Armin II stood before the sigil-lit dais as the magical transmitters thrummed across cities, fortresses, and academies, carrying his presence into every hall where the people of the German Reich waited in disciplined silence.
He had ruled them for decades, and the weight of that long dominion sat easily upon his shoulders, for he had shaped their laws, refined their magic, and hardened their resolve until pride in the Reich had become as natural as breath.
He raised one gauntleted hand, and when he spoke his voice carried authority sharpened by years of command and certainty earned through unchallenged strength.
"People of the German Reich, you may know me as the face on your coins, or by the orders I send down through the ministries. I am your king, your leader, your Keiser; Armin II."
As his words echoed through crystal relays and rune-bound towers, he watched the unseen crowds with measured calm, knowing their loyalty had been forged through long rule rather than momentary passion.
"I have stood as your king while our scholars bent arcane law to reason, while our battle magi refined discipline into art, and while our borders stood firm against the envy of lesser realms."
He allowed a pause to settle, heavy and deliberate, before the edge of anger entered his voice like a drawn blade, "Yet today I speak not of triumph, but of insult, and of an injustice that no sovereign nation may endure without surrendering its very right to exist."
His jaw tightened, and the ambient light flared faintly as the magic bound to his person responded to restrained fury, "The so-called United States of Erdöl, a nation scarcely born and already arrogant, crossed our borders without consent, trampled upon our wards, and dared to test the sovereignty of the greatest realm beneath the Sun."
"They mistook restraint for weakness, and silence for fear," his voice thrummed with anger that threatened to burn too freely.
"They violated sacred lines drawn by treaty, by blood, and by the shared recognition of nations that understand what order means in a civilised world."
He straightened, his presence filling the chamber even for those who could only hear his voice through enchanted stone and spell-woven metal.
"Let there be no confusion among my people, for this trespass was no accident, no wandering of lost soldiers, but a deliberate provocation meant to measure our response."
The king's eyes hardened, reflecting sigils of the Great Sun engraved above the throne, symbols of the deity that had granted healing to their flesh and knowledge to their minds.
"In defiance of that provocation, I now give them their answer, not in whispers or concessions, but in the language all aggressors understand."
He drew a slow breath, and the moment stretched across the Reich as millions listened without moving, "I, Armin the Second, King of the German Reich, hereby declare that our nation shall enter the ongoing World War with purpose and resolve."
A ripple of controlled anticipation passed through the magical network as his voice grew sharper, cutting through the air like disciplined spell fire, "We declare war upon the United States of Erdöl, and by their chosen bonds, upon their allies, the Kalmar Union and Hohenzollern."
"By this declaration, the German Reich stands alongside the Tsardom of Moscow and the Dual Monarchy of Franz-Austria, whose cause aligns with the preservation of sovereignty and rightful order."
He lifted his gaze slightly, as though addressing not only his people but the Great Sun itself, whose blessing had elevated humanity from scattered tribes into enduring civilisations.
"Under the Sun that grants us healing, wisdom, and the mastery of magic, we shall answer violation with unity, and arrogance with unyielding strength."
His final words were spoken with iron certainty, meant to be carved into memory as deeply as any rune into stone.
"For the German Reich!"
"Under the Sun"
…
Across the breadth of the German Reich, the king's words faded into echoes carried by crystal lattices and rune-etched conduits, and in the silence that followed, the machinery of war began to turn with disciplined inevitability.
In city squares where fountains had once served as idle meeting places, young men and women formed orderly lines beneath banners marked with solar sigils, their faces set with a mixture of pride, apprehension, and restrained excitement as recruitment officers recorded names with spell-ink that shimmered briefly before settling into permanence.
Some clasped family charms or whispered brief prayers to the Great Sun, while others stood rigid and silent, believing that devotion was best expressed through readiness rather than words, and none were turned away lightly, for magic flowed in every citizen, yet discipline determined whether that gift would endure the strain of war.
Along the great arterial roads, convoys of enchanted wagons rolled outward from depots, their wheels humming softly as levitation arrays reduced strain and increased speed, carrying mana-crystals, alchemical reserves, and armaments towards staging grounds that had not seen such activity since the last great conflict.
Quartermasters worked without pause, recalculating supply flows with abacuses etched into their forearms by temporary sigils, ensuring that no regiment would march without food, no mage would cast without replenishment, and no wounded soldier would lack the Sun-blessed salves that could knit flesh and steady shattered minds.
In the industrial districts, factory chimneys burned day and night as enchantment forges were recalibrated, their production lines stripped of household charms and ornamental artefacts, then retooled to produce spell-resistant armour, focused casting gauntlets, and standardised wands designed for reliability rather than elegance.
Workers who had once crafted luxury items now moved with the same precision, guided by overseers and arcane engineers, understanding that the worth of their labour had shifted from comfort to survival, and that every delay might cost lives at the front.
Within fortified academies, battle-Magi gathered in concentric halls where instructors discarded ceremonial robes in favour of hardened field attire, reviewing doctrines refined through centuries of magical warfare, and reminding their students that raw power without restraint was more dangerous to allies than enemies.
Spell matrices were rewritten, prioritising efficiency, area control, and counter-magic, while healers trained alongside destructive casters to operate under fire, learning to mend bodies amid chaos rather than within pristine halls of study.
Across the nation's schools, the rhythm of education changed abruptly, as peacetime lectures on theory and history gave way to relentless drills focused upon battlefield survival, mana conservation, and the psychological endurance required to cast while fear clawed at the mind.
Students practised coordinated casting formations, learned to read terrain as readily as texts, and memorised tactical principles that transformed individual spellcasters into cohesive units capable of holding lines against overwhelming force.
Graduation ceremonies were shortened or postponed entirely, replaced by assessments designed to measure combat readiness rather than academic distinction, for the Reich required capable practitioners more urgently than honoured scholars.
Beyond the academies and factories, everyday life adapted with quiet resolve, as markets narrowed their offerings, rationing replaced abundance, and citizens accepted longer hours and fewer comforts without complaint, trusting that sacrifice now ensured security later.
Public squares displayed mobilisation timetables instead of festival announcements, and evening gatherings became subdued affairs where families shared news from training camps and production quotas rather than gossip and leisure plans.
Though the streets remained orderly and the lights still burned beneath protective wards, a subtle tension threaded through every routine, binding the population together with a shared understanding that the Reich had crossed an irrevocable threshold.
Under the unblinking gaze of their Great Sun, the German Reich transformed itself with cold efficiency, shedding the indulgences of peace and embracing the disciplined severity of war, as an entire civilisation aligned its will towards a single, inescapable purpose.
And their Great Sun, James, was busy extending connections to the different star systems with Race spirits in them, and then extending smaller connections directly to the desired locations of those Race Spirits that ended up giving him the original deposit. He was not much bothered with his world or race for the moment, as long as he kept receiving Collective energy at a steady pace.
Chapter length: 1350 words