Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire

The spring thaw came late that year.

In the mountain passes between the Sarmatian front and the northern plains, the snow broke reluctantly, retreating in dirty, jagged seams.

The rivers ran thick and brown with meltwater, and the road was a churned mess of mud and shattered ice.

Still, the banners of the Visigoth Empire cut through the cold air, defiant and bright against the gloom.

Medellin Valdesca rode at the head of her host — what remained of it that is.

Thirty thousand had marched into the Honor Kingdom with her.

Barely half that number marched on with her into Sarmatia, they had of course been reinforced but then, the war with the Sarmatia Imperium was a harsh fight.

She lost thousands of soldiers.

Not from defeat.

From slaughter.

The resistance against them had fought with desperation never surrendering the fight until the last man had fallen, in the cities they captured even women and children assaulted her men in an attempt to repel the invaders.

Worse yet Medellin's orders had been as clear from the Emperor: no quarter to those who refused the Visigoth yoke.

Cities that stood against annexation were taken by fire and steel, their streets running red before their gates fell silent, any resistance movements were targetted harshly and each time a Visigoth soldier was slain in a captured city, ten were put to the rope in retaliation even if the killer remained unknown.

But the price for following the emperors orders were harsh.

Tens of thousands lay dead on the battlefields, and yet thousands more lay dead on both sides as the city street became the new battlefieds.

Her men buried in shallow graves that would be forgotten when the Visigoth flag was raised over the ruins, unable to send such large numbers home for state burial.

Now, their victory was ashes in her mouth.

For even in triumph, the world moved on.

Two weeks past, the Emperor's messenger had reached her with a sealed dispatch marked with the black sun sigil.

The Honor Kingdom was pacified, and the Samatian Imperium barely existed as it existed today, its borders secure under new governors.

But a new danger brewed to the North-east, and her sword was needed there urgently.

The Aeygyptus Divine Kingdom.

Its priests claimed their pharaoh was a god reborn in mortal flesh, destined to rule not only their desert oasis's but all lands touched by the sun.

Normally the Aeygyptians were internal, focusing more on disputes within their own borders, but under the growing threat from the Visigoth Empire, a coalition was being formed to resist and stand against them.

It was unconfirmed how many of the eastern bloc had joined the cause after they saw the truth from Sarmatia being targetted, but it was assured that Baetica had already joined.

A few years ago, Medellin would have relished the challenge.

A coalition was simply a list of future conquests.

Now… she wasn't so sure.

The thought had started as a splinter, worked deeper with every report that filtered into her ears from the west.

The Romanus Grand Duke, no... King... no he'd become greater than that he was an Emperor now — Julius — had expanded faster than even the Visigoths, which was more surprising considering he started his nation from next to nothing unlike them.

He had taken lands richer and older than the Honor Kingdom without a single civilian massacre.

His enemies bent the knee not from fear of annihilation, but because they saw no profit in resistance.

The comparison gnawed at her.

The Sarmatia Imperium had been proud once.

Her war had broken them, but only after her forces repeatedly beat them down again and again.

But where Julius's new subjects celebrated his parades, hers still spat in the dust as her troops passed cursing them and their descendents.

She had secured their borders, yes — but had she secured their loyalty?

She did not have the answer.

Only orders.

And orders were to march north, which caused her to bow her head, and say a prayer for the garrison troops to remain behind maintaining order in her place.

~

The first week's ride was endless mud and grey sky.

The second brought them into the high plains, where the wind carried the first tang of the desert.

In the evenings, her scouts brought word of caravans slipping eastward — merchants and priests of Aeygyptus speaking to the free lords of the borderlands.

The coalition was more than rumour now; it was taking shape as they marched.

On the ninth day, her vanguard seized a caravan near the crossing at Khar's Ford of the Exalted Republic near the Aeygyptus borders.

The prisoners, soft-handed scribes and temple couriers, were brought before her campfire.

They claimed innocence, as they always did.

She listened.

And when they were done, she gave them food, water… and released them.

Her captains were furious.

"We let them walk and they will walk straight back to their masters,"

snarled Captain Droven, a scar running down his jaw.

"If this is to be war, we gain nothing by mercy."

"We gain time,"

Medellin answered evenly, staring into the flames.

"They'll carry my name as a commander who spares when she need not. In the days to come, that will matter."

The captain looked as though he would argue, but one look at her eyes killed the thought.

He bowed stiffly and left her with the fire.

When she was alone, she allowed herself a thin smile.

It was not Romanus mercy.

But perhaps it was a step toward something less hollow than conquest.

Three nights later, under a canopy of cold stars, Medellin summoned her most trusted adjutant — Alric, a grizzled veteran who had followed her since her first command.

"You've heard the whispers,"

She said without preamble.

"That i have milady."

"And?"

"You are still feared for your power, but the men are starting to question if you have the stomach to continue leading them in war."

"Droven."

"Yes, he's been spreading word of your 'mercy' since it happened, greatly exagerated of course."

"Let him fight like a women if he wants, he'll never be able to best me fighting like a man afterall, there are few men who can."

This statement caught Alrics ear, previously whenever she'd refer to her strength she'd indicate that only the Emperor was capable of defeating her, but now...

Now she was indicating another had risen to challenge her, possibly even the emperor himself.