Civil War Part 1 (Preparation for war)
The sounds of creation filled the air. On the plains west of Aethelburg, the rhythmic hammering of a hundred forges, the splintering crack of training shields, and the unified, guttural shouts of men being forged into soldiers was the symphony of Alexius's new world. It was a sound of progress, of hope, of a future being built with sweat and steel. And it all came to a dead halt with the arrival of a single, mud-caked rider on a horse that was little more than a dying whisper of froth and leather.
He was one of Elias's men, a scout from the Crown's fledgling intelligence service, and he collapsed the moment he slid from the saddle. His duty was fulfilled by the simple act of thrusting a sealed dispatch into the hands of a Royal Guard before his world went dark.
Inside the command tent, the vibrant noise of the camp outside faded into a muffled, distant hum. Alexius broke the plain intelligence seal, his fingers steady. His eyes scanned the neat, urgent script, and as the words registered, the physical world seemed to recede. In his mind's eye, a window of cool, blue light bloomed into existence, overlaying the parchment with a layer of absolute, terrifying clarity.
[!!! URGENT THREAT DETECTED !!!]
Event: Internal Rebellion Declared. Hostile Action Imminent.
Hostile Leader(s): Marquess Dynan (Figurehead); Bishop Valerius de Avarus of the Church of Human Supremacy (Primary Instigator & Strategic Threat).
Stated Goal: Depose Grand Prince Alexius; Establish a Noble/Church Regency Council to "Restore Traditional and Pious Governance."
A second window materialized, scrolling with the grim arithmetic of war.
[Rebel Force Composition Analysis]
Total Estimated Strength: ~10,500
Elite Core (High Threat):
~500 Dynan Household Knights (Discipline: High. Equipment: Excellent. Combat Level: Knight).
~200 Holy Templars of the Supremacy (Discipline: Fanatical. Equipment: Masterwork. Combat Level: Expert).
[WARNING: Two High-Aura Signatures Detected. Classification: Swordsman. Identified as Templar Commanders Sir Kael & Sir Gideon.]
Main Body (Variable Threat):
~3,000 Mercenaries (Discipline: Moderate. Loyalty: Coin).
~6,800 Peasant Crusaders (Discipline: Poor. Equipment: Substandard. Morale: Faith-driven/Volatile).
Alexius's face remained a mask of cold neutrality, his mind already a whirlwind of calculation. The Church is the true brain of this rebellion, he analyzed. Dynan's wounded pride is merely the casus belli they needed. My reforms—the Royal Army, the centralized treasury, the integration of non-humans—are a mortal threat to their centuries of unchecked influence. They had to strike now.
The Royal Council convened within minutes. The air in the tent grew heavy. General Varrus's scarred face was a thundercloud. Cilia, a silent predator in the corner, watched everyone. And Lord Chancellor Elias, his simple dark robes of office a stark contrast to the martial steel around him, looked upon the report with grave concern. Duke Thorne has already gone back to his dukendom because monsters are lately relentless more, he has to oversee personally.
"Two Swordsmen leading their elite," Varrus rumbled, his voice thick with contempt. "The Church has finally sent its attack dogs off the leash."
Chancellor Elias spoke, his voice was calm. "Your Majesty, the 'Miracle Harvest' has filled the Royal Granaries to overflowing. Our city can withstand a siege for years, if need be. There is no need to risk our only trained legion in a pitched battle against a numerically superior foe. Let them waste their strength and spirit against our walls. Time is on our side."
It was the logical, prudent counsel. It was the advice of a man whose first duty was to preserve the realm's resources. Alexius, however, saw a deeper political calculus.
"No, my Lord Chancellor," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You are correct, we would not starve. But we would be perceived as weak. Cowering behind our walls is an invitation for every other ambitious lord to watch and wait. It legitimizes Dynan's rebellion as a credible threat. We must demonstrate, immediately and brutally, that the Crown does not fear its own subjects. The price of treason must be paid in the open field, for all to see."
He saw the understanding dawn in their eyes. This was not just a battle; it was a message to convey any future rebellions.
"Chancellor Elias," he commanded, shifting from sovereign to commander-in-chief. "You will issue the Emergency Logistics Decree. You are not to ration food; that would incite panic where none is needed. Instead, you will institute immediate price controls on all grain and essential goods within the capital. Seize any merchant's stock who attempts to hoard or price gouge. Place all public granaries under the direct authority of your office to ensure orderly distribution should the conflict be prolonged. Secure the city's water supply. We will win with order, not fear."
Alexius continued, his mind already moving to the next problem. "Furthermore, you will summon and discuss with the leaders of the Merchant Guilds. You will not levy a punitive war tax. You will offer them an opportunity. They can provide a 'War Loan' to the Crown, for which they will receive exclusive contracts to supply our army and preferential trade status for the next five years. Or," his voice turned cold, "they can decline and face an 'Emergency Tithe' for the city's defense, which they will find far less profitable. Make them understand that investing in my victory is an investment in their own."
"It will be done, Your Majesty," Elias bowed, understanding the sophisticated blend of carrot and stick.
"General Varrus," Alexius said, turning to the old warrior. "The First Legion's training is over. Their graduation will be on the battlefield. You have three days."
A grim smile touched Varrus's lips. "They will be ready."
Far to the east, the rebel camp
An army of disciplined, white-tented Templars surrounded by a sprawling, chaotic sea of mercenaries and peasant camps. In the opulent purple pavilion of Marquess Dynan, the air was thick with wine and grievance.
"He insults my house, he assaults my heir, he upends the natural order!" Dynan roared. "This boy-prince must be taught a lesson in respect!"
Bishop Valerius de Avarus listened with a serene, almost pitying expression. "Your righteous anger is merely a symptom of the deep spiritual sickness that has afflicted our realm, my lord," he said, his voice a soothing balm of manipulation. "The boy Alexius has broken the sacred covenant. A ruler's authority is granted by the Gods, and he has spat upon their divine order. That is why this is not merely a rebellion. It is a holy crusade."
Sir Gideon, the pragmatic Templar Swordsman, interjected, "Your Excellency, the peasants are motivated, but they are not soldiers. How did you manage to raise so many without the legal authority of conscription?"
The Bishop's smile was thin and knowing. "The feudal right of conscription belongs to the nobles, Sir Gideon. But the spiritual duty of a man's soul belongs to the Church. I did not 'conscript' them. I sent my priests into the villages on the Marquess's lands and the lands of our allies. We preached of the damnation that awaits any who serve a heretic. We promised absolution and divine favor to those who would take up the cross and fight for the Supremacy. Their lords gave them leave to depart their lands, but it was their God who commanded them to march. They are not a levy; they are a wave of faith, ready to wash away the sin that has taken root in Aethelburg."
Sir Kael, the zealous Swordsman, spoke from behind his implacable helm. "Their faith makes them strong. Our blades will do the rest. The heretic's army of paid thugs and beasts will shatter before the will of the righteous."
"Indeed," the Bishop affirmed. "Our strategy is one of divine simplicity. We march, we crush the boy's pitiful legion, and we liberate the capital. The people will hail us, and a new Regency Council, guided by piety and tradition, will heal the land." He looked at the beaming Marquess Dynan, the perfect, arrogant tool for his holy war.
The final day of prepring the war, Alexius trained with a fury that bordered on obsession. The System had opened a door for him, granting him the raw power of a Swordsman, but mastery was a different matter entirely. His spars with Captain Gregor were brutal, and exhausting.
His blade, wreathed in the untamed blue flame of his Aura, was a blur of motion. He was naturally fast, his movements a flawless execution of techniques the System fed into his mind. And it was not enough.
"You fight like a ghost, Your Majesty," Gregor growled, his own practice sword moving with ponderous, inevitable certainty to block every attack. Gregor's Aura was an invisible, crushing weight, a distortion in the very air. "Your form is perfect, a thing of scholarly beauty. But it is hollow. There is no substance, no weight."
Alexius fell back, chest heaving. "What do you mean, 'weight'?"
"The absolute will behind the steel," Gregor explained, his own breathing perfectly even. "Your Aura is a flash flood—startling, chaotic, wasting its power. A master's Aura is a glacier. It does not hurry. It simply grinds all before it into dust. You have been gifted a perfect, empty vessel, Your Majesty. The Templars you will face have filled their vessels with the poison of fanaticism. They believe a god guides their swords. You cannot counter that with mere technique."
The Sword Master's gaze was hard as diamonds. "When you face them, you cannot be a fencer. You cannot be a prince. You must be the embodiment of this kingdom's will to survive. You must fill your flawless technique with a purpose colder and more absolute than their faith. That is the only 'weight' that will matter."
On the third morning, under a sky the color of old iron, in front of people's plaza at the center of the capital city, the First Legion stood assembled. Five thousand men. A forest of spears. A sea of crimson cloaks. They were silent, a single organism of steel and purpose. Every citizens who are interested in this assembled here too.
Alexius, in dark, functional plate, rode before them. His own Aura ignited, a controlled, pale blue flame against the grey morning. He drew his sword, its blade singing with contained power.
"Soldiers of Leo!" His voice, amplified by his Aura, can be hear from everyone . "The men we march to fight are our countrymen, misled by a false prophet and a foolish lord! They say we are tyrants and heretics! I say they are thieves! Thieves who would steal the future we are building! Thieves who would drag us back to the age of empty granaries and powerless kings!"
"They say it is their tradition to rule! What tradition has given to you and us? Empty stomach, tryannay of corrupted nobles and suffering from discrimination because of your lineage. They say it is their faith that drives them! I say their faith is a mask for their greed! What did Church of Human Supermacy do when you were hungry in the cold nights, when you face tortures of corrupted nobles and when your rights were stolen by the noble superiors. None. Do you want to go back to those tyranny and suffering days?" "Nay!" soldiers and even civilian answered loudly. An old man anwered "My daughter was kidnapped and killed by the Church because she fed a poor hungry beast kin kid on the street, I will never go back to those day and I won't want every to suffer like me again". A woman said her kid was kill by a noble because he wanted to without a reason. A man, a woman and two kids said when they were hunrgy only the crown fed them. Church and nobles refused to gave them foods because they wer 3 third blood related to the elves. And stories goes on. Their meaasges are simple they don't want to go back the time everybody was suffering under tyrannycial rules of Church and corrupted nobles."We are the new Leo! An army where skill, not blood, makes a man an officer! A kingdom where the harvest feeds the people, not just the nobility! A nation where all who are loyal, human or not, have a place!"
He leveled his glowing sword towards the west. "They bring an army of the past! We are the army of the future! They will come with the fire of zealots! We will meet them with the cold iron of soldiers! For the future! FOR LEO!"
A single, unified roar answered him, the disciplined, earth-shaking bellow of a true army. It was the sound of a glacier beginning to move.
"MARCH!" Varrus roared.
With the thunder of thousands of boots striking the earth in perfect unison, the First Royal Legion marched to war.(Continue…..)