[Over the past five years, in places unseen by your eyes, drastic changes have been unfolding across the lands of Kazdel.]
[The Sarkaz Royal Court Legions, supported by silent funding from Leithanien, have undergone a transformative rebirth. Rusted blades have been replaced by standard-issue weapons phased out from Leithanien arsenals, while tattered leather armor has been exchanged for uniform military protective gear.]
[Officers from Leithanien, serving as advisors, have imparted modern military discipline and tactical doctrines to them. They lie dormant on the borders of Kazdel, awaiting your single command to unleash the fires of vengeance upon all of Terra.]
[Victoria is not entirely unaware. The disastrous defeat of Kazimierz in the Red Pine Forest campaign five years ago had already awakened the Grand Dukes to the critical importance of air superiority. They have since poured massive sums of capital into attempts to replicate your aerial advantage.]
[However, the technological chasm is not something that can be easily bridged by money alone. With half-hearted technical assistance from Columbia, they barely managed to produce imitations of outdated aircraft and small drones. Combined with a bomber production line sold to them by Columbia and relying on Victoria's vast industrial foundation, they have struggled to maintain an air force of low efficiency—one that is merely better than nothing. Whether this air force possesses actual combat capability remains debatable.]
[Meanwhile, Columbia has completely altered its strategy. The lights in the Presidential Palace burn all night; facing your ever-expanding military power, they have abandoned their stance of watching the fire from the opposite bank.]
[On one hand, vast quantities of military aid and technical advisors have been dispatched to Victoria and Ursus, attempting to arm your potential rivals. On the other hand, the international media controlled by Columbia has begun a frenzied operation. Newspapers are filled with accusations of Leithanien's military expansion and neo-hegemonism, trying to paint you as the public enemy of all Terra, though with little effect.]
[With Columbia's blood transfusion, the military forces of Ursus in North Kazimierz have gained a respite and recovered. The young Emperor Fyodor did not waste this opportunity; while strengthening his iron-fisted control over the newly occupied territories, he has used Columbia's technology to secretly train new model troops of his own.]
[In the distant East, the Yan Empire maintains a high degree of vigilance regarding Leithanien's rise. Their spies have infiltrated the Empire, attempting to fathom the depths of this western behemoth. But the ancient Great Yan continues to uphold the Doctrine of the Mean; until the situation becomes completely clear, they are unwilling to easily step into the quagmire of the West.]
[It was at this moment of surging undercurrents that a diplomatic invitation from Trullinczentyr, issued in your personal name, was delivered to the desk of the Ursus Emperor, Fyodor.]
[Fyodor is well aware of your ambitions. After weighing the matter for several days and nights, he made a decision that surprised everyone—to personally travel to Trullinczentyr for a face-to-face diplomatic summit with you.]
[When Fyodor's royal train pulled into the Trullinczentyr station, you welcomed him with the highest ceremonial honors. From the station to the palace, the roads were lined with citizens who had gathered spontaneously. They held no weapons, only flowers and musical instruments, their faces beaming with confidence and pride.]
[Fyodor watched all this through the carriage window. He saw a world starkly different from the lifeless stagnation of Ursus, and it filled his heart with a complex mix of emotions.]
[At the welcome banquet, you utilized "The Art of Language" to push flattery to its absolute peak. You praised Fyodor for his youth and capability, extolled the resilience of the Ursus people, and subtly attributed Ursus's past failures to the "decay of the old era," hinting that you and he were both "pioneers of a new era."]
[In your words, Fyodor felt a respect he had never experienced before, and his tightly wound nerves unconsciously relaxed a great deal.]
[During the private meeting after the banquet, the atmosphere finally turned subtle. You did not make any direct demands. Instead, you steered the conversation toward Victoria. Like a storyteller, you vividly described the infighting and corruption of the Victorian Dukes, painting them as a swarm of parasites obsessed with power struggles and long since abandoned by the times.]
[You "inadvertently" mentioned that the Wellington Duke had once mocked the Ursus army at a private reception as "barbarian bears who only know how to pile up lives for victory." You sighed with "regret" that the Duke of Gododdin had rejected an ore order from Ursus on the grounds that he "didn't want Ursus gold to dirty his pockets."]
[These half-true stories pierced straight into Fyodor's young and haughty heart. He recalled the painful price Ursus had paid in past wars. You keenly caught the fire of anger in his eyes, and so you cast the final bait.]
[You implied that when the sick lion of Victoria collapses from internal strife, the giant bear of the North, Ursus, is fully capable of seizing benefits from its carcass—specifically, those resource-rich and strategically vital northern territories.]
[Fyodor's breathing quickened. Annexing Victoria's northern territories—this was a dream that generations of Ursus Emperors had failed to realize. The temptation was too great, enough to make him forget all vigilance and suspicion, or perhaps your words had simply taken effect. Fyodor knew clearly that this was a high-stakes gamble, but the scales in his heart had already begun to tilt irreversibly.]
Trullinczentyr, Guest Hotel.
Fyodor waved his hand to dismiss all his attendants, standing alone before the window.
Outside, the night view of Trullinczentyr was resplendent.
He recalled everything he had seen today. The clean streets, the confident populace, and... the unhurried smile on Emperor Lacey's face.
That was not a facade; it was an absolute confidence in one's own power, stemming from the bottom of the heart.
He thought of the words Lacey had spoken during the meeting; every syllable had hooked into the deepest desires and unwillingness within him.
Victoria's northern territories...
That land which Ursus has coveted for centuries.
"Your Majesty."
A voice, aged but firm, came from the doorway. It was his chief advisor, Count Bogdanov.
This old man was a veteran of three reigns and one of the few who dared to speak bluntly to the Emperor.
"You also think he is a devil, correct?" Fyodor did not turn his head.
"Your Majesty, whether he is a devil or not is unimportant." Bogdanov walked slowly forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor. "What is important is whether the thing in his hand is what we want."
"We want it, but can we afford the price?" Fyodor asked in return. "Seeking to bargain with a tiger for its hide—how can that end well?"
"Your Majesty, are we not currently bargaining with the Columbians?" Bogdanov's tone was calm.
"The Columbians give us technology because they want us to be the shield that blocks Leithanien. The Leithaniens give us promises because they want us to be the spear that pierces Victoria. When did we, Ursus, fall so low as to only serve as a weapon for others?"
These words stung Fyodor.
He turned abruptly, staring at the old count. "Then tell me, what should we do? Reject him? And then watch helplessly as he swallows all of Victoria alone, only to turn around and deal with us?"
Bogdanov was not frightened by the Emperor's anger; he merely bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, shields will be worn down, but the spearhead... at least it can decide where to strike, and... how deep to strike."
He raised his head, a shrewd light flashing in his cloudy eyes. "Emperor Lacey wants us to lead the vanguard. Very well, we can fight. But the direction of the war, and the distribution of the spoils, will not be for him alone to decide."
"The north of Victoria must be ours. As for Londinium, which he desires... that depends on whether his spearhead is hard enough."
Fyodor fell silent.
He understood the old minister's meaning.
This was a gamble, but Ursus had no other choice. Rather than passively becoming a dam to hold back the flood, it was better to proactively become part of the flood itself and wash away the houses of others.
"Prepare the materials for tomorrow's talks." Fyodor turned back to the window, his voice regaining its calm. "I want to know, exactly how much meat we can tear from that sick lion."
In the night, the young Emperor's shadow was stretched long by the lamplight.
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