Chapter 61: March oh Son of Arkanus!
Year 0003, I-III Month: The Imperium23
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The March East
The great march to the eastern subcontinent had begun. The Imperial Army and Navy had combined their forces to ferry the troops led by Duke Maximilian Solmane, General of the Imperial Army Expeditionary Forces. Three hundred thousand strong, they had traversed the tumultuous northern seas for weeks on end, their main attack force and supporting battalions moving as one cohesive entity across the waters that separated the heartlands of the Imperium from its endangered territories.
At last, they reached the shores of the Central Eastern Continent, where their beleaguered allies still stood defiant against the growing tide of the Great Evil and its dark forces. Banners of crimson and gold fluttered in the salt-laden breeze as the soldiers disembarked, their armor gleaming under the pale eastern sun. The distant horizon was smudged with the ominous darkness that had been spreading across these lands—a darkness they had come to halt.
Their orders were clear: march to the earldom of Earl Serverus Freek, one of the Emperor's most recent loyal vassals in these distant lands. After the 1st Expeditionary Force had reached the vicinity of the Kingdom of Eastcrown Greyhaven, where Earl Serverus Freek's earldom could be found, they dispatched a messenger to the dying king. In turn, they were granted safe passage through his lands—a final act of servitude toward his Emperor.
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The Emperor's Orders
Before departing with the army, Maximilian had been summoned to the Imperial Hall by the Emperor himself. There, a separate task was entrusted to him before he would reach Earl Serverus's earldom: he was to visit the old, dying, faithful vassal and servant of the Emperor.
"Maximilian," the Emperor had said, his voice resonating through the hall's vaulted ceilings, "before anything else, head to the Kingdom whence Earl Serverus Freek serves and show the sigil of the Emperor to the dying king—a faithful servant to the empire and great vassal to his Emperor. Show him that we are answering his call to save the entirety of the eastern subcontinent of Arkanus, for they are our people, one and the same, cut from the same cloth in the same divided land. In appreciation of his service, show him the full might of the Imperium."
Maximilian, in a kneeling and bowed position, absorbed every word. It was true that the Emperor acknowledged those he deemed worthy no matter the status or bearing of that person; he was a great lord indeed, whose vision extended beyond the immediate concerns of war to honor those who had served faithfully.
"By your will, Your Imperial Majesty, I shall follow!" Maximilian had pledged, his voice filled with devotion.
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Arrival at Greyhaven and the Final Act
Upon arriving at the Kingdom of Eastcrown Greyhaven, the local nobility had prepared to host a grand festival for him—an envoy of the Emperor and the general who led his army. But Maximilian declined such grandiose celebrations; they had no time for festivities with a tide of rebellious lords and ladies to quell further east, and the dark forces gathering strength with each passing day.
When he arrived at the royal courts of Greyhaven Eastcrown, Maximilian beheld King Ruppert Greyhaven III sitting upon his throne—one last act of defiance against death, to welcome the salvation that his Emperor would bestow on his kingdom and the rest of the eastern subcontinent.
King Ruppert was now one hundred and fifty years old, his once-powerful frame now bent and withered, his face a map of wrinkles etched by time and worry. He had grown tired and weary, but was revitalized, if only for a moment, as the vassal of his Emperor had come to visit him in his dying state. With tremendous effort, he had mustered all his remaining strength to rise from his royal chambers and sit one final time upon his royal throne, his gnarled hands gripping the ancient armrests that had supported generations of his line.
The court was hushed as Maximilian entered. The Duke and General of the Expeditionary Imperial Army wasted no time and greeted the king with the respect he deserved, though maintaining the protocol expected of his station.
"Greetings, Your Highness Greyhaven," Maximilian's powerful voice carried across the throne room. "Forgive me for showing such discourtesy and not bowing, for I only bow to one man, and it is the Emperor alone. Today, my untimely visit is due to his insistence to visit a loyal vassal to the Emperor and faithful servant to the Empire. Hear his decree."
Maximilian unrolled a parchment bearing the imperial seal and read:
"*My faithful vassal, I have come to your aid in this great time of need at the behest of your chosen envoy, Earl Freek, who has greatly impressed me with his stories and his servitude to you, his king, first and then the Empire, second. Amongst the many nobles who I have seen in my Imperial throne hall, he stood out the most, and I heard that he emulated it all from you. And with this, I grant you this sigil of acknowledgment before you pass on to the next life, that your Emperor has seen and heard of your efforts and would greatly reward it. Since you may not long bear this sigil, it would only be given to the most worthy of your household; do not worry, for the sigil itself would choose its own master to serve.*"
After reading the letter, Maximilian produced a box of intricate design. Within it lay a ring bearing the symbol of the Dragon Prince Chronusfyre Solumbra and the sword of Emperor Janus intertwined at its center. The craftsmanship was exquisite—gold and silver interlaced with what appeared to be scales of some ancient beast, glimmering with an inner light that seemed to pulse with life.
With trembling hands, Greyhaven accepted the box. He slipped the ring onto his finger, and for a brief moment, his frail form seemed to straighten, a glimmer of his former strength returning to his eyes. The ring had accepted him, and he felt the power of the Emperor and his guardian dragon coursing through his aged veins. But sadly, he could no longer bear such power for long. With a regretful sigh, he removed it and placed it back inside the box.
"I have received the Emperor's gift and greatly appreciate it," King Ruppert said, his voice surprisingly strong despite his frailty. "I feel that the life I have lived has now been acknowledged, and the mercy that he would show to his people is truly gracious of him. But it saddens me deeply that, now that I am old, weary, and stricken with death, I can no longer accompany you into battle."
A wistful smile crossed his face, memories of past glories momentarily banishing the shadows of approaching death
"Come," he continued, gesturing with a gnarled hand, "I shall see our saviors that you have brought. I shall greet you all with a farewell as you march into battle against our enemies in the further east."
The king's servants attended to him, supporting his fragile frame as he carefully made his way through the royal halls and out into the courtyard where the Imperial Expeditionary Army awaited. There, he beheld the grand banners of the Empire fluttering in the wind, and the mighty soldiers who would once again march into battle for the salvation of his lands.
Row upon row of armored men stood at attention, their discipline impeccable, their weapons and armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. War machines of arcane design waited silently, tended by engineers in the Empire's colors. Cavalry units sat astride magnificent steeds, some bearing the marks of ancient bloodlines bred for war, others showing signs of enchantment that made their eyes glow with an inner fire
King Ruppert Greyhaven III stood one final time, drawing upon his last reserves of strength. He raised his arms to the heavens, and with a voice that belied his physical state, delivered his final command:
"MARCH, OH NOBLE SONS OF ARKANUS!"
The army responded as one, thousands of shields banging in unison, creating a thunder that seemed to shake the very foundations of the kingdom. It was a sound that had heralded the advance of the Imperium's might across countless battlefields, a sound that had struck fear into the hearts of enemies for generations.
With one final salute to the old dying warrior before them, they all turned and marched outward, following their General Maximilian Solmane toward the eastern horizon, where darkness gathered and enemies awaited.
King Ruppert watched them go, a single tear tracing its way down his weathered cheek. He knew he would not live to see their return, but in his heart, he believed victory would be theirs. The Empire had answered the call, and the Sons of Arkanus would prevail, as they always had.