"How long until the Lowes Tower in the city center is finished?" Gavin Ward asked, looking out the grand window of his office.
His loyal steward Stephens checked his notes instantly. "Ten more days, Your Majesty. It would have been completed by now, but since you ordered eighty percent of our engineers and workers to reinforce the new port project, progress on the tower has slowed slightly."
Stephens's memory was sharp as steel. A man in his position had to remember everything—ship schedules, worker counts, food supplies, military statistics—and be ready to answer at a glance whenever his emperor asked.
As Gavin listened, Stephens couldn't help but smile quietly to himself. To have served his king when he was still a monarch… and now to see him rise to Emperor Gavin Ward—that alone was a lifetime's honor.
"Good," Gavin said finally, turning toward him. "Half a month from now, we'll hold the coronation. Send invitations to every neighboring kingdom. It will be best if all their kings attend."
The faint curl of a smile touched Gavin's mouth. The meaning behind his words was clear: the day of his proclamation would not just be a ceremony—it would be a display of dominance.
---
The Shadow of Expansion
The borders of the Ross Kingdom now pressed directly against the Tongsley Alliance Empire, a loose coalition of semi-independent states. To the south lay the Duchy of the Golden Lion, ruled by Duke Leonhart, whose restless ambition was known across the continent.
Gavin knew expansion was inevitable. The only direction left to grow was toward these territories. And the Duke of the Golden Lion, gathering troops like a storm cloud, was preparing for something.
When Gavin became Emperor, that ceremony would also be a warning—a demonstration of Ross's overwhelming military power.
So he gave his next order: "Prepare the military parade."
Stephens bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."
The preparations began. Engineers cleared the main boulevard for marching formations. Artillery and armored trucks would roll through the capital. Soldiers would parade in perfect step, rifles shining, banners snapping in the wind. The BF109 fighter—still in testing—would not be shown publicly yet, but the message would be clear enough: Ross was ready for war.
Gavin's invitations were hand-delivered to every major nation.
Each letter bore the new imperial seal—a twin-headed eagle grasping a sword and a gear wheel, symbolizing power and progress.
---
A Ceremony Like No Other
Across the continent of Loriland, whenever a king declared himself emperor, the coronation was always presided over by the Church of the Radiant Star. The priests, robed in white and gold, were the ones who would place the crown upon the ruler's head, symbolizing divine approval.
But in the Empire of Ross, there was no church left.
When the former Nord Kingdom had invaded years ago, every cleric fled at the first sound of cannon fire. They abandoned the people, closed their temples, and vanished. And when victory came, Gavin had banned them from returning.
He didn't need them.
Gavin Ward did not bow to gods. He believed only in himself, in his people, and in his army.
So this time, there would be no prayer, no offering, no priest.
He would crown himself.
A man who had forged his own kingdom in steel and blood did not need divine permission to rule.
---
Invitations Across the World
The first letters went to the Seven Beast Kingdoms, the fractured remains of the old Orc Empire. They were now Gavin's vassal states, bound by treaty and by fear. Their rulers would attend—if not in loyalty, then out of pure survival.
Next were the member states of the Tongsley Alliance Empire. They had already heard of how Ross crushed the Orcs and annexed Loth and Kiswell. The message of power had spread like wildfire across the continent.
For them, Gavin's invitation was both an honor and a threat.
Any ruler who refused to attend risked being marked as the next target of Rossian expansion.
"The land is vast, the population immense," Stephens had said earlier. "If the Empire of Ross grows stronger, others must weaken."
And Gavin had simply nodded. "That's the law of the world."
---
The Duke's Schemes
Far to the west, in the golden-walled capital of the Duchy of the Lion, Duke Leonhart sat in his marble hall, a letter spread before him. His golden beard glinted in the candlelight as he frowned.
"So," he said slowly, his voice like gravel, "Gavin Ward, the so-called King of Ross, dares to proclaim himself Emperor?"
One of his advisors stepped forward cautiously. "According to continental law, only the Church can crown an Emperor, Your Grace. But… Ross no longer allows the Church within its borders. It seems Gavin intends to do it alone."
"Interesting," Leonhart muttered. His lips curved upward into a cold smile. "If he wants to play emperor, then we'll send him a gift. Something… grand."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes glittering. "A gift that will make him lower his guard."
The advisor hesitated. "A gift, Your Grace?"
The duke chuckled. "Yes. A weasel's gift to the chicken. When a man receives kindness from an enemy, he becomes careless. He begins to believe in friendship."
He stood, his gold-embroidered cape flowing behind him. "Prepare the convoy. We'll make it seem as if we're extending peace—and when his attention turns toward the ceremony… we'll move our army."
The men in the chamber exchanged grim looks. Everyone knew what this meant: diplomacy as disguise.
And the Duke of the Golden Lion was a master of it.
---
The Watchful Eyes of the Elves
Meanwhile, deep within the Tongsley Alliance Empire, a carriage rolled along a forest road, its wheels crunching softly over fallen leaves. Inside sat a young elf, his golden hair brushing the collar of his uniform.
He flipped through a stack of reports his aide had gathered. "Duke Leonhart is mobilizing on a large scale. No one knows his true target. Could be Ross, could be us. The intent's unclear."
He paused on the next page and smiled faintly. "King Gavin Ward of Ross will proclaim himself Emperor soon. He's refusing the Church's blessing."
He closed the folder and gazed out the window. The sunlight filtered through the trees, dancing across his fair face and the slender pointed ears hidden beneath his hair.
"A man who dares to defy the gods," he murmured, "is either a fool… or a visionary."
His lips curled upward. "Either way, my brother-in-law never fails to surprise me."
The aide blinked. "Brother-in-law, my lord?"
The elf smirked. "Didn't you know? The saintly Lusia—the Star Mage of the Central Empire—is my sister."
He leaned back, his expression shifting between amusement and intrigue. "So, if Gavin Ward plans to crown himself Emperor without heaven's approval… it means he's putting faith not in gods, but in mortals. And that, perhaps, is what makes him dangerous."
He looked out again at the open horizon. "When a man believes only in himself, he becomes unpredictable. I must see where this leads."
The carriage rolled onward, the sound of its wheels fading into the forest's whisper. Above, the branches trembled as if the wind itself was listening to the continent preparing for change.
---
Ross Prepares for the Coronation
Back in Ross City, the streets were a storm of color. Banners hung from balconies, musicians rehearsed, and workmen hammered the stage for the ceremony.
The Lowes Tower—though still unfinished—already gleamed in the sunlight, its steel frame rising above the skyline like a symbol of the new age.
In the barracks, soldiers polished their boots and rifles until they shone. Commanders checked parade formations, shouting orders across the courtyards. Artillery crews rehearsed their maneuvers until every movement was timed to the second.
The Empire of Ross would not simply crown its emperor. It would display its power before the watching world.
Stephens approached Gavin later that evening with an updated schedule. "The dignitaries have begun to reply, Your Majesty. All seven beast-kingdoms confirmed attendance. Two members of the Tongsley Empire sent ambassadors. Even Duke Leonhart will send an envoy."
Gavin smiled faintly. "Ah, the weasel comes bearing gifts. How kind."
"Shall I refuse the gift, sire?" Stephens asked.
"No." Gavin's eyes glinted. "Let him deliver it. It's always wise to see what sort of trap a man thinks you'll step into."
He turned back toward the balcony, where the banners of Ross fluttered crimson and gold. Below, the sound of thousands of workers preparing for the empire's dawn filled the air.
"Let them all come," Gavin said quietly. "Kings, dukes, emperors, priests. Let them see what a self-made god looks like."
Stephens bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."
---
As night fell, the city shone with torchlight. From every corner, the chants began to rise again, echoing across the streets and the harbor.
"Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"
"Long live the Empire of Ross!"
Gavin Ward watched from his tower window, the wind ruffling his cloak, and murmured,
"Long live the fools who think I need their approval."
Above the capital, the stars burned bright—cold, distant, and watching. And somewhere beyond the horizon, the armies of the Duke of the Golden Lion began to move.
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