Imperial Turmoil
Some time had passed since Alicetia had left the Empire.
The Empire suffered a historic defeat in the recent war against Arland. At first, their troops, buoyed by victory after shattering Arland’s army, were full of fighting spirit—but that confidence crumbled when a single young girl obliterated them. By the time the Imperial army retreated to the capital, the Empire itself had been ravaged.
The army of golems led by Alicetia was unpredictable—appearing and vanishing at will—and completely unlike any conventional force.
No one could tell where they would attack or where they were marching. The remnants of the Imperial army couldn’t mount any organized resistance.
What made Alicetia’s army truly terrifying was that her soldiers were golems—lifeless constructs under her absolute command. They did not break morale, no matter how desperate the fight became, and when defeat was certain, they would self-destruct, taking Imperial troops with them.
The Granzur Empire was by no means weak—it was a great power that had once dominated the continent. But precisely because of that, their military doctrine had grown rigid; they relied on conventional tactics. Their strength lay in fielding overwhelming numbers, suppressing interference from surrounding nations, and fighting under favorable conditions. Simple—but effective. Yet, such “common sense” meant nothing to Alicetia, who had thrown convention away entirely.
The reason for the Empire’s defeat was simple: the Imperial strategists could not predict Alicetia’s thoughts or actions.
The Granzur army had triumphed in countless battles, and its strategists were brilliant. But that brilliance became their downfall. “Normally, one would do this,” they reasoned—and that reasoning, which worked against ordinary generals, failed utterly against Alicetia. Even in the war with Arland, the Imperial staff had correctly predicted Arland’s movements, cornering and breaking their forces.
But even those elite minds couldn’t read Alicetia. Of course they couldn’t—she wasn’t commanding an army bound by logic, but leading a walking calamity. Predicting a natural disaster through the logic of warfare was folly.
Alicetia simply marched forward. She attacked whatever appeared in her path.
Her sense of direction was terrible, and she chose her routes on a whim. The only target she consciously chose to attack was the Imperial capital itself. Expecting anyone to “predict” that was absurd.
Defeated, the Empire was forced to accept Alicetia’s merciless demands for reparations. They couldn’t resist. Their proud field army was annihilated, and the people themselves were stricken with fear of Alicetia.
They were made to pay enormous reparations at once. When the funds fell short, the wealth of nobles was seized outright.
Moreover, all high-ranking officers, nobles, and royals who had led troops into Arland’s territory were captured and executed—including even the Emperor himself. The entire continent was stunned.
It was clear from this that Alicetia had no interest in ruling the Empire. Any conqueror wishing to maintain control would leave a governing class intact—but Alicetia purged them all.
She also freed countless enslaved nonhuman races, most of whom later migrated to Arland.
The Empire, having lost so many soldiers and citizens, now lost even its slaves. Its labor force vanished. Since the war had conscripted vast numbers of commoners, many of them too had perished.
With no slaves, no workers, and an empty treasury—its imperial palace reduced to rubble—the Empire lay in ruin.
And yet, strangely, Alicetia had taken nothing from ordinary citizens except their slaves.
The result: while the government and nobility collapsed under financial ruin, commoners suffered only the loss of their slaves. That was painful, but survivable. They did not yet understand that worse was coming.
One day, soldiers arrived in a village within Imperial lands.
“By emergency decree, we’re collecting taxes!”
Both the government and the nobles, desperate to recover from their losses, had no money. Their “solution” was simple—take it from the people.
In truth, it wasn’t even wrong; they had nowhere else to get it. But they chose the worst possible places to levy these taxes—territories that had been annexed by force.
Ever since the Empire’s formation, those annexed lands had been treated as second-class. Their people were “secondary citizens,” discriminated against compared to the “primary citizens” born within the original Imperial borders.
They had fewer rights and paid heavier taxes. Their lives were hard even in the best of times. The Empire never let them starve outright, but they were kept just alive enough to work—like livestock.
Now, desperate for funds, the nobles and officials sought to avoid burdening the first-class citizens with more taxes. Instead, they began seizing the assets of the second-class citizens.
To the nobles, these people were descendants of those who had once resisted them—unworthy of mercy.
But to the villagers being plundered, it was unbearable.
“What?! We already paid an emergency tax before the war! If you take any more, we won’t survive!”
During the total war against Arland, they had already been forced to pay a “loyalty tax.” Another would push them into starvation.
“Silence!”
One soldier shouted, striking the village chief to the ground.
The villagers froze—but something about the soldiers seemed strange. Normally, the chief would’ve been killed as an example. But these men drew no swords.
Looking closer, the soldiers weren’t even armored. They carried only old swords at their hips, no spears, no mounts. The horses pulling their carts were old and half-retired.
They beat the chief senseless, then forced their way into the storehouse.
“Well, well! You’ve got plenty here! Trying to cheat us, were you?!”
“That’s next year’s seed grain! We can’t hand that over!”
Bloodied but desperate, the chief clung to the soldier’s leg. If they lost that seed, the village would be doomed next year.
“Where’s your loyalty to the Empire? The nation is in peril—we are requisitioning this grain!”
“Then we’ll starve!”
“Not our concern! The Empire comes first!”
The officer kicked the chief aside. Even bleeding, the man tried to crawl toward them again.
The villagers’ patience snapped. The soldiers’ words meant only one thing: you are to die for the Empire.
As one soldier reached for a sack of grain with a sneering grin, a shadow rose behind him. The village chief’s son swung a club down with a roar.
A sickening crack. The soldier fell, skull crushed.
“The hell—?!”
Another shouted, spinning around.
Panting, the son glared at them, bloodied club in hand.
“I’ve had enough! Stop forcing your so-called loyalty to the Empire on us second-class citizens!”
The villagers seized their farm tools and surrounded the soldiers.
“That’s right! If you take even our seed grain, we’re done anyway!”
“Then we’ll drag you bastards down with us!”
A small village rebellion would normally be crushed quickly, its leaders executed as a warning. But if starvation awaited anyway, then at least they could strike back once.
Years of resentment boiled over into rage. The villagers attacked.
The soldiers didn’t even draw their swords. They were poorly trained conscripts; most of the real soldiers had died in the war. These were half-trained men who barely resisted before being slaughtered.
“This doesn’t make sense… they didn’t even try to fight back. And what’s this?”
The chief’s son pulled a sword from a corpse—it was rusted, barely holding together. Even a farm tool would break it.
The soldiers’ weapons were useless props, worn just to look threatening.
This was because Alicetia had taken everything—every usable weapon, every ingot of metal. Even the dead Imperial soldiers had been stripped of their arms. With their forges destroyed and mines inactive—since their slave laborers and dwarven smiths were gone—the Empire was suffering a crippling metal shortage.
They still had some human blacksmiths and miners, but not enough, and with no funds to pay them, production had stalled.
So, the troops sent to “collect taxes” were merely for show—too few men, armed with junk weapons meant only to intimidate.
But now, exposed and defeated, the truth was revealed.
“Hey… maybe we can actually win.”
“They lost to Arland, didn’t they? Maybe… maybe we can be free.”
The sight of the fallen soldiers filled the villagers with a dangerous hope.
Across the Empire’s annexed lands, that same thought spread like wildfire: we can stand on our own.
“Let’s go, everyone! For independence!”
“UOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!”
After their defeat by Arland, the Empire’s vassal states had already begun declaring independence. Now, rebellion erupted everywhere.
Like this village, one province after another rose up.
With no weapons, no supplies, and no loyal soldiers left, the Imperial nobles were swiftly overthrown.
And among the rebels, leaders emerged.
“The time has come to rebuild the nations destroyed by Granzur! Follow me!”
The Empire had once annexed those kingdoms by force—but not every noble or royal had been slain. Some had survived, waiting for a moment like this. Now they rallied their people to restore their lost homelands.
The Empire, arrogant even in defeat, dismissed them as mere remnants.
They reformed their army and fought once more—only to lose again.
The rebels fought like a proper army, well-armed and well-fed, while the Imperial troops, stripped of pride and equipment alike, were demoralized and chaotic.
Thus began the Empire’s great civil war—its flames ignited, while those who had quietly set it ablaze watched from the shadows.
What do you think about this chapter?
