THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR-Chapter 333: IMPERIAL COMMAND
"My Grace," Duke Ephesians ventured, his voice steadier than his pulse, "the Spire has reached out to us to collaborate. Their instruments detect a new energy signature emanating from the depths of the Deadlands."
The golden haze surrounding the Empress shifted, tendrils of light coiling like living things. Though her features remained partially obscured by the divine radiance, he sensed her displeasure—a pressure in the air, a weight against his skin.
"Don't test my patience, Duke Lorvantis." Her words fell like polished stones, each one precisely placed. "I read the report they sent."
She adjusted her position on the throne, one leg crossing elegantly over the other. A single finger tapped against the golden arm of her seat, each contact producing a sound that reverberated through the chamber with unnatural clarity. The rhythm carried a menacing chill that belied the heat of her presence.
"Those old geezers keep sending mercenaries—citizens of my empire—to their deaths, all for the sake of their precious reports." Controlled fury simmered beneath her composed exterior, like magma beneath a mountain's serene peak. "I have simply grown bored with this so-called 'collaboration'!"
The last word hung in the air, charged with disdain. Silence followed, a void demanding to be filled. The Duke recognized it for what it was—a test. She awaited his response, his justification, his plea.
Ephesians weighed his options with careful precision. To the outside world, Empress Solmaria was a beacon of wrath, divinity, and war—a living weapon forged in the Royal Match and tempered in the Crimson Moon campaign. But those in her inner circle, the remaining Suns who had wisely chosen service over challenge, knew a different truth. Behind the terrifying power and ruthless efficiency beat a heart that cared deeply for the empire's citizens. Her legendary impatience with the Tower of Mages—the Aragorn Spire—stemmed not from caprice but from their callous treatment of those they recruited for their expeditions.
The Duke chose his next words with the care of a man defusing an explosive. One misstep would not merely end his career but possibly his existence.
"Your concern for your subjects is precisely why I bring this matter directly to you, Radiance," he began, threading honesty through formal address. "The Spire's recklessness has cost us too many lives already. However..." He paused, allowing the weight of what came next to settle. "This energy signature differs from their usual findings. It appears to be growing stronger, and more importantly..."
He steadied himself, knowing the coming words might determine whether he left this room alive.
"They have begun to move," Ephesians declared, bracing himself against what would follow.
"Don't play games with—" the Empress began, her voice dangerously soft.
"The winged creatures," he interrupted, a transgression that would have meant death from anyone else. He stood ready for the consequences, which came without hesitation.
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The air within the throne room imploded with the Empress's unleashed mana—a solar flare contained within four walls. The atmosphere itself sizzled, crackling with golden energy as the obsidian and gold walls began to glow cherry-red from her unrestrained fury. Only the recent renovations incorporating specialized absorption materials prevented the chamber from becoming a crematorium.
"WHAT? DRAKHAR?" Her voice boomed with divine rage, the word echoing with such force that dust fell from the vaulted ceiling high above.
Ephesians cursed under his breath as he conjured a water barrier at the precise moment the heat wave struck him. The magical shield hissed and steamed, partially evaporating on contact as he fought to maintain his footing against the pressure threatening to hurl him across the chamber.
"Your Grace, please—calm yourself," he pleaded, his voice strained from the effort of maintaining his protection.
"Dragons have invaded my land and you're telling me to calm down?" Each word struck like a physical blow, her rage giving them substance. "Have you lost your mind, Duke Lorvantis?"
"It was only one," he managed, sweat pouring down his face from both exertion and heat. "From the reports out of the colder border regions, it was quadrupedal—not a flyer. Not a true dragon."
Remarkably, this information seemed to penetrate her wrath. The heat waves vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving the air shimmering with residual energy. The Duke collapsed to one knee, his water barrier dissolving as he coughed from the parched air that scalded his lungs.
"A scout," the Empress realized, her voice returning to its normal timbre.
"Yes, Your Grace. A fitting classification would be 'drake,'" he elaborated, grateful for the reprieve.
"I know that, idiot," she snapped, though with less venom than before. "What is a drake doing in my lands, seven hundred seventy-four miles from its nesting grounds?"
The precision of her geographical knowledge didn't surprise him. The Empress's mind was as formidable as her power.
"Based on its path and direction, it appears to be heading for the center of the mysterious energy within the Deadlands," he revealed, watching her posture shift subtly as this information captured her full attention.
"With my command, summon my generals and the Lords of every county my empire touches," she ordered, fingers drumming on her throne with renewed purpose.
The Duke remained kneeling, his silence uncomfortably prolonged. The Empress's golden glow intensified slightly—a warning.
"What else?" she demanded, sensing his hesitation. "Speak."
"The Archon of Lysora County is... missing, Your Radiance."
The temperature in the room plummeted—not from reduced heat but from a sudden vacuum as the Empress drew all ambient energy into herself. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the coldness of distant stars.
"Elara va Ironblade is missing? My Archon?"
The emphasis on possession was unmistakable. Elara wasn't merely an imperial official—she was the Empire's foremost military strategist, architect of seventeen critical victories during the Crimson Moon War, and perhaps the only person whose tactical brilliance the Empress truly respected. Her battlefield innovations had revolutionized flame sorcery applications, earning her personal recognition from Solmaria herself.
"When?" the single word carried the weight of imperial judgment.
"Approximately five weeks ago. Lysora County was invaded by unknown forces. The castle sustained significant damage, and when imperial reinforcements arrived, the Archon was nowhere to be found."
"And you are only informing me NOW?" The last word manifested as a physical object—a gleaming sword of condensed sunlight that materialized in her hand and hurled toward the Duke with lethal intent.
Ephesians didn't flinch as the blazing weapon embedded itself in the floor mere inches from his head, melting the obsidian into glowing slag. One fraction of an inch closer, and his life would have ended.
"We needed to verify the information, Your Radiance. Initial reports were conflicting, and—"
"Silence." Her command cut through his explanation like the sun sword could have severed his neck. "You withheld critical information regarding one of my most valuable assets while dragons encroach on imperial territory?"
She rose from the throne—a movement so rare during audiences that Ephesians momentarily froze in alarm. Her form seemed to elongate, the golden haze extending upward until she towered over him, her true height impossible to determine through the radiance.
"By my authority as Empress of the Solarian Empire, I hereby grant you the Edict of the Solaris Sigil," she intoned, her voice resonating with formal power. "All imperial resources are at your disposal for one singular purpose: Find the Archon. Whatever the cost, whatever the means, I want Elara va Ironblade returned to imperial service."
The significance wasn't lost on him. The Solaris Sigil hadn't been invoked in seventy years. It granted him power second only to the Empress herself—and if he failed, would ensure his execution would be equally spectacular.
"It will be done, Your Radiance." He bowed deeply, feeling the weight of imperial will settle across his shoulders like a physical burden.
"Go." She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist.
Ephesians retreated, walking backward until reaching the appropriate distance before turning to leave. As the massive doors closed behind him, he caught a final glimpse of the Empress returning to her throne, her expression contemplative.
Alone once more, Empress Solmaria reached out one slender hand, recalling the sun sword to her palm where it dissolved back into pure light. Her thoughts turned to her missing Archon, to the drake venturing far from its territory, to the energy signature growing in the Deadlands.
"Interesting timing," she murmured to the empty chamber, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Perhaps it's time I took a more... personal interest in these matters."
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A/N
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