The Greatest Sin [Progression Fantasy][Kingdom Building]
Chapter 324 – In With The New

People have a tendency to look at the grandiosities that are happening somewhere and confuse them for signs of real power. Those are mere theatre play, they are actors moving and prancing to entertain the fools. Real power is about being the famous lead actor that everyone knows. It is not even about being the director, who can only direct movies and nothing else.

Real power lies in the hands of the agents, who pick and who choose those that even get a chance in the first place.

- Excerpt from ‘A Book About a Goddess and an Idea’, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

 Malam popped open a bottle of vodka and gave it a smell. “You shouldn’t drink that shit.” Helenna said.

“Why not?” Malam leaned over the table to pour Iliyal a human-sized shot of drink, Helenna a similar amount and a full glass for herself.

“That only exists to make you drunk and nothing else.”

“That’s why I drink it.” Malam said as she drank half her cup. She had always appreciated the taste of good vodka; it burned on the way down. And she walked over grand map of Epa that was laid out on the floor of the tent. All of Iliyal’s desks and benches and chairs had been moved, apart from the little table the three occupants of the room crowded around. That lonely table had a dozen markers, a half-dozen bottles, and three glasses for drinking.

And on the grand map of Epa on the floor that sprawled from one edge of the tent to another, were a thousand different markers. Iliyal, Malam and Helenna had set them all up, each one tending to their demesnes. Iliyal had positioned the frontlines and the reserve divisions, Helenna had done her contacts and spies, Malam had positioned the insurrectionist groups.

Malam clapped her hands as the elf readied his phone. His eyes met Malam’s and he gave a small nod as he downed his shot of vodka. The Goddess of Hatred clapped her hands as she spoke to an audience that didn’t exist. The plan came together, and Malam started to hear the delusional angels chanting her name and singing her praising in her mind. She needed to gloat, she simply needed to. Her stomach would explode if she wasn’t allowed to get some of her own satisfaction out. “Helenna?”

“Yes?”

“I watched your Kirinyaa coup.”

“Oh.” Helenna said, then smiled and answered in a chipper and excited tone. “What did you think?”

“You had it easy.”

“Excuse me?”

“The population was primed; they wanted change and you had time. Kassie was popular and you were riding off the success of the Reclamation War.” Malam stretched her fingers and palms as she took a step onto the map, glass in one hand. “Here, we have none of that. Your coup was impressive of course, it was clean, I have to give you that. But here, I’ll show you how we rip the table cloth off the table without disturbing the cake.”

Iliyal took the radio and signal as Malam motioned the action of knocking dominoes over to him. He rolled his eyes openly in front of the Goddess of Hatred, she had always been one for theatrics.

Saksma looked at Hallin in the distance. The great sprawling capital of Doschia, it wasn’t a financial powerhouse and whilst the history was rich, it certainly wasn’t like the other capitals of the Epan nations. But where it lacked, it made up for in being the beating heart of Doschia. The metropolitan city itself was the most populous of any Epan city, even though by sheer technicalities of measuring suburbs and so on, it was one of the smaller capitals. That fact always made Saksma proud.

But now, as she looked at the low horizon skyline of Hallin, blocky and with only a few skyscrapers that had slipped through regulation and zoning laws, Saksma was not smiling whatsoever. She stood on top of a heavy military truck that trundled on the highway, before her, two armoured cars maintained distance and beeped at civilians to get them off the road. Behind her, a column of armoured transporting soldiers and a few tanks followed.

The whole thing was led by one of Iliyal’s elven captains, Beryon. They had been introduced to each other and Iliyal said that at the end of the day he trusted both of them. Ultimately, Saksma had lived more than long enough to know how to work with people she had never dealt with before. How many times had she needed to introduce herself to a new king of Doschia? How many diplomatic trips had she been on? She didn’t trust Beryon whatsoever frankly, but Iliyal had assigned the man to her, so she’d make do.

Saksma closed the distance to Hallin, apparently King Wissel Ellenheim had been killed by a mage just hours prior in Achafen. Now, the Konigsreichbund was reeling in shock and a succession crisis was starting. Wissel had been relatively young when he took the throne and the man didn’t have children. Doschia was at war. Wissel’s economic reforms had proven to be a monkey’s paw. They had unfrozen the stalling the Doschian economy so well that it was now spiralling up into the flames of hyperinflation. Businesses that once were rolling with no orders now had so many that basic consumer goods were not getting shipped.

As Saksma rolled in, the streets parted for her. Cars came to a stop. Civilians came out onto the streets. The proud Doschian flag flew from windows. A crowd formed. They started to chant. At first, Saksma thought that she was going to listen to the Doschian Anthem. But she wasn’t. It began as a whisper and it turned into the rallying cry of an army. “Saksma. Saksma. Saksma.”

Men and women left their homes to follow Saksma’s cohort of military men. The crowd swelled into a horde. Its victorious crescendo of a chant getting louder and louder as Saksma got closer and closer. “Saksma! Saksma! Saksma!” They called out her name. “Saksma! Saksma! Saksma!” They cried out to be saved. “Saksma! Saksma! Saksma!”

She would save them.

Malam took a step from Hallin to Zawitz. Saksma would have the easiest time as long as she had the confidence to simply grab the bull by the horns. And if she did not, then the soldiers assigned to her would make sure she would. After all, Saksma was leading only insofar that she was the silly little donkey pulling the cart and Malam was holding onto the carrot. But Olonia? That woman was a fine girl indeed! She had a reasoning that was more honest and truthful than any sort of idealist could ever wish to achieve: she wanted to do it for herself.

Olonia came to a stop as she saw Zawitz. Behind her marched a full division dragged from the frontlines. Tanks and artillery and a few helicopters for air support. It was a great snake of steel and iron that came crawling to Zawitz, trailing along the highways. Gun and cannon aimed forwards as the mechanical beast of war loaned to her by Iliyal and commanded by Menith slowly trundled towards the capital of the nation she was the Goddess of.

That was it. She was the Goddess of this place. She wasn’t some politician seeking glory. She wasn’t a madman raving about a better future. She wasn’t some firebrand of an idealist that thought their shit didn’t stink. No. She was the Goddess of Lubska. She was the embodiment of this nation. Where she stood, Lubska went. Where she was, Lubska was. Where she wished to go, Lubska had a casus belli to conquer. This wasn’t some vain act of trying to craft a story, this was the will of Divines.

Olonia looked forwards as she marched in her silver armour ahead of the vehicles. A truck had brought her here, but it wouldn’t make sense for the Goddess of a nation to not stroll into her own capital. She looked at the great Zawitz skyline. The modern skyscrapers that shot upwards towards the sky as if they were the spines of a giant porcupine. Great teeth of steel and glass that tried to bite the sky and maw the clouds.

And as Olonia approached, she saw a barricade form in front of her. A line of policemen dressed in riot armour. They had visors obscuring their faces and heavy vans blocking the way for Olonia’s army behind her. Iliyal’s elf, Menith slowly approached Olonia to ask whether he should get the men to break the defenders of Zawitz.

And Olonia gently shook her head. She didn’t want blood spilled here. Not Lubskan blood. It wasn’t that she had an issue with it at this point. Enough Lubskan blood stained Lubskan fields after the White Pantheon invasion that a few hundred men would not make any difference. But she was the Goddess of this country, it simply wasn’t good enough for her to be allowed to spill Lubskan blood. No. Not at all. Olonia’s eyes narrowed as she stepped towards the police barricade trying to blockade her entry into Zawitz. She saw those scared eyes, she saw the shifting postures and she knew that these men didn’t want to be here.

She would save them.

Malam took a few steps across the continent of Epa. From Zawitz, all the way through Doschia and then into Rancais. And she stood over Aris. The city had been occupied by protestors, they had declared something called the Independent Aris Zone. No doubt there was a grand story there. No doubt Anarchia had her own tale to tell. No doubt there was tragedy and romance and something beautiful. There’d be grand ideals, of that Malam was sure. Malam smiled wickedly as she pushed the marker signifying Paida and her army of thirty thousand. Goodbye grand ideals! Reality was knocking on the door! And reality did not really care about you!

Paida stepped towards her city as the men around her took position. They spread out in lines. There had already been engagement against so called freedom-fighters, against supporters of Anarchia, against anti-government rebels that tried to overthrow the Republic of Rancais. And Paida looked towards the flags that hung above Aris.

The city was a marvellous piece of art. Last time that Paida had seen it, it had been a stunning scene that could inspire nothing but awe at the tall buildings. Each one had been a piece of art, the architecture of the simplest home in Aris put the grandest palace outside of it to shame. Aris Limestone columns and balustrades and cobbles and statues, with great parapets and huge windows. And those buildings were only a backdrop for the fashionable population of Arisians. If the buildings put palaces to shame, then the beggars on the streets of Aris would put kings to shame.

But now? Aris was unrecognizable. Aris was not Aris anymore. There was barely a window with glass still remaining. Smoke was rising in the distance from several points in the city. Flags that Paida had never seen before hung from the windows and on wash-lines. But it was the streets that really made Paida’s heart shatter. Barricades were set up around the city, and men with guns were garrisoning them. The Independent Aris Zone? It wasn’t even a farce. Farces were humorous in their wrongness. This was not funny whatsoever, it was merely wrong.

Paida grabbed her blade as the thirty thousand men Iliyal had assigned to her spread out. Two elves led them, but Paida didn’t really care. Talking to Malam had made her think that taking over the Rancais state was simply the best of several bad options. But now? As she looked out over Aris? How could she pretend that this was anything beyond a disaster?

This was Rancais. This was Aris. This was her country. This was her capital. This was her land. This land was Paida. And this land deserved a better leader than someone who would let the capital of one of the greatest Epan nations descend to such a state. She could practically hear Aris’ population sobbing and crying out for help. She could almost see their tears. She could feel their weeping souls.

She would save them.

Malam used her boot to kick a figure that was close to her away. “ILIYAL!” She shouted. “Give the men the green light to fire!”