A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1638 - 1638: The Hidden Mighty - Part 7

"Why should I trust a word that you say?" Wyndon said. "Perhaps we are in a fine position. Perhaps we will win without you."

"Oh," Tiberius said, tapping a finger on King Wyndon's nose, and grinning at Wyndon's inability to do anything about it. "Oh, now that is almost it, dear King, almost. Try to be clever for me – push your mind to its very limits. You are quite right. I could be lying to you. But then, who are you to know? You have no way of seeing the truth from fiction, and you only have yourself to blame for that. Curse your own weakness, and the fact that you truly do not know."

"What do you want..?" King Wyndon asked.

"What do you want, Wyndon? Hm?" Tiberius said. "You wish for greater position, no? You want due accolades from the war. The expansion of your empire, the—"

"Emerson lands," King Wyndon said. "I want the Emerson lands. They're weakened, and they'll fall. They'll carve them up. I want them. If I am to let you loose, then I want you to snatch it for me."

"Ah," Tiberius said. "Aha! Hahaha! You are a greedy little duck, aren't you? You want to gobble up the whole world, do you? Very well, very well. But you had better ask properly. For you know what I want too, and in knowing what I want, you know how you must ask me."

"What do you want?" King Wyndon asked again.

"You would be more fun if you could figure that out for yourself," Tiberius said. "All these years, I have waited for opportunity, knowing full well that it would come, that the Gods would not abandon me. Why do you think I waited so meekly for your father? Out of respect for him? Out of fear? No. Because there was nothing to be done. The pot was already boiling. In moving it, I would only slow it. No, I will grasp my desire, the desire that I have always had, since before your father decided that I had the potential to grant his desires as well."

It was only then that Wyndon realized just how mad Tiberius was. His eyes were watering, seeing a future that was not yet there. A crown of someone else, beyond just Wyndon. He gasped. "Gods, you want the throne of the High King!"

"Obviously," Tiberius said. "You can do it if you try, though it did take you long enough. Yes – if I am to win this war for you all, then I will not be doing it for that prune of a High King. It is not only the Gaia that ought to hold to the position of the strongest sitting the highest seat of power. The Stormfront began as that – though our evaluation of strength is not so brutish as theirs. We are founded on that principle, are we not, King Wyndon? You cling to inheritances, but there are those of us that remember, that it was the strongest General that was elected as the First King. The strongest General ought always to rule the Stormfront, and who in this country is stronger than I?"

Wyndon shook his head. He knew not anyone. All the Generals that he had met were incomparable to the man called Tiberius. When Tiberius had said that the hundreds of thousands of men that the High King would gather needed someone to gather to, as the enemy gathered to Oliver Patrick and Queen Asabel, none in Wyndon's mind fit that role better than Tiberius. For even if he were a self-proclaimed Emperor, his was an aura that demanded men kneel. His was a level of self belief that was indeed madness, but the troops would not know otherwise.

"Then… Emperor Tiberius… I ask that you make use of my armies, and secure the throne for yourself, along with the promise to fulfil what it is that I have asked for," King Wyndon said.

Emperor Tiberius put a hand on his head, and patted it. "Yes, yes. I know what you ask for. I'll throw something your way. A good dog like you deserves the finest of bones."

…

…

"I want another!" The High King raged from inside his throne room, his voice echoing down its vast walls, now so empty of people. Only his closest advisors remained, in the form of his guard General Justus, and in Chief Strategist Hector of House Blake."

"There is no other," Hector explained patiently. He was an old man, even for his position as a non-combatant, responsible only for strategy, and it was hard to tell whether his old squinting eyes saw anything at all.

"I second the opinion of the Chief Strategist," Justus said calmly. "If we wish to ensure that our counter-rebellion efforts proceed smoothly, he is the man for the job."

"And his loyalty?" The High King said, with his goblet in hand, spilling his wine with a dramatic motion. "Is that to be trusted too!? When he has stood far too firmly beside that Oliver Patrick? Is that to be trusted? You tell me! It was your strategies that got us in this position in the first place."

"With respect, High King, it was not," Lord Blake said, an edge to his old voice. "We continually counselled you against the measures that you put in place. You chose to trust the assassin Melicos against our advice. You chose to attempt to deal with Oliver Patrick in your own ways, when both of us have continually counselled you in other directions."

"You cannot speak to me like that, Lord Blake. I am the High King!" He said, his voice slurred from his drink.

"And what threats can you offer me, my King?" Blake said. "Would you threaten to see my House cast to the ground? Or me dead? My House no longer exists. I have taken no wife, sired no heirs. I have remained devoted to the crown. And if you would take my life, then I have lived a long one."

"I-I can have you stripped of your title," the High King said. "You would be reduced to nothing."