Chapter 27: Garfield Redfield (Patreon)

It was satisfying to see Harbor City’s construction. There were a thousand people working in the sweltering summer heat, and half of them were Servenes. They talked with my soldiers as mages blew mist over them and shaded them from the sun. Most of the area wasn’t destroyed, as only falling luges damaged the buildings, so shopkeepers returned to peddle wares to the soldiers and resumed trading. No one believed that I’d be able to siege Servene’s walls so fast, and there were a few suicidal merchant boats that showed up, finding themselves without competition. High risk, high reward. We met them with fantastic trades that would make them wealthy as they spread the word that Harbor City was now open.

As Thea and I spent time on the beach, conducting empire business on the grounds of the reconstruction, Duke Recam Morant, the Duke of Solariel, one of our territories to the east met us.

“Greetings, Duke Morant,” I said, standing with Thea.

“Emperor Everwood,” Recam said, bowing. His body was stiff with fear and regret, understanding that his position was precarious. There was a new ruler; thus, there would be new dukes unless he could convince me otherwise. More importantly, the look in his eyes says that he should’ve sent an army to fight me or should’ve given up his position before betraying King Bouchard. His knee was shaking, unwilling to bend.

“I’ll get to the point,” I said. “You’re being given a three-month role as advisor to the new leader of Soriel.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, anger, and confusion.

“If,” I continued, increasing magical pressure to temper his emotions, “you prove yourself competent and cooperative, you will retain your personal land, home, and lifestyle. You will continue a long life of luxury, serving the Everwood Empire with power, respect, and prosperity you’ve never known. If you so much as question an offer of this magnitude, I’ll rip that land from you right now and reappoint you.”

The thick hair on his meaty arms rose, and he took labored breaths. Recam was by no means fat, but he was overweight and out of practice, which, for a leader whose soul mana was constantly flushing out impurities and trying to retain a healthy figure, meant that he was used to a significant diet and low exercise. Giving up that style of life would be a major blow.

“Can I…” Recam took a labored breath, “ask what being an ‘advisor’ means?”

“It means that you’ll continue doing what you’re doing but will answer to my appointed [Governor]. They’re only an official. The Everwood Empire doesn’t have an aristocracy. All governing positions are appointed and temporary. However….” I looked him in the eye. “Advisor roles are as permanent as a competent person makes them. And, I assure you, Duke Morant, you’ll want to be an advisor for the Everwood Empire for a very, very long time.”

Recam trembled. Agreeing to my request would be to betray his country and king, and that was no easy feat. I’m sure that I’d feel the same way jumping ship to another country or people during wartime. It was a difficult decision. Still, he only had two options and couldn’t refuse. Maybe if I was as notorious as Adolph Hitler, he might be inclined to refuse on moral grounds. However, Servene was running without theft or civilian casualties, and things were stable. I had a long track record of prosperity, progress, and fairness. Most importantly, every baron, viscount, duke, and margrave in the region had been summoned; no one would call him a traitor if they all jumped ship.

Yet pride and shame and alliance weren’t the hardest part for rulers to swallow, and after a long silence, he said what I was expecting.

“I don’t know if I can betray my king,” Recam said.

I huffed. “No, you don’t think you can give up your [power]. Your privilege. Your prestige. Everyone in this goddamn world thinks that power is some hereditary concept when commoners ruled over hundreds of millions on mine. They wielded might you can’t comprehend.” I stood up and walked over to him. “Even someone as weak as you are could rule the entire world.”

His eyes trembled as he looked at me. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that when Servene becomes the most powerful territory in Antigua, you’ll have more power than you do now. So will Viscount Gram and any other leader who accepts my offer. Now, shed your past beliefs; by the end of this century, power won’t mean the same thing, and aristocracies won’t exist. Not because I removed them, but because everyone who retains them will go extinct.”

Something I said must’ve struck a chord because it only took him five minutes of pandering before he bent a knee and swore his fielty. The whole thing made me roll my eyes, and I gave him an elaborate fealty in his honor, cringing the whole time. In truth, all of these people were the same. All of them wanted to jump ship to save their hides, but they needed an excuse. So I was giving them the carrot [or] the stick, only the stick was a club, and I was prepared to exercise it like Peter the Great if necessary.

One conversion down.

I went to bed annoyed that night. Rationally, I understood that it would be inconceivable for Americans to simply surrender the United States to another country, even if the other party was an alien race with indomitable power and the key to prosperity. But the other rational side of my brain screamed, [You have no choice! Concede to your morals and step down with honor, or just accept your new role without wasting my time!]

It felt like the stronger I got, the less patience I had. I used to hate the aristocracy and all its inefficiencies when I was a child, but I accepted it. Now that I had an empire that was blooming with capitalism, technology, and power, showcasing the incredible might of modern institutions and practices, anyone who looked at it and thought that they were still superior made knots develop and pop in the back of my brain. I needed to calm down.

Thankfully, Thea was always there for me in the nights. And no matter how moody I’d get, she’d lay on the bed, snaking her tail as she looked at me lovingly. That always made my heart sing.

Thea had changed over the years. While she used to have a servant fantasy, wanting to feed me, do my laundry, and attend to my every desire, she now had a life. At first, she slowly shifted to being “useful” to me in other ways, picking up the training program, teaching classes on beast taming, and doing errands and missions as my proxy. But in the last few years, she had found more enjoyment in these things. Since we arrived, she had been working with the Luges and other beasts, communicating with them and bonding them to me and the Everwood Empire. She often provided over events and spoke for me in official meetings with advisors. At first, they saw her as a queen, but she quickly developed a reputation as the “boss” in the meetings, and people listened to her. She was becoming a self-sufficient ruler, and we didn’t spend half the day together.

Despite that, Thea never lost the charm that made me devote my life to her. In the morning, she sought out bakeries to find me strange delights (I loved trying new things), and she’d tip everyone in gold before getting back to the room with them and waiting until I woke up. Every once in a while, she’d have me take her shopping, and she’d spin around in new dresses that I bought, asking my opinion about absolutely everything and blushing whenever I complimented her. And at night, she never lost that loving look that said that I was the only thing that mattered to her, and it always made my heart sing. 

Then we’d sleep at night, with her curled in my arms, and all would be good until the political bullshit of running an empire would return the next day. Some days, I wondered if being a king was truly what I wanted. Still, at the very least, in a twisted sort of way, being an emperor was a job, and I had good people to get me through it. That was necessary because not everyone saw the writing on the wall.

King Himmel of Himuelskune of the north was the first to deny my legitimacy as ruler. That was natural, as I wouldn’t be ruling Himmelskune—Marvis would be—and I didn’t blame them for wanting to refuse. After all, while I was fair and leading them into the future, I had no influence over what happened there. Marvis could plunder and massacre the citizens, and I couldn’t do anything about it lest I cause problems with my alliances.

I sent Marvis a letter stating that I was taking over through political and economic conquest, not force and that I would provide resources and incentives to his new territories if he did the same. 

His reply: [I’m not a toddler sucking at a tit. Take care of your territories and keep control over that woman. I’ll take care of mine.]

I didn’t find it amusing, but it was expected. Instead of fighting back, I wrote him stating that Himmelskune had denounced my authority, and I was conquering it—as part of the alliance—and would hand it over to him in two month’s time. By conquering it, I would make a demonstration, prevent Marvis from debasing my reputation for fair conquest, and have time to make my will known in Himmelskune before Marvis arrived. He’d be pissed. I didn’t care.

Before winter I would conquer it dramatically and spend time in the winter stablizing it before Marvis arrived and destroyed my reputation. That was the first thing on my list once I learned what Garfield would do.

2

Desiderata was a country where the land, sky, and air conspired to kill humans for treading on its domain. There were long stretches of desert without water in any direction, and the plants that lived there were carnivorous, furry, and spiny, as they had to collect water and nutrients from things other than the ground. Even water magic was highly regulated, as there was only so much water in the atmosphere to gather, and collecting water from one place unnaturally prevented it from releasing elsewhere. If it weren’t for the Greth River that brought water from the Drystane Mountains to the north, humans couldn’t survive there.

However, the Greth did exist, and with the aid of magical water distribution systems, the city of Drak'thul was an oasis built with large pyramids painted with green foliage and water systems that seemed to flow in the air. Peasants toiled the fields outside, mixing manure and nutrient-packed fertilizer from Kenrai into the ground and shaping it with hoes as merchants wearing shalls came into the city on dune crawlers, heaving metric tons of goods from the northern lands into the city.

Drak’thul citizens prayed to Thul, the God of Beyond, and Drak, the Living God of Desiderata. Combined, they ruled the holy ground of the Grakoth religion, with the Living God—the human one—making all the decisions. In the city’s center was the Kin’ak, the temple of the Living God and ruler of the land. It was three hundred feet high and spread out for a quarter mile if one considered the royal gardens.

In the fifth tier, where the messengers of Thul stayed, a man with red hair and white skin that never tanned stood before a teen. Around them was a dark room with a magical array on the floor and jars of liquid and herbs on the shelves. If there was a counter instead of an iron throne-like chair in the room, it would pass for an apothecary. It didn’t, so it looked like an experimental torture chamber. The room couldn’t be more different than the audience room of the man’s brother—King Redfield of Valeria.

Before Garfield Redfield was Re’gam, a sixteen-year-old wearing a ceremonial shall of purple and gold, the color denoting a lower mortal. The teen’s fists were clenched until his knuckles were white, and his body shook. “Please, Kek’tall, I beg of you. Please give me the power.”

Garfield leaned against the wall. “Do you understand the price of what you seek?” Garfield asked in Tama, the mother tongue of the Desiderati. He brandished a blue bottle from his shawl.

“I do,” Re’gam said, looking at the ground. The price was heavy, but it paled in comparison to his rage. “As long as I can kill that pig, I’ll accept any price.”

“This won’t guarantee you victory, Re’gam.”

Re’gam bit his lip. “I’d be satisfied ripping his legs off; if I can’t do that, I’ll gnaw the bastard’s arms off. As long as that twisted gollan knows there’s consequences for his actions, it’s worth the price.”

Garfield unscrewed the lid and poured the blue liquid into a bowl. It was sickly sweet, like Jasperberries mixed with sharp chemicals. “Then strip your shawl and your humanity. Sit in the Relka, and we’ll begin.”

Re’gam stripped off his shawl, exposing his bare chest, and sat. Garfield unlatched a section on the chair, giving him access to the teen’s back. Then he dipped an iron quill into the blue liquid and started tattooing an array of it into the teen’s skin. Re’gam winced in pain as it created sickly varicose veins everywhere it touched. The tattooing took three hours; when it was done, there were runes and alchemic lines on his skin. 

Garfield lifted his sleeve once he finished, brandishing alchemic arrays up his arm. When he touched his fingertips to the center of the tattoo, his arm glowed, and the teen shared life force with him, making Garfield grin. “With this, you will join the ranks of the Tran’tha and answer to me forever. Now drink, and you will obtain the power you seek.” He unscrewed another jar of dark crimson liquid that smelled of blood and ink and rot.

Re’gam looked at the drink with hesitation. But when he closed his eyes, remembering the events of the last few days, his body trembled with rage, and he drank. The teen’s eyes widened when he sipped the drink; he expected it to taste deathly, but his pupils constricted, and he greedily lapped it down.

“Good. Now let the ritual commence,” Garfield said, seizing the teen’s arm and holding it to the chair’s armrest. A clamp locked down on Re’gam’s wrist, making his eyes widen in horror. “What are you doing?!” he yelled as Garfield locked his other arm into the chair.

“Surely you didn’t believe that gaining power quickly would be pleasant, did you? These are to prevent your power from overflowing. Now, be still; you’ll feel the power soon enough.

Re’gam struggled and snarled for a few minutes before the liquid reached his system. Then, everything changed. His eyes bulged, his jaw clenched, and varicose veins spread up his neck to his face. He snapped, yelling, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” over and over again. Through it all, Garfield watched him, face flushed with enrapturement. Not at the look of the teen’s exposed chest or from sadistic pleasure. It was the lust for power and knowing yet another was joining the Tran’tha, the Army of the Otherkind.

A sudden knock on the door broke him from his ecstasy. His face twitched; his lip curled, but he ignored it and tried to recapture that feeling. But a moment later, the knock returned, louder this time, and Garfield’s face contorted into a scowl. He stomped to the door and threw it open to ensure the person on the other end knew the gravity of their folly before he had to say it.

“What?” he asked, emphasizing the [wh] and trailing the words.

A man in his twenties quaked when he saw the murderous look in his eyes. “I apologize for—“

“Disrupting the Relkana? I doubt that. Otherwise, you never would have entered this chamber, now would you?”

The young man’s face paled, hearing the haunting screaming in the room. They matched the look in the religious leader’s eyes, and he didn’t know what to say.

Annoyed and yearning to return to that intoxicating feeling, Garfield spoke through his teeth. “I’ll ask again, Tram’ke. Wh~at?”

“A-A letter came for you. Y-You asked for all letters to—“

Garfield snatched the letter he brandished and looked at the seal. It was from Roslain Bouchard. The sight took the anger from his eyes and sobered his intoxication. “Well enough, now leave us.”

“Yes, Kek’thall. Right—“

Garfield slammed the door and returned to the sound of the Re’gam screaming, sitting on a desk in the corner of the room and heating the seal with magic. When he peeled off the wax, he gulped. The letter was from the daughter of the deceased king, who had just fought King Everwood—his mortal enemy.

Of all the people that Garfield never wanted to fight, Ryker Redfield topped the list. It was common knowledge in Novena (and since the borders slightly opened, Antigua) that King Everwood had the power to disintegrate inorganic matter he touched; some believed he could disintegrate organic matter as well. More importantly, the reports that Garfield had gotten stated that King Redfield had disintegrated Servene’s Great Wall, which was reinforced in arrays—Garfield’s specialty. They were natural enemies, and he was on the losing side. Now, the king was after him, and he had been bolstering his defenses. So, seeing a letter from the daughter of the deceased king made him feel a wave of anxiety.

Opening up the letter, he read the contents.

-

“Kek’tall Redfield, Minor God of the Night, I, Roslin Bouchard, Queen of Celestia and sole ruler of the surrounding territories, offer you an alliance by blood to fight and destroy our mutual enemy, King Ryker Alexander Everwood, who seeks to kill or extradite you to Valeria. His power is immense; he has sieged, subjected, and stabilized Servene in less than a month. Few can oppose him. However, with your power and allegiance, we, in concert with King Pyroth in Pyrothia, will put an end to him.

I do not just offer you a solution but also all of Celestium’s territory if you accept my hand in marriage and become King of Celestium, protector of the Siphon, and ruler of the Crescent March. 

I eagerly await your reply,

Queen Roslain Bouchard, Ruler of Celestium

-

Garfield was stunned as he read, listening to the primal screams of his newest Tran. Without hesitation, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and penned his reply. Then he watched Re’gam transform with a wide grin for an hour before closing the room, encasing the teen in darkness. It would take a few days for Re’gam to transform, but it would take a year for Garfield to prepare for his destiny.

3

Roslain was in her [fainting room] when she got a surprise letter from Garfield Redfield, and she declined it immediately. Ever since she became the sole ruler of Celestium, she was wearing corsets that constricted her stomach to half its size, widening her hips and accentuating her bust. Beauty was power, and she needed every advantage she could get. Now, she was paying the price for it, nearing a state of delirium, when Timothy, her personal servant, tried handing her the letter.

“I don’t require your services,” Roslain said, waving her hand. “Let me rest.”

Timothy’s cheeks turned rosy. “Your Majesty, I’m here to bring you a letter.”

“Just leave it,” she replied.

“Your Majesty…. It’s from Kek’tall—“

“I said leave! Are you deaf? He can…. Wait, who did you say?”

“Kek’tall Redfield.”

Roslain opened her eyes and looked at the letter, written on brown paper and decorated in white ink. She immediately grabbed it, her heart pounding with anxiety. [Redfield….] She didn’t know whether the letter was a good or bad thing. She was still hopeful of making King Everwood an ally and didn’t want to be put into a bad position. However, King Everwood hadn’t met her hopes, and there was no movement, so it was wise to consider other options.

[At least he could prove a valuable al….] Roslain stopped her musing when she read the letter—and reread it repeatedly. When the gravity of the letter sank in, she flexed her abs, triggering the strength reflex that allowed skin and muscles to be soft to the touch but impenetrable from attack, and multiple of the strings popped off in rapid succession, allowing her to breathe. Then she stood, taking deep breaths to regain her mental state before taking a deep breath and screaming, “Who did this?!”

Timothy stumbled backward. “D-Did what, my—“

“What do you mean, ‘What?!’ This is—agh!” Roslain screamed, ripping parts of her dress off, exposing her corset. Suddenly, she was feeling very hot, and six layers of conservative attire were suffocating her. “Never mind,” she said, realizing that Timothy didn’t understand what was in the letter. “Fetch me new clothing and assemble the cabinet; if they aren’t in the council chambers in two hours, they’ll be stripped of their positions!” She paused, considering the realities of communication and distance. “Three hours. But at four, heads will roll!”

Timothy didn’t delay; he ran out of the room as fast as he could.

Not an hour later, all of her advisors had assembled in the council chambers, each with a nervous expression. Roslain was known for sudden mood swings, so they kept near, given the volatility of the new administration. 

Roslain looked at all their exhausted faces, worn by the countless matters they were attending to as newly appointed cabinet members. Then she spoke softly as she intended, but by the time she reached the third word, her voice had reached a livid crescendo.

“Which one of you traitorous swine offered my hand to Garfield Redfield?!”

The cabinet members met her words with dead silence and befuddled expressions.

“Since you’re clearly unable to grasp the situation, I’ll repeat. Which one of you low-born swine offered Celestium and its territory to Kek’thall Garfield Redfield, the man King Everwood is here to fucking kill, in exchange for military aid to kill King Everwood, the man we’re trying to make a fucking alliance with?!” she screamed. “Because someone made that offer, and you might [all] die if someone doesn’t tell me exactly what happened!”

“I-I didn’t!” an advisor said, “I’ve been an advocate of allying with King Ever—“

“That means nothing! The best way to lie is to convince people you’re a bad liar. The best way to commit treason is to declare your staunch support to get close to the leaders. Words mean nothing! Support means less! Someone guaranteed war with one or both of these men, and I want to know who it was!” 

Despite her demands, no one admitted to it. And, no matter how much she pressed them to expose their deceit, she found none. For a master liar, even amongst politicians, that said something profound. 

Thirty minutes passed without progress before she calmed down enough to listen to reason.

“Who among us could send a letter of such gravity and have him believe it?” Jacques Sole, Roslain’s closest advisor, posed, “Such offers only happen in person, and yet Kek’tall Redfield seems convinced you have made this offer and is even accepting it.”

Roslain seethed. “I don’t know! That’s what you’re for! Now, do your jobs and figure it out! Otherwise, you’ll find yourselves in the stocks for incompetence!”

Panic ensued until Jacques muttered, “King Everwood….”

The advisors turned to him.

“What?” Roslain asked. “Cut the pandering and speak!”

“King Everwood’s here to extradite Redfield, but he needs a basis to do so. Otherwise, he’d just sail to Ryothin—“

“Get to the point.”

Jacques took a deep breath. “If Redfield comes to Celestium, King Redfield can kill him, conquer Celestium, and perhaps even obtain favor with Drak’Kalma, could he not?”

Roslain felt icy shivers crawl down her spine. “He doesn’t want an alliance….”

The atmosphere turned from grim to grave. It became apparent that they didn’t have a choice but to accept Garfield’s offer to become king. If King Everwood wouldn’t consider an alliance, Celestium was finished. Her only option was to obtain Garfield’s protection, and King Everwood had already lined that alliance up. Roslain didn’t know how, but the cunning serpent had played her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. All she knew was that he killed her past lovers, but she couldn’t figure out how the two things were related!

“Get out,” Roslain said. Her advisors were stunned by the revelation and didn’t register her words. “I said, get out!” she screamed, throwing jars of ink at them. Each bounced off their skin and shattered on the table and floor, filling the room with the smell of tainted alcohol. 

They immediately complied, and once she slammed the door, she sat down with her head in her hands. She pondered there in silence for around ten minutes before she took a deep breath—and screamed at the top of her lungs.

4

Roslain Bouchard got my message loud and clear. I knew because less than three weeks after I sent the letter to Garfield, the rhetoric in Celestium became anti-Everwood, claiming that I had allied with Tidalith and was using the pretext of King Edwar’s cowardice as a means for conquest. Now, the citizens had to stand up against me to prevent the ‘atrocities’ happening in Servene.

That wasn’t all. She also wrote to every Atniguan leader, stating that I was a mortal threat to the continent, and cited my weapons and ‘brutal conquest’ of Servene as proof. It was a good argument, and I was certain many would be inclined to create an allied force to stop me. That said, aside from intercepting the letters I could to keep in the loop, I didn’t act. I had other plans.

5

Things were slow after my plan was set into motion. It was nearing fall, and all the countries were either fighting in the West or making wartime preparations. Garfield couldn’t act until next summer, as he had to tie up loose ends with Drak’thul and was too smart to come into the open. At least, that was my assumption; if he did travel to Celestium, it would require twelve pounds of willpower and a stern lecture from Rema not to have my snipers posted outside the kingdom to assassinate him. I just wanted to kill him and get it over with, but I knew the rational side of my brain (the one I ignored when it was inconvenient) knew that once Garfield Renounced his title as Kek’tall and took with him all the magic, research, and sketchy secrets that were currently serving Drak’thul, Drak’Kalma would want him dead or at least captured, and I could win their favor. Two wins for the price of one.

Since I couldn’t move, it was a waiting game. The months would pass by peacefully until spring when the snow melt would give birth to new life, and my weapons would bring death to Garfield and anyone else who stood before me. It would be a cozy winter, perhaps the last one I’d know for a very, very long time.

6

Edikus sat before the Wreath Council. The atmosphere was heated and tense, and the atmosphere was pressurized. The archwizards were there to have the most important meeting they’d had since Emperor Napoleon had crossed the Heliana Strait centuries ago. 

“We’re here to discuss the potential conquest of Sundell,” Archwizard Emery said with a serious gaze. “So let’s discuss.”