

(Seeing the momentum of everything, we judged this was the best strategic opportunity to remove Nolan as well, the other loose end. Everything is accelerating.)

The throne was silent for a moment.

Then the voice issued the next order: “Yadyēvam, Conley rāṣṭrē api viṣam sādhayata. Yadā mūlyaṁ naśyati, bhāṇḍaṁ nikṣiptavyam.” (In that case, begin fermenting discord in Conley as well. Once their usefulness ends, discard them.)

The man placed his hands flat on the floor, bowing deeper than before.“Yathājñāṁ.” (As commanded.)

He rose to one knee, but did not lift his head.

Then, placing his fist to his chest in salute, he declared the sacred vow:“Ekaṁ satyam—Pūrṇa-svāmi ēva nitya-rājā! Jaya Absolution-dharmasya!”(There is only one truth—the Absolute Being is the Eternal Sovereign! Glory to the Cult of Absolution!)

Without waiting for dismissal, he turned and walked the path out, his head lowered the entire way.

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