Three months have passed since the Empress's edict arrived in Wischeim.
The chill of early spring had been completely driven away by the ever-growing enthusiasm for construction.
Wischeim, a city once thrown into turmoil by the change of its lord, was now visibly revitalizing at a rapid pace.
The Workers' Party's original temporary headquarters, a dilapidated warehouse, had been replaced by a three-story red brick building. A red party flag, emblazoned with the insignia of a crossed sickle and axe, hung above the entrance.
At this moment, on the training ground, Taylor's voice was as booming as ever.
"Get moving, all of you! With no strength in your legs, how are you going to defend our hospitals and schools? How are you going to protect your wives and kids?"
Several thousand members of the Workers' Picket Team, dressed in uniform green outfits, were running laps around the training field, drenched in sweat.
They were no longer the disorganized mob driven solely by passion.
After three months of systematic training, their formations were neat, the bewilderment in their eyes replaced by a soldier-like resolve.
Though their equipment was still simple, their morale alone was enough to make any regular city guard think twice before underestimating them.
"Report, Captain Taylor!" a young picket team member ran over, panting.
"The third shipment of iron ore from Fink County has arrived. Countess Gertrude's steward is asking when we'll settle the bill."
Taylor raised an eyebrow and grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth.
"Tell him to go find Sister Serafina. I only handle training, not accounts."
"And tell him not to rush us. We, the Workers' Party, never delay paying our comrades' wages, and we never give an inch to those bloodsuckers who try to take advantage of us."
Amidst the laughter and banter, he looked at the force he had built with his own two hands, his heart filled with pride.
He used to be just a blacksmith whose greatest dream was to forge some tools each day to exchange for a few more copper coins.
But now, he had thousands of good men under his command, all fighting for the same goal.
This feeling was more intoxicating than crafting any tool.
…
Meanwhile, in the third-floor office of the headquarters, Lacey stood quietly before a map of Leithanien hanging on the wall.
On the map, Salem, Wischeim, Fink County, and Greyiron Town were circled in red ink.
The number of Workers' Party members had long surpassed ten thousand, a force sufficient to give any local noble sleepless nights.
But Lacey's gaze went beyond these four bases, toward more distant lands.
His finger gently tapped on a vast area named the "Rupert Grand Region."
Salem was a city on the edge of this very region.
To become an Elector.
This goal, which had sounded like the ravings of a madman to Count Leinia, had already evolved in Lacey's mind into several clear, viable paths.
The first path: accumulate power and gradually encroach.
Use the Workers' Party's current influence to attach to the Elector of the Rupert Grand Region like a leech.
Gradually hollow out the foundations of his rule through economic infiltration, ideological propaganda, and turning low-level officials.
At the same time, he would show goodwill to the Twin Empresses in Trullinczentyr, playing the role of the "obedient hound," and eventually replace the Elector with their support.
This path was the safest, with the least risk.
But Lacey quickly dismissed it.
It was too slow, slow enough for any number of variables to arise.
Pinning his hopes on the Empresses' support and the enemy's foolishness was tantamount to putting his own neck under someone else's blade.
The chessboard of Leithanien was ever-changing; he didn't have that much time to wait for an uncertain outcome.
The second path: war.
At an opportune moment, mobilize all the forces of the Workers' Party and launch an armed coup against the Rupert Elector's Tower.
Fast, precise, and ruthless—a single fatal blow.
The thought flashed through his mind for only an instant before he extinguished it.
It was too reckless.
The Elector's private army numbered at least tens of thousands.
Not to mention the Tower casters and Golden Law Guards entrenched within the Tower, who could easily incinerate an entire army.
The few thousand men of the Workers' Picket Team were nothing but cannon fodder in the face of such a disparity in strength.
Even his own power, enhanced by 'United We Stand', was already formidable, ranking him in the lower-to-middle range of the highest tier of combatants.
But to think of breaking through the defenses of an army of tens of thousands and a Tower by himself was a fool's dream.
Lacey's fingertip slid slowly across the map, finally stopping on Leithanien's border.
He decided to take the third path.
Since internal forces were currently insufficient to move the board, he would introduce an external variable.
Yan?
Too distant, and their emperor had little interest in Terra's disputes.
Kazimierz?
Those knights, controlled by a commercial federation, had eyes only for business interests and the arena. Getting them to send troops to interfere in Leithanien's internal affairs would be prohibitively expensive and impractical.
Ursus? Iberia? Columbia?
After weighing his options, his gaze finally locked onto two names: Kazdel and Victoria.
As a Sarkaz who was, in reality, over three hundred years old, Lacey knew his own race very well. The Sarkaz were universally acknowledged across Terra as a warrior people.
Their enmity with Leithanien was long-standing, especially with the Elector of the northern Wasser Fief Grand Region—a blood feud that had lasted for generations.
Decades ago, that Elector had allied with a Victorian duke to launch a failed invasion of Kazdel.
Moreover, recent news suggested that the Wasser Fief was mobilizing for war again.
This could be an opportunity.
The enemy of my enemy is a friend I can unite with.
If he could persuade Theresis and Theresia to send troops from the north to tie down the Wasser Fief, while he himself made a move in the south…
The idea was tempting, but the risk was equally enormous.
Collaborating with demons would put him and the Workers' Party in an extremely passive political position; they could easily be branded as traitors who "colluded with foreign enemies and betrayed the nation."
Then what about Victoria?
Through Gertrude and her merchant caravans, the Workers' Party had indeed established contact with a few Victorian merchant guilds.
But to use these connections to reach a duke who could mobilize an army was nearly impossible.
Furthermore, the moment a Victorian army set foot in Leithanien, it would no longer be an internal affair but an international war.
That would completely disrupt all his plans.
Just as his mind was racing, a soft knock came at the office door. Serafina walked in carrying a steaming cup of coffee.
She placed the coffee on the desk, glanced at the pensive Lacey before the map, and said softly, "The preliminary organization of the party members' files is complete. Everyone's skills, personality, and family background have been recorded."
"Also, a message came from Gertrude. She has successfully persuaded two neighboring barons to tacitly allow our caravans to pass through and to purchase our goods."
"Well done." Lacey turned around and took a sip of the coffee.
"But this is not enough. Our foundation is still too shallow."
Serafina looked at Lacey's furrowed brow. She knew that this man carried the future of over ten thousand people on his shoulders.
She didn't offer empty platitudes like "get some rest." Instead, she stated calmly, "Our manpower and resources have reached their limit. Any further expansion will be exceptionally difficult."
"I understand." Lacey nodded, his gaze returning to the map. "That's why we can no longer use conventional methods."
"We need a lever, a fulcrum sufficient to move all of Leithanien."
From outside, the melodious sound of a cello suddenly drifted in, interspersed with a few shrieks like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
Lacey and Serafina exchanged a look of resigned helplessness.
"Arturia is seeking inspiration again," Serafina said, rubbing her temples.
Lacey put down his coffee cup and walked to the window.
In an open space next to the training ground, Arturia was playing her ever-present cello with her eyes closed, a look of rapture on her face.
Before her, an unlucky orange cat, terrified by her music, had arched its back, its fur standing on end, letting out a shrill protest.
A smile touched the corner of Lacey's mouth.
This eccentric artist did, at times, bring a bit of relief to the tense and oppressive atmosphere.
He looked down at the vibrant scene below, at the people striving for a common goal, and the fog in his mind was dispelled slightly by the sound of the cello.
There had to be a way.
The time just wasn't right yet.
What he needed to do was to be fully prepared before that time came.
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