![]() ![]() “At dawn,” Gerard said to the man who stood silently beside the desk, awaiting the emperor’s orders, “we move.” ![]() ![]() He looked down at the spread of maps across his campaign desk. One at his side, one at his control, one unaware of the limitations of its position. And hadn’t he placed the pieces so very carefully across the board? A knight. Chess spread across oceans and continents. ![]() He now ruled a large piece of the Continent, and intended to have the rest of it soon enough. And whoever held the most magic held the most power. Whoever held the most land held the most magic. Gerard didn’t care how it came into being, or what name was given to it. Some gave it an origin, said it was the fingerprint of the gods, the remnants of their physical touch upon the world. Some gave the lines a name: ley, aetheric, telluric. Magic buried inside stone and water and grassy plain, currents of power that feathered through the world like veins of gold through marble that could be felt by those who were Aligned to it. War was the tool that brought him control, power, people, territory. To be victorious, and to pull that victory from the bloody grasp of defeat. To place his mark upon a battlefield, upon those who served him. He didn’t love war, but he loved to command. Knew the beat of soldiers’ footsteps, the whinny of battle-tested horses, the look in the eye of a man who understood victory-or defeat-was already guaranteed. Gerard Rousseau, emperor of Gallia, knew its rhythm well. ![]()
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