Otto Gladstone was in a terrible mood.
He sat in the restaurant on the top floor of his tower, before him a plate of tender lamb chops air-freighted from Victoria and a bottle of Gaulish red wine worth a thousand gold coins.
Yet, not even the most exquisite delicacies could smooth the deep furrows of his brow.
The disastrous defeat in Kazdel had utterly shattered his glory.
Not only had he lost his most elite troops, but he had also become the laughingstock of Leithanien's entire noble circle.
He could just imagine how those who usually bowed and scraped before him were now mocking his foolishness behind his back.
"A bunch of damned mud-legs, common rabble!" Otto viciously stabbed at the lamb chops on his plate with his dinner knife, as if it weren't food, but the face of that damned Victorian duke.
A middle-aged man who looked like a butler approached cautiously, bowing, and reported in a soft voice, "My lord, a message has arrived from the western district mines of Eisenwald. The miners there... have gone on strike."
"On strike?" Otto snorted coldly without looking up.
"Then hang the ringleaders at the mine entrance. As for the rest, anyone who dares not return to work will have their rations docked for a month."
This was his usual way of handling things: simple, brutal, and effective.
"Yes, my lord." The butler bowed and retreated.
Half an hour later, however, the butler returned, his face paler than before, with beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.
"My lord, it's not just the western mines. The three smelters to the north, the textile workshops to the south, and the porters in the city... they've all gone on strike."
"They... they've even taken to the streets, shouting some slogan like, 'We want fairness!'"
*Bang!*
Otto slammed the silver goblet in his hand down on the table, spilling scarlet wine everywhere.
"They're rebelling! They're rebelling!"
"Are these commoners trying to start a revolt? Send the guards! Break their legs! Let's see them take to the streets then!"
"But my lord..." the butler's voice was on the verge of tears. "The guards have already been dispatched, but... but there are too many rioters. We can't possibly arrest them all."
"Moreover, similar reports are coming in from other cities—Silver City, Sunset Town, Red River Valley..."
"The entire Wasser Fief, it seems... it's all in chaos."
Otto finally realized the gravity of the situation.
He shot to his feet and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
From here, he could overlook all of Eisenwald.
In the past, the city had run in an orderly fashion under his will, endlessly generating wealth for him.
But now, it seemed something had jammed the gears of this machine.
On the distant streets, he could faintly see a dark mass of people writhing.
"'My Struggle'…" Otto squeezed the words out through clenched teeth.
He recalled the pamphlet that his intelligence department had brought him, the one circulating like wildfire among the common folk.
At the time, he had only glanced at it, dismissing it as the ravings of some attention-seeking clown.
Now, it seemed, he had gravely underestimated the inflammatory power of those ravings.
"That bastard named Lacey..." Otto cursed viciously.
Of course, he knew everything that had happened in Wischeim, but he had never taken the so-called Workers' Party seriously.
A slapdash organization founded by a mud-leg—what could it possibly amount to?
Reality, however, had just dealt him a resounding slap in the face.
...
Over the next two days, the situation deteriorated rapidly.
The strikes escalated into territory-wide riots.
Railway tracks were torn up, mines were flooded, and factory machinery was smashed.
Within a mere three days, all economic activity in the Wasser Fief had ground to a complete halt.
Otto's sources of tax revenue were cut off, and his plans to rebuild his army went up in smoke.
What infuriated him even more was that the commoners were growing bolder.
They were no longer just shouting slogans; they had begun storming town halls and granaries, engaging in what could only be described as looting!
In some places, the guards were so outnumbered that they were disarmed by the angry mob, stripped naked, and hung from the statues in the public square!
"Useless! A pack of useless fools!" Otto roared in his tower, tearing one urgent dispatch after another to shreds.
Several famous paintings hanging on the walls were hacked to pieces with his sword.
A few of his aides and generals stood by, trembling, not daring to breathe.
"My lord, we must take action!" a general with a handlebar mustache finally ventured, bracing himself.
"If this continues, we'll collapse on our own before any enemy even attacks."
"Please, give the order. Let us dispatch all our forces and suppress this rebellion!"
"All our forces?" Otto panted, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the man.
"My most elite corps of casters is gone! Less than half of the Golden Law Guard remains! What do you expect me to use for suppression?"
"There are dozens of towns in the Wasser Fief! A million of those commoners!"
"But... but..."
"My lord, perhaps... we could try to appease them first?" suggested an aide who looked like a civil official.
"Temporarily abolish the birth tax and death tax, lower the rates a little... and once the situation stabilizes, we can..."
"Shut up!" Otto kicked over a nearby chair.
"I, Otto Gladstone, an Elector of Leithanien, need to bow my head to a pack of mud-legs? If word of this got out, where would I put my face!"
He paced back and forth in the room.
Shame, fury, and a sliver of fear he refused to admit even to himself swirled within him.
He could not show weakness. The moment he did, the jackals circling him—including the other Electors—would pounce and tear him to pieces.
He had to use thunderous methods to re-establish his authority!
"Relay my orders!" Otto stopped pacing, a crazed light glinting in his eyes.
"Assemble all remaining forces of the Tower Guard, divide them into five units, and dispatch them to the five cities with the worst riots! Make an example of them!"
"My lord, you mustn't!" the general with the handlebar mustache exclaimed, his face pale with shock.
"If you do that, the tower's defenses will be completely empty! What if..."
"What if what?" Otto cut him off sharply.
"Who is the enemy? That mob of commoners with their pitchforks and scythes? They can't even break the tower's energy shield!"
"Or do you think that Lacey from Wischeim would dare bring his little Workers' Party to attack my tower?"
He let out a bout of arrogant laughter. "He wouldn't dare if you gave him ten times the nerve! If he dares to come, I'll make sure he never leaves. I guarantee I'll turn him and his bones to ash!"
"I won't just suppress them, I will slaughter them!" Otto's voice turned sinister.
"Tell them that in any city that took part in the rebellion, they are to kill everyone!"
"From the men to the women, from the old to the children—kill until the rivers run with their blood!"
"Kill until they tremble at the mere sound of my name!"
"I will let all of Leithanien know the price for offending an Elector!"
The aides and generals present were all aghast, their faces drained of color.
They knew their Lord Elector had gone completely mad.
But no one dared to dissuade him further. Otto's will was the will of the Wasser Fief.
...
The orders were swiftly relayed.
Within half a day, the defensive forces inside the tower had been emptied.
The last contingent of heavily armed and armored guards departed for the distant cities, carrying with them an aura of grim slaughter.
They were about to unleash the Lord Elector's fury upon their unarmed countrymen.
Inside the tower, Otto stood at the window, watching the departing army, a savage grin spreading across his face.
It was as if he could already see the fields of corpses and the populace kneeling to beg for mercy.
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