With the Treaty of Valum signed and the old Imperial order utterly dismantled, Maximilian, the Pro-Consul of Scorpia, swiftly moved to solidify his control. His first, and most monumental, act was a physical assertion of his new nation's sovereignty: the immediate commencement of the Grand Wall of Scorpia. This construction was no mere border defense; it was a total, absolute encapsulation of the state. The Wall was a towering, unprecedented undertaking that would entirely surround Scorpia, sealing the new nation off from the fractured, chaotic remnants of the Everwinter Empire and the rest of the outside world, creating a perfectly defined, technologically protected zone. Every action taken was a cold, calculated move to ensure the State of Scorpia would endure and prosper, separated entirely from the weakness and chaos of the magical past.
The Wall itself was a civil engineering project of staggering proportions, dwarfing any fortress or defensive structure ever conceived in the Empire's history. It was planned to be a defiant four hundred meters tall and an astonishing seventy meters thick at its base, built using vast quantities of new, high-quality concrete produced relentlessly in the massively expanded Scofield factories. Its construction was a blinding, non-verbal symbol of Max's absolute power and his total, non-negotiable commitment to the defense of Scorpia. This Wall was a physical testament to the supremacy of Max's industrial age over the failed sorcery of the past. To the terrified, yet hopeful, populace of Scorpia, it was an immediate promise of total, material protection and absolute separation from the magical chaos and feudal barbarity that had defined their lives under the former Empire. It represented the ultimate assurance of safety under the new regime.
The defensive capabilities of the Wall were entirely automated and technological, eliminating the need for vast, vulnerable concentrations of manpower. It was integrated with vast, subterranean bunkers and meticulously placed firing platforms, ensuring no section of the colossal encircling boundary could be approached without being instantly caught in interlocking fields of devastating modern fire. The Wall would be armed with hundreds of machine guns of various calibers, including the heavy .50 Caliber converted into long-range static emplacements; numerous auto cannons firing rapid explosive shells; and mobile batteries of different calibers of howitzers to provide overwhelming, coordinated artillery support against any external assault, regardless of direction. This level of defense meant the Wall did not require thousands of vulnerable archers or foot soldiers; it required small, highly trained technical crews, embodying Max's signature blend of efficiency and lethality.
Simultaneously, Max began laying the administrative and physical groundwork for a functional modern state. A nation's strength, he knew, lay ultimately in its internal connections, particularly when entirely encased in concrete. Max immediately dissolved the vast, disorganized western territory's historical divisions, creating thirty-six manageable provinces—a swift, uncompromising erasure of centuries-old, illogical feudal boundaries. Each province was overseen by a military governor appointed directly by Max and reporting solely to his central command in Valum, ensuring his word remained absolute law across every square meter of the new state. This extreme centralization eliminated all regional power bases and established a seamless, unbreakable chain of command.
Crucial to this centralization was the massive new road-building project. Paved with the asphalt refined in the now-booming Scofield facilities, these roads began radiating out from the industrial core, connecting every provincial capital, resource hub, and defensive point. This new network was vital for the rapid, unparalleled deployment of Max's mobile army—his APCs and Supply Haulers—ensuring troops and equipment could reach any point in the nation in hours, not weeks. Just as vital, the road network ensured the efficient, continuous transport of raw materials and finished goods, immediately creating economic and military cohesion where the Empire had only known choked, broken dirt tracks. The roads were, in Max's view, the arteries of the State of Scorpia, pumping life, commerce, and security into every corner of his domain. The combination of the fortified, encircling boundary and the integrated, modern road system meant Max had, within weeks, achieved a level of control and security the Everwinter Empire had never conceived of in its thousand-year reign.
Max's final and most ruthless act of consolidation was the political cleansing known to all as the Bloody Purge. To root out all vestiges of the old feudal and criminal elements that threatened to pollute his new state, he initiated a campaign of surgical, terrifying finality. Ten thousand elite soldiers—Max's most loyal and heavily armed troops, the disciplined veterans of the Imperial massacres—were dispatched across the thirty-six new provinces. Their targets were internal threats: anyone who held a feudal title, refused immediate and unconditional allegiance, or was known to have used their previous power to exploit the population. The list included former Imperial officials, all nobles (both great and small landholders), and, crucially, the most destructive criminal elements. Known rapists and murderers who had thrived in the lawlessness following the collapse of Imperial authority were systematically hunted down and eliminated. Max sought to establish immediate, total law and order through brutal finality; the message was that under the Pro-Consul, the rule of law was absolute and swift, offering immediate, final justice to the long-suffering common people.
This campaign of political and criminal elimination lasted for three brutal, relentless months. Max tolerated no interference and no corruption in its execution, demonstrating that the new regime held its own agents to the highest standards of efficiency and obedience. The old power structure was decapitated, and the criminal underworld was gutted. The result was a swift, efficient, and horrifying success: all viable internal opposition was eliminated, and Max's absolute authority was established beyond challenge.
The collective trauma of the preceding Imperial war, followed by this chilling campaign, forged a unique social contract in Scorpia. The common citizens and the soldiers, witnessing the unprecedented security provided by the encircling Wall, the commitment to vast public works (the Wall and the roads), and the ruthless, efficient elimination of the corrupt and criminal elements that had long plagued them, developed an almost cult-like reverence for Maximilian. He had ended the chaos of the Empire, provided them with tangible safety, and offered a future built on work and efficiency. He was seen not just as a leader, but as a punishing, protective god of industry and order. The cost in blood was immense, but the resulting stability and peace were absolute and immediate. The state of Scorpia was no longer just a conquered territory; it was a functioning, cohesive entity, perfectly encased, prepared for the next phase of its rapid, inevitable evolution.