There was much for Serana and Nyra to talk about with the Great Black Dragon, but Leon didn’t have the time to stay with them for long. He needed to link up with his ministers and get a rundown on how his Kingdom had fared in the few months he’d been gone. He wasn’t expecting much since no one had come running to him in a panic after his return, but he still wanted to know everything sooner rather than later.

So, he left his mother and ‘aunt’ with the Great Black Dragon in Nestor’s lab, much to the dead man’s chagrin, and made his way to Westmount. He’d return to escort them to Westmount later, but for the time being, Nestor’s lab was as safe a place to leave them as anywhere else.

As the King, he and his entourage of Tempest Knights were more than able to ignore regulations and fly straight to the palace, which Leon wasted no time in doing. His family was likely still down in the city, but Iron-Striker, as if he’d been waiting in place since the moment Storm Herald came through the Lion’s Portal, awaited him in the palace courtyard closest to the council chambers.

“Your Majesty,” Iron-Striker said as Leon came in to land, bowing respectfully. Beside him, Ipatameni and Gaius did likewise, as did the many other ministers with them.

“Enough of that,” Leon said with a wave of his hand. Bowing was expected, of course, but Leon wasn’t interested in drawing the ceremony out too long. “Let’s head inside.”

Acquiescing to their King, Leon’s ministers followed him inside while Lucianus darted forward and handed Leon a stack of papers.

“Not even inside, and you’re already handing me paperwork?” Leon said with sarcastic dismay.

“Just what you want to know,” Lucianus said with a grin.

Leon gave him an exaggerated look of skepticism, but Roland’s son had been his Grand Secretary for more than a century and knew his habits well by now. A quick scan of the documents indicated that he’d been mostly correct, missing only a few key details that Leon would have to ask about.

“Were the Games fruitful?” Iron-Striker asked as they crossed the threshold of the palace and could drop the formal atmosphere a bit.

“We did well,” Leon said. He frowned as he realized he’d forgotten to share with Nestor the bounties received during the Games, but he could fix that when he returned to pick up Nyra and his mother. “Came out with a win and several lower placements. The real wins were the friends I’ve made, though.”

“Friends?” Gaius asked with the hint of a challenging smile. “That couldn’t have been easy…”

Leon spared the man a dirty look thrown over his shoulder. “I make friends perfectly fine, I’ll have you know. I just have to put my mind to it first.”

“I’m sure,” Gaius replied as their group filed into the council chambers and began taking their seats. Many of the ministers were still down in the city, including Clear, Leon’s highest-ranking diplomat; Marcus, his Chief Inspector; and the Jaguar, his Marshal. More than half of the lesser ministers and military officers who might otherwise sit in on these meetings were likewise missing, though they weren’t strictly needed when all Leon wanted was an update.

“We can do this more formally later,” Leon said as everyone got settled in, “but I just wanted to get this swiftly taken care of. High-level updates only. Let’s go.”

He nodded first to Iron-Striker, who needed no other signals to proceed. “The status quo continues in the Nexus and on Aeterna,” the thickly bearded Bear said. “Consolidation of the conquered territories continues. We have recruited more than two hundred thousand bureaucrats across the twelve inhabited planes, and a little more than one hundred thousand recruits for the legions.”

Leon nodded in appreciation. These were huge figures, but given the total population of the Demetrion Cluster and the Yun Cluster numbered in the tens of billions, three hundred thousand people wasn’t nearly enough.

But it was a start.

“Not bad for less than three years,” Leon stated. “Has there been any unpleasantness on those planes so far?”

“None that have been reported,” Iron-Striker replied. “The local nobles and coopted power structures have been keeping the peace. Our garrison forces haven’t indicated any sign of instability or opposition to their presence so far.”

Leon nodded again, pleased. “And what about the local resources?”

Iron-Striker gave Ipatameni a look since that was more his purview as Leon’s Steward. “We’ve taken control of all known local sources of Titanstone,” he said. “They’re less than what we’ve been able to mine in Royal and Tribal regions here in the Nexus, but they’re still substantial. I’ve asked Icarius to aid in surveying these planes for other resources we may be interested in, and he’s already reported back about ideal locations for cultivating thunder wood.”

“And the arkyards?” Those were Leon’s highest priority; the twelve inhabited planes had numerous arkyards that could be put to work building new arks for his forces. They wouldn’t be building war arks there for some time, not until they were sure that the locals wouldn’t be opposing them any time soon, but other arks could be built there in the meantime. Troop transports, logistical arks, arks that were dedicated entirely to healers, and so much more. He’d been naturally focused on war arks over the past two centuries, with nearly all spare arksmithing capacity devoted to growing the fleets, but he knew that the key to sustaining conquests far from his power base was rock-solid logistics.

“They need adaptation to our standards,” Ipatameni said as Leon flipped through the relevant pages that Lucianus had given him, “but a few have already begun work. I believe that we decided on devoting this new capacity to transports?”

“We did,” Iron-Striker confirmed. “Building those transports in the planes will free up our arkyards here in Artorion for more war arks.”

“We’ll need them all,” Leon whispered. “What about Umbra?”

Establishing a base on the plane devastated by the Soul Eater was a matter for the entire council, but since they were so few at the moment, Gaius took over for that matter.

“Progressing well. The plane is clearing up quickly with that monster dead, and we’re able to repurpose most of the existing infrastructure. We’ll likely have a fully self-sufficient city there within the decade, and further colonization can then proceed. As it is, we have a decent enough forward position to support our push into the Great Strand of Rhea.”

“Good. This pleases me.” He leafed through a few more papers, but they’d touched on the big matters that he was most concerned with. He didn’t need a full accounting of every grain of wheat levied from his new vassals, or the progress report of every single recruit from these new territories; he just needed to know that they were on track. “Scouts? Fleets?”

Again, Gaius answered, “We have scout corvettes ready, and Icarius and his new Heaven’s Eye have already been sending us more information on the wider universe. We’re at a point where we have enough confidence in our maps to start plotting routes with reasonable certainty that we know what’s waiting for us.”

“If our corvettes are ready, then start sending them out,” Leon ordered. “I’d know what’s out there from more than just the reports that Icarius is sending us. I trust him, but we can’t say for sure how accurate his information is. It’ll surely take time for us to build up a reliable picture about what’s waiting for us out there, and we’ll have to be ready to respond to it with strength. How do our forces fare?”

Iron-Striker reported, “Our fleets are mustering and our legions are training. I believe we’ll be able to spare one hundred legions and as many fleets within one hundred years.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Leon’s eyes widened momentarily. That was a larger estimate than the last time they’d discussed these matters. He supposed those recruits and arkyards were already having an effect. Still, once inhabited planes started to be seized and all that new territory had to be defended, garrisoned, and patrolled, those fleets and legions were going to quickly get tied down, leaving fewer available to keep pushing the borders of his Kingdom outward.

That is, unless they continued building and recruiting. But that would require new resources and new population centers. That meant more conquest, which would in turn feed his armies and fleets with both manpower and literal food. Success would build upon itself, assuming he didn’t do something catastrophically wrong.

‘Or I don’t have some other problem show up out of nowhere,’ he thought, trusting only that with his luck, that was exactly what would happen. He’d still need considerable forces in the Nexus to defend the core of his Kingdom.

Everyone on his council knew that, though, so he didn’t feel the need to repeat it now. Instead, he pushed the papers away and surveyed not only the three sitting at the table with him but also the various ministers sitting around the wall.

“I have to say that I was pleased to see all of you waiting for me when I got back to Westmount,” he said. “But I’ll fully admit that that’s just me being selfish. I didn’t want to have to wait or to pull you away from the celebrations. Now that we’ve brushed on these matters, I’ll say this: when we’re done here, all of you are under strict orders to head down into the city and relax. Am I understood?”

A chorus of affirmations sounded across the room. Leon was most amused by Gaius’s awkward look; he knew that Alix would be terribly upset if her husband remained cooped up in Westmount throughout the celebrations, and both he and Gaius would likely never hear the end of it.

“Before that,” he said, “I have something to share with all of you. The big things can wait a few days for a proper meeting of the council, but you should know that I found my mother and brought her back to Artorion with me, along with several members of the Great Gold Dragon Clan…”

—

In all of Ramin’s long life, he’d never known a friend like Drenthor. They shared such history that when they spoke, it was practically another language; they simply knew how each other thought, and could reference such obscure things from each other’s background that few other people could even hazard a guess about what they were talking about if they didn’t want to make it clear.

The thought of what could have happened to his old friend that made contacting him this difficult… was disquieting. Ramin so hated those implications that he’d abandoned the Belicenian Games and all the honor and glory attached to investigate his friend’s disappearance. This wasn’t the easiest thing to do, since moving a fleet through the universe without angering Nexus Lords or other universal powers wasn’t easy, but he wasn’t moving an entire fleet; he only had his personal ark. One ark was easier to monitor and contain, which in turn made it easier for him to negotiate passage through territory and the use of Void ports to resupply.

Given the nature of the problem, however, Ramin didn’t often stop. He’d already stocked up quite a bit, so his people could be in the black for years without even needing to ration their food. So, he pushed on as quickly as he could push his ark’s jump drive. This put no small amount of strain on both the ark and his people, especially once they entered the Great Strand of Lancas, where Drenthor’s capital plane was located. Lancas was one of the more chaotic strands, and keeping an ark in top shape was a necessity. This conflicted with his goal of moving quickly, though, but for his friend, Ramin took the risk.

Now, with his heart beating away in his chest faster than it had in thousands of years, Ramin sat in the command throne of his ark, staring out of the forward view projection. In mere moments, they would arrive at Drenthor’s capital plane, and he could finally get his answers about what was happening with his friend.

Beside him stood two Strategoi: Jors-kil, who was sworn to Drenthor, and the stalwart Ryazos, sworn to him. With himself, they made up the only contingent of post-Apotheosis mages on his ark, though the massive war machine still held plenty of military might aside from them.

Magic pulsed, and the ark shuddered in the familiar way that Ramin knew meant their final jump was moments from completion. Space bent, light flashed, and the ark groaned softly as it appeared several thousand miles away from Drenthor’s capital plane.

No one had even a moment to process what was happening as the ark smashed into something large and alarms began blaring. Smaller impacts resounded all over the hull.

“Projecting shields!” one of the bridge officers shouted, and a shield of light covered the ark, muting the impacts and giving everyone a moment to realize what had happened.

They’d appeared in the middle of a debris field.

Drenthor was an Anax, a fourteenth-tier mage. His capital plane, Hesteria, boasted defenses worthy of that power and title—or rather, it did. The four enormous Void Fortresses that had once hovered above the plane like small moons had been broken, spilling men and metal throughout the Void—the arkyards that had once surrounded the plane, smaller than the fortresses, burned in the dark. The remains of hundreds of arks floated weightlessly in what had become an orbital grave just past Hesteria’s terminus line. Much of it threatened to fall upon the plane, but from what Ramin could see, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Hesteria was on fire. The surface burned brightly, and wherever the flames didn’t touch, the scorched black land indicated that Ramin had simply arrived too late to see it. Moving black dots circled the plane, drawing his attention…

“Arks!” another bridge officer shouted. “None matching Anax Drenthor’s hulls!”

“What count?” one of Ramin’s higher officers called back.

“… Hundreds!” the other officer responded. “Too many to count! They’re turning to face us!”

Ramin’s eyes widened as he realized the scope of the problem. He should’ve realized the moment they arrived. He should’ve ordered them to appear further out, but his concern for his friend had prevented him from showing that caution.

“They’re firing cannons!”

The warning came almost too late; pulses of magic were followed soon after by deadly bolts of iron slamming into the light shields of Drenthor’s ark. The ark shuddered with every impact, the iron bolts clearly having been enchanted to stress magical defenses. Ten hit, then twenty, then a hundred, and more. A huge horde of arks bore down upon them relentlessly.

“No, no, no,” Jors-kil whispered in fear as he backed away from Ramin’s throne.

“Hold your nerve,” Ramin said to him as his ark answered the call to violence. The main cannons shot huge bolts of lightning, shattering five of the smaller unidentified arks immediately. The smaller weapon emplacements on the ark revealed themselves, popping out of armored hatches and letting loose with correspondingly smaller bolts of lightning. Down in the ark’s hangars, fighters were preparing to launch, the quick response forces showing their professionalism and preparation.

But Ramin’s blood chilled as he saw just how many enemy arks were closing in. His ark was large, but that made it rather cumbersome. The jump drive also needed some time to recharge, which locked them into this battle with many smaller and faster arks.

He scowled as Jors-kil ran off the bridge, but he put it out of his mind and instead reached out with his origin power, lending his strength to help his ark.

More iron bolts slammed into the shields, this time stressing them even further. One even managed to penetrate, though the bolt bounced off his ark’s armored hull. His ark thundered her response, breaking more of the smaller enemy arks that had responded quickly. But now larger enemy arks were swinging into range from where they’d been bombarding Hesteria. Larger cannons barked as these larger arks came into range, and Ramin’s ark responded with lightning and thunder.

Within minutes, it became clear that victory was impossible, even with Ramin devoting his power to his ark. The enemy must have had comparable mages to him, if not superior mages, as their large arks were nearly immune to his cannons. Running was not an option, either, as the enemy’s smaller arks would easily keep pace.

It would take nearly an hour for his jump drive to recharge. Not for the first time, Ramin cursed his relatively lacking jump drives, inferior as they were to many other Basileis in his position. He cursed his decision to rush here, especially with only this one ark, powerful though it was.

Finally, he cursed his lacking shields as they failed under the relentless cannons of the enemy arks. Iron bolts, no longer impeded by the light shields, bit into the armored hull, stripping it far more quickly than they had the shields. The enemy proved themselves to be smart as they targeted first his thrusters, ensuring that even though his ark was larger and slower than many of theirs, he would not get away.

Then, they targeted his weapons. His main cannons were taken down first, as they were obviously the most dangerous, having destroyed more than thirty of the smaller enemy arks. His smaller weapon emplacements did little to all but the corvettes and frigates that the enemy fielded, especially since it seemed they weren’t launching any fighters to counter his. Instead, his fighters were shot down quickly with point-defense cannons on the enemy arks, and with every one that was destroyed, Ramin felt the loss. These were his best pilots, and while it wasn’t quite an ambush since it seemed he’d surprised the enemy fleet, it might as well have been for the effect they were having.

Soon, the enemy ceased their assault upon his ark, but this wasn’t out of mercy. The power systems were so overtaxed and damaged that most of the lights throughout the ark had gone out, as had nearly every other system. They were floating dead, soon, Ramin was sure, to join the rest of the debris field above Hesteria.

But it seemed not to be, as one of the largest enemy arks came cruising in, about ten or fifteen percent larger than his own. With his engines dead and his weapons destroyed, there was nothing Ramin could do but watch as the ark came closer and closer.

“We’re to be boarded,” Ryazos said succinctly.

Ramin took a deep breath and stood up, golden lightning crackling around his body. There were dozens of huge rents torn into the side of his ark, ensuring that the cloud of transports launched from the approaching ark would have their pick of ingress points. But if they thought they were going to have an easy time taking his ark, he would ensure that they paid for every step they took in blood…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep