"Almost two hundred thousand," I purred, kissing the air. "I could buy a small country. Or a really large sandwich."
"Wilhelm!" King Brandan bellowed, splashing onto the balcony. "Stop romancing the ledger! Look at the valley! The rest of them are here!"
I looked over the edge.
The fog had lifted just enough to reveal the endless column of troops marching toward our gates. It was a sea of black iron, grey banners, and palpable misery.
"Sweet Mother of Inflation," Vasco Vane whispered, appearing beside me. "Wilhelm... do you realize what you've done? You didn't buy an army. You bought a natural disaster."
"112 Million SP," I did the math, my eyes widening. "Vasco... Desmus only brought 30 Million to the castle yesterday."
"Correct," Vasco smirked. "We currently overpower the local Church forces by a ratio of almost 4 to 1."
"And look there," Alexander Shadowgrove pointed to the far horizon.
Marching from the south, under green banners, was another army.
Duke Dankmar Ironvine.
With Lydia, Volpert, and Vera.
I scanned them.
I burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is awkward!" I cackled. "Dankmar is coming to crush us, thinking we are a ragged band of rebels. He’s bringing 50 Million SP to a fight where we have 112 Million! He brought a knife to a dragon fight!"
"We could crush them," Brandan growled, gripping the stone railing. "We could crush Dankmar. We could crush Desmus. We could take the whole region by lunch."
"Hypothetically, yes," Malachia glitched onto the railing, dangling her legs. "But look at the Global Map, Noob-King."
She projected a hologram. It showed the world.
Our little 112 Million SP army was a bright red dot.
But surrounding us?
Billions of SP. Fleets of ships.
"If we crush Desmus too hard," Malachia explained, popping a pixelated gum bubble, "the other Archbishops doesn't send an army. They sends a 'Delete Region' command. We are strong, but we aren't 'Fight God' strong yet."
"So we have a divine deterrent," I summarized. "We are too strong to be bullied, but too weak to conquer the world. The perfect stalemate."
"Boring!" Brandan shouted. "I want to hit something!"
"You can hit the renovation bill," I said, turning back to the Keep.
I looked at our headquarters.
It was leaking. It smelled like dead fish. Livia Whitefield was currently screaming in the dungeon because a rat looked at her.
I looked at my 196,000 Gold.
I looked at the puddle I was standing in.
"I am a man of taste," I declared. "And I refuse to rule from a swamp."
I slammed my hand on the interface.
RUMBLE.
The entire Keep shook.
Black mana exploded from the ground.
The leaking cracks in the walls sealed up with glowing obsidian.
The fish-bone chandeliers morphed into majestic crystal fixtures (that still looked slightly evil).
The moat stopped being "sewage" and started being "ominous dark reflecting pool."
Gargoyles sprouted from the towers, their eyes glowing red.
"Whoa," Gerald Falken gasped, walking out. "It... it's dry. And terrifying. I love it."
"It matches my soul," Ser Erebus Crux sighed happily, stroking a gargoyle.
"It matches my profit margins," I corrected. "We now have a base, gentlemen. A base worth 112 Million SP."
I looked out at the approaching Ironvine Army.
"Let Dankmar come," I grinned, leaning on the dry, polished black stone. "He thinks he's coming to evict us. He's about to find out he's trespassing on the most expensive property in the Kingdom."
"Raise the banners!" Brandan roared. "The Bear has a Den!"
And for the first time, the flag of the Stormsong-Falken Alliance didn't look like a rebel rag. It looked like a warning.
The massive obsidian doors of the newly renovated Black Citadel swung open without a sound. The hinges were oiled with expensive grease, paid for by my 50,000 Gold.
Duke Dankmar Ironvine marched in first, looking like a toad squeezed into green plate armor.
Prince Volpert followed, sneering at the gothic architecture, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword he had never used.
Vera Ironvine walked silently, her eyes scanning the shadows for exits.
But the room didn't look at them.
The room looked at Lydia Ironvine.
She wore a gown of emerald velvet, embroidered with gold vines that looked like they were strangling her. She held a goblet of wine as if it were a scepter. She didn't walk; she glided.
She stopped in the center of the Great Hall, looking at King Brandan, Me, and the gathered Royal Army Commanders.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
She looked at Ser Erebus Crux (250,000 SP). She looked at the 2,250 soldiers lining the walls. She looked at the 112,000,000 SP of military power we had amassed.
And she smiled.
Not fear. Not respect.
Amusement.
"Charming," Lydia purred, her voice echoing off the black stone. "You bought a haunted house, Wilhelm. And you filled it with depressives. It suits you."
"Welcome, Lady Lydia," I said, leaning back in my chair (which was now dry and cushioned). "We weren't expecting guests. We were expecting a siege."
"A siege?" Lydia laughed softly. She took a sip of wine. "Why would I siege my own investment? I am paying the wages for this army, am I not?"
She walked closer to the throne where Brandan sat.
"But an army needs a legacy, Your Grace. It needs a future. And right now... the command structure is a bit... chaotic."
She turned her gaze to Melina Milkwright.
Melina was standing by the fireplace, feeding a radioactive biscuit to a gargoyle. She was glowing with happiness and 500 rads.
"Commander Melina," Lydia said, her voice dripping with honey. "The radiant heart of the legion."
"Hi, Green Lady!" Melina waved, blinding everyone nearby.
Lydia didn't flinch at the radiation. She stepped closer to the girl.
"Such power," Lydia whispered. "Such... potential. But wasted on a single life. You need to be anchored, child. You need a dynasty."
Lydia snapped her fingers.
From the back of the Ironvine retinue, a man stepped forward. He was bouncing. He wore a bright yellow suit that matched Melina’s hazmat dress perfectly. He had a smile that was too wide, too white, and entirely vacant behind the eyes.
"Daughter!" Moro shouted, opening his arms. "Oh, happy day! The sun is shining! The grass is green! The cows are mooing!"
"Daddy!" Melina squealed. They hugged, creating a small mushroom cloud of joy and radiation.
"I found him in the capital," Lydia explained smoothly to the horrified room. "Mr. Milkwright and I have been discussing the future. We agree that Melina is of marriageable age."
"Marriage?" Brandan grunted. "To whom? A sunlamp?"
Lydia turned slowly. She placed a hand on Prince Volpert’s shoulder.
Volpert recoiled slightly, but Lydia’s grip was iron.
"To a Prince," Lydia announced. "To my son. Volpert Ironvine."
The silence in the room was absolute. Even Malachia stopped glitching.
Volpert looked at Melina. He looked at her glowing skin. He looked at her hazmat dress. He sneered in pure disgust.
"Mother," Volpert whined, his voice high and petulant. "She is a peasant. And she glows. I don't want a radioactive wife. I want to torture cats."
"Quiet, darling," Lydia whispered, tightening her grip until Volpert winced. "You will marry the glowing girl. And you will like it."
She turned to me. Her eyes were cold, calculating calculators.
"Think of it, Wilhelm. The Royal Army is led by Melina. If Melina marries Volpert... the Ironvines and the Stormsongs are united by blood and steel."
She walked over to me, lowering her voice so only I could hear.
"You have the soldiers, Bastard. But I have the gold to feed them. You have the castle. But I have the political connections to keep the Church from glassing it from orbit."
She gestured to the happy father, Moro.
"Mr. Milkwright?" Lydia asked.
"Oh, splendid idea!" Moro beamed, clapping his hands. "A Prince! For my little Dangerous Nugget! Just imagine the wedding! Yellow flowers! Green sashes! We can serve uranium cake!"
"See?" Lydia smiled at me. "The father agrees. The mother agrees. The money agrees."
Melina looked at Volpert.
Volpert looked at Melina with hatred.
Melina didn't see the hatred. She tilted her head.
"He looks sad," Melina whispered to her dad. "Like a puppy that kicked itself."
She walked up to Volpert. She poked his chest.
"I can fix you!" Melina declared. "We can hold hands! I can make you glow too!"
Volpert slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me, freak!"
"Volpert!" Lydia snapped. "Apologize. Now."
Volpert trembled. He feared his mother more than anything in the world.
"Sorry... freak," he muttered.
Lydia turned back to the room, spreading her arms.
"A match made in heaven," she declared. "The Golden Prince and the Sunbeam. They balance each other out."
Gutrum Falken stepped forward, wincing from the pain in his back.
"We do not agree," Gutrum growled. "This is a military command, not a breeding program."
"It is both, Duke," Lydia countered instantly. "Or do you want to pay the wages for 2,250 soldiers yourself?I believe the bill is due today"
I looked at my ledger.
Lydia was paying it. Without her, the army would desert in a week.
"We... will consider the proposal," I said, grinding my teeth.
"Take your time," Lydia smiled, finishing her wine. "We are staying in the East Wing. I expect it has been renovated to my standards?"
"It has a dry floor," I muttered. "And no fish."
"Adequate," Lydia sneered. "Come, Volpert. Come, Dankmar. We have a wedding to plan."
She swept out of the room, dragging her miserable son and the cheerful Moro Milkwright with her.
When the doors closed, Brandan threw his goblet at the wall.
"She is trying to steal the army!" Brandan roared. "Through marriage!"
"She is brilliant," Vasco Vane whispered from the shadows, watching the door with genuine admiration. "She doesn't fight the enemy. She marries them, funds them, and strangles them in their sleep."
I looked at Melina, who was happily telling Astrid about her new "Grumpy Prince Boyfriend."
"We need a counter-move," I said, rubbing my temples. "Because if Volpert marries Melina... the Royal Army belongs to Lidya."
And suddenly, the Black Citadel felt very, very small.
—--------------------------------------Holy Army—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Counties Total SP: 50,000,000 SP
Knightly Orders Total SP: 32,500,000 SP
- Baronies: 30,000,000 SP
- Counties: 50,000,000 SP
- Knightly Orders: 32,500,000 SP
?? Total Army SP: 112,500,000 SP