There are many tricks one thinks they should learn when trying to master subterfuge. This is a false mindset, it is fundamentally wrong. Subterfuge is a language, learning a single trick is akin to learning practicing a single sword swing. One may talk of how they have learned the perfect feint. How they swing in an uncounterable manner. How their very strength from decades of practice will ensure that they will be able to overwhelm an opponent even through a parry.

And yet none of that matters. A man who comes for a duel will always find himself defeated by the opponent who brings ten of his friends armed with firearms. Decades of footwork, centuries of passed-down knowledge, bloodlines that stretch on for millennia are wiped out by the presence of an amateur who holds a gun in their hand.

Subterfuge, and all diplomacy to a whole, work in a similar manner. Creativity and breaking norms are what actually dominate the field. A spy with a pattern is merely a controlled asset for the opponent. A fresh upstart with no history requires a hundred times the work in terms of planning contingencies versus a man who is known for his abilities in lockpicking.

Yet the most important factor is momentum. A transient factor, something that can just as easily be lost as it is gained. All counter-espionage relies on momentum, the ability to deploy organized, governmental resources to an asset, the ability to share information instantly, the ability to coordinate multiple different moving factors to work in unison. So the Empire must work in a similar fashion.

Momentum. By the time an agent’s presence is discovered, the mission is already completed. By the time the presence of infiltration is found, it matters little for the presence is so ingrained it now holds a position fortified. By the time a target is forced to make a decision, they must already realise that it has been chosen for them.

– Excerpt from “SIS Manual, first edition.” Written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

Malam leaned back, a wide smile on her face as he watched clear vodka pour through the air and into her glass as she stared at her printed copy. If it was the first time, she would frame it on the wall, but it wasn’t. Malam was just following a script. Impressive it may be, and she had made the script a thousand years back when the Great War had just burst out. But no matter who made it and no matter if it could have been avoided had the White Pantheon just taught the history of how Arascus managed to double the size of his realm in the opening years of the Great War, it was still satisfying.

Malam looked around her office. The lights were dimmed to a romantic tone. The curtains had been closed. She had even lit a few candles in celebration and prepared the red wine that Helenna so adored. It was downright romantic. And Helenna hated it. The Goddess of Love sat on the other side of Malam’s desk as a fire crackled in their fireplace. She had not been happy when she came in, but at least she had the decency to take off the heavy black coat and sit in her shirt. Malam, for once, set the drink down on the table without tasting it. “That’s new.” Helenna said. Her hair was black. No happy at all then.

Malam made a theatrical sigh and flicked her own white hair in return. As pristine as snow-capped mountains, although she didn’t like the comparison, snow-capped mountains should bow down and beg to be recognised by the Goddess of Hatred first. “Look at this.” Malam said as she passed the letter from Ibya.

It had a dozen signatures, from every member of their government and from the Goddess Tanit. That last one mattered and that last one was the problem they were going to discuss. Malam passed the letter to Helenna, she knew it off by heart already: Ibya, Republic of, formally accepts the invitation into the Empire. But then Malam revealed her reason for the gloating and the all too romantic atmosphere she knew would grate on Helenna’s nerves. “You said I couldn’t do it.”

Helenna took a heavy sigh as she set the letter back down. “I’ve heard.” She said dourly. “And I didn’t say that, I said you couldn’t do it in a week.”

“It’s been four days.”

“Did Arascus help?”

“All me.” Now was the time to rub it in. Arascus may have inspired and he may have rallied, but Arascus was a grand figure. It was not through grand figures that the Empire grew and stuck together. It was through slathering more of the dirty glue that Malam was.

“Well I admit.” Helenna said. “I didn’t think you could do it.” Malam chuckled and purred as she finally sipped the strong Lubskan vodka. The smell had gotten to her nose and her mouth was already watering. It warmed her throat on the way down and she felt her stomach began to heat up. It had been a good idea to send a man to the farmer’s market. This homebrew was twice as strong as the spirits would find in a shop. And it even had been imbued with the faint taste of plums. “So?” Helenna asked. “What now?”

“Oh no.” Malam said. Time to rub it in some more. Dad wasn’t here, nor were any of her sisters, so Malam needed to get the next thing. “How are things going on your projects? What of the Raptors?”

Helenna’s lip pulled upwards into a forced smile for a moment. Her black hair turned as colourless as Irinika’s darkness, it even seemed to pull in the light. “I have images and recordings.” Helenna said brought out her own phone and scrolled for a few moments. Malam merely let the silence hang as she took another sip and realised half the glass had gone. Big sips, but it went down well. She leaned forwards onto the table and Helenna leaned back. “Here.” Helenna pretended her eyes did not go down to inspect how Malam didn’t have most of the buttons on her white shirt undone.

“Very impressive.” Malam cooed. “Very impressive indeed.” The video was of the Raptor aircraft driving around on the runway, almost touching each other. “I’ve never seen an airplane drive.”

“It’s a CCTV recording from the airbase.” Helenna said. “There’s no pilots inside. The planes are operating themselves.”

“Very impressive.” Malam said. “So we’re getting there.”

“Getting there.” Helenna admitted.

“I was getting there with this Ibya situation.” Malam tapped the piece of paper. “And I got there.”

“Forcing apotheosis and getting a nation to join is two different things.” Helenna replied coldly.

“Oh I know.” Malam said. “One’s been done already.” She smiled at Helenna again and took another sip. It needed a refill already.

“Aren’t you drinking that too fast?”

“Do you want some?”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Malam picked up the bottle. The label was of whiskey, it very obviously was not whiskey. “Farmer’s brew.”

“Pour me one.” Helenna said and Malam poured a devilishly small amount. Cold eyes stared at her in return.

“It’s strong.” Malam cooed. “I don’t want you getting drunk.”

“Pour me one.” Helenna repeated and Malam chuckled as she filled the glass and then her own. And that was the bottle. These glasses were big. Helenna took a sip and rolled her eyes.

“It’s Sliwowica.” She said.

“Apologies for being uncultured swine.” Malam replied as she sipped her own. She wasn’t that much taller than Helenna. Surely they should not be taking sips of such different sizes.

“So what did you call me for?” Helenna drank again to match Malam and the Goddess of Hatred had to consciously stop herself from reaching for the glass. Maybe it was strong indeed. She was starting to feel it in her cheeks.

“How busy are you?” Malam asked and Helenna rolled her eyes again.

“I can make time.”

“Very well.” Malam said as she leaned back and crossed her arms to push her bosom up. Helenna’s eyes flicked downwards again. Jealous was she? Malam basked in the victory as if all the stars in the sky had decided to spotlight her. “The issue Iliyal mentioned is no longer applicable.” That was why Malam had been assigned to the Ibya situation and why it hadn’t been Helenna in the same place. They needed to dance at the blistering salsa of Hatred and not the slow trot that was Love. Iliyal had only brought it up once, but Malam had seen the problem even if no one else had.

Tartarus was coming to the surface, but Tartarus was still aligned with the White Pantheon. They had been rolling the dice with the evacuation. Iliyal may have had his own reasons for saving people from potential disaster but the fact of the matter was that they could not be the little crying wolf now. If Tartarus was organized and if it had come to restart the Second Great War, then it was a war between them and the Empire. Ibya just happened to have the misfortune of being caught in the middle.

The last thing that was needed was Tartarus demanding military access and then peacefully marching through Ibya. No. The greatest unifier had finally arrived in Arda: the external threat, the justified target, the outgroup that would finally force all humanity, all Divinity, all elvenkind, all dwarfmen, of beastmen, all who were part of mankind into the same basket. When Worldbreaking had been unleashed on Arda thousands of years back, it had scarred the mentality of man. Now. It would be the greatest celebration for this planet.

Momentum had arrived and Malam did not need her father to point it out. That was why the Empire had taken upon itself the mantle as the guardian of this planet. That was why all the broadcasts discussed Ashen skies and End-Times. That was why Iliyal had been told to speak in the grandest terms imaginable. Ashen skies may be drifting for the Empire, but Malam would make sure that the whole world would reach up to tear them down.

Whether they wanted to or not. “Ibya is in. We will have conflict in the Sassara definitely now.”

“I’ve realised.” Helenna said. “What now then? Are we sending troops?”

“No.” Malam said. “We’re sticking with the Fortress Epa strategy and pulling as many out of Ibya as possible.” Malam brought out a photograph of the most expendable fighters they had. The National Goddesses of the Big Five in Epa. It was a group photo of the girls in a group hug, they were smiling after the victory in the Epan War. Olonia in her Imperial uniform, Paida in her silver armour, Saksma with her greatsword. Aliana at the end with a bow in her hands and arrows stuck into the grassy field. Agrita with her spear. “Who can we afford to lose here?”

“Permanently?” Helenna asked.

“Hopefully not.” Malam said. “I have a candidate already. I want to see if we agree and if I’ll be disrupting your plans.” Helenna did not even bother commenting as she stared. Her finger eventually settled on one. The original. The one who had been most fervent in the Empire and whose nation had taken on General Mobilization as a mere strengthening of duty and obligation. White-haired Olonia, in the very middle of the picture. “Why?”

“Because Lubska will march with or without Olonia.”

“I agree.” Malam said. Goddess of Love Helenna was, but this had been the woman who had fought against Malam in the Great War. She would have an eye for the big picture. “I’m going to send her off to train Tanit in Ibya with a small guard. A division maybe. Iliyal already has plans for a skirmishing phase of the war. We can see how Tartarus has changed in the past thousand years.”

Helenna made a slow and drank half the glass in one go. Malam took a sip. They both had half left. Well, that one topic decided on. Now time for the next. “What do you thinking of Fortia and Maisara?” Malam asked.

Immediately, Helenna’s eyebrows darted downwards and her hair turned to a shade of red. That answered the question. It wasn’t high at all. Neither was Malam’s. And everyone knew the feeling was mutual. That was the big problem. “What do you think?” Helenna asked sourly.

“Is there anyone they like? Anyone we have on the surface that can be there today?” It was a personal mission. That was the issue. Of Peace and Of Order, for how high and mighty they were, liked to play this little game called self-deception. They thought themselves exempt from all such dirty topics as personal favours and so on.

“I don’t know.” Helenna said. She forced the unhappiest smile Malam had ever seen. “Arascus?”

“Father is busy in the UNN. Apparently they’ve had a change of mind and given permission for three new Orders to be set up.” Helenna’s eyes grew wide.

“And I’ve not heard of this?”

“He rang me some hour ago. He’ll be here soon but it’s going to be a few day’s time. Kavaa is apparently not doing well.”

And Malam’s pitch-black eyes narrowed as she stared at Helenna’s reaction. Hair red still, but hair red in a more pleasant manner. Tinged with anger too but what was that other colour? Surely not… Malam didn’t attempt to control her laughter. Surely she wasn’t jealous? Helenna practically hissed the response back. “She’s not doing well?”

“That’s what I got told.”

“Isn’t she the Goddess of Health?” Malam rolled her eyes. How romantic. Downright lovely. She’d pick at it later, but she had a policy of getting her work done before she enjoyed herself.

“I want Fortia and Maisara to defend Khmet. Can you do it or should I search for someone else?”

And just like that, as if Malam had just said something incredible, Helenna gawked at Malam. “What? Why even?”

White Pantheon Goddesses. Not turn-cloaks who shed their allegiance like Helenna or Iniri or Kavaa but proper White Pantheon Goddesses. It was obvious that they were going to leave soon but that didn’t matter. For the moment, they were White Pantheon Goddesses.

Malam had sworn on that dismal retreat into the underground that she humiliate the White Pantheon to such a regard, it would be nothing more than the ugly stain of a spill in the grand tome that was all history. She would make sure that Olympiada would be filled with nothing but turn-cloaks and traitors. When Allasaria finally returned with Paraideisius, she would have to create something new because Malam would rip her precious project out right from under her. Rip it out, spit on it and beat it into such a bloody pulp that there would be nothing left to salvage.

White Pantheon Goddesses fighting under the Imperial Banner.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep