As the cargo shuttle sliced through the sulfur-choked haze, Angar gazed out the hatch's viewport slit, taking in the pulsing heart of the old Kondunean Empire.

Stone structures, crude and primitive by imperial standards, zoomed past beneath, from squat dwellings to large, blocky temples, to some truly massive buildings.

He had thought they lived in cave systems like everyone else. His mother told him there were buildings in Kondune, but he had pictured them as carved-out galleries and chambers, lacking any context to understand what she meant then.

Angar couldn't deny being begrudgingly impressed by the sprawling city below.

The atmosphere, a meager 18% oxygen compared to imperial standard of 21%, dulling the cognition of unenhanced Terrans, was also laced with enough carbon dioxide and other gases that worsened the decline. And that was just the start of what the people of this world had going against them.

Even against such odds, the filthy Konduneans had carved out this crude marvel.

The city seemed relatively free of burning fog, and the streets teemed with people, even women and children.

That morning in Thwerk, Angar informed the city's chief of his plan to meet Tormina's ruler in a week, allowing time for rumors to spread, and the leader to prepare.

Mecia and Tormina, once a single kingdom, first conquered and ruled by Mahtma, shared a language, albeit fractured by divergent accents.

When the Hellspawn invaded, Tormina was ruled by King Gunaka, derided as 'the Puppet.' Now, its ruler forsook the king title. The men of Thwerk named him only Anka, which meant 'true chief.'

Compared to Mecians, Torminians were weak and pathetic, but similar in culture. As Mecians numbered so few now, Angar needed Torminians for his plan to succeed. Things had to go well meeting with that ruler. It'd be tricky, as there was bad blood between the two kingdoms, and a lot of it.

Angar's Mecian heritage also complicated the issue with Ghelix, another neighbor. However, he hoped the Ghelixian corporal in the Imperial Military might smooth tensions there. He'd witnessed Angar battling Hellspawn, defending this whole world, including all Ghelixians, even though they barely qualified as humans.

Nalitha could be a problem too. If it was a fiefdom still, he doubted enough Nalithans survived the reavers for it to matter. He didn't need everyone to bow to his rule, only most, and Nalithans were too pathetic to make any use of anyway.

Soon, all of Kondune passed under the shuttle, and it banked over the off-world encampment outside the city. Angar had ordered Len to do so, granting him a view of it from above.

A small but permanent dome, larger than expected, encased a sprawl of prefabricated structures, including dozens of barracks and hundreds of war vehicles.

A towering Centaur, a mecha platform roughly the shape of its namesake, seventy-five meters of bristling weaponry, stood sentinel, crewed by scores of soldiers.

Nearby, a smaller mobile dome housed construction. It seemed the off-world noble who now ruled Kondune was also building a cathedral.

The shuttle touched down outside the main gate, banners of gray and brown snapping in the wind on either side of it, the heraldry a sun casting rays over a mountain. Angar's own was far superior.

Clad in his armor, he crawled out the hatch as two well-armed guards, their armor nicer than expected, matching the banners, saluted with fists pounding hearts. "God and Empire, Sir!" they barked.

"God and Empire," Angar replied. "Inform Lord Dikaiosyne that Sir Lord Angar of Mecia seeks audience."

Led to a prefabricated guardhouse, Angar was offered refreshments and waited. Near an hour later, his irritation simmering at being forced to wait so long, finally, escorts brought him to the main structure. It was grand for a prefab, its almost seamless design belying its modular origins.

He walked past a few offices, spotting three comcap stations in one room.

Helmet tucked under his left arm, hammer gripped in his right hand, he entered a spacious meeting chamber, noticing soldiers lined the back wall, and froze as familiar faces greeted him.

Presbyter Yuuga, her old and weathered face hard to forget, same battered armor but her habit now in tatters, sat to Lord Dikaiosyne's left.

Reports stated the Grim Martyrs had departed after a month, meaning either Vernost abandoned the sister here, or Yuuga abandoned her post.

Beside her was Mikhin, clean-shaven still, now in Imperial Army fatigues instead of the ornate Kondunean armor he'd worn.

To the Lord's right sat two bureaucrat-types, a man and woman in crisp but informal uniforms.

Dikaiosyne himself, middle aged and slight-framed with straw-colored hair and a thin mustache, had a bureaucratic air about him, enhanced by the gray-and-brown military uniform loaded with decorations and insignia he wore.

Mikhin rose, saluting with fist to heart, the soldiers behind him doing the same. "God and Empire, Sir!"

Yuuga and the two others stood briefly, nodding before sitting.

Dikaiosyne only nodded, remaining seated, appropriately, as a noble of the same rank called on him in his own lands.

"God and Empire," Angar responded, setting his helm on the table and shifting his hammer to his left hand. He reached over the table and clasped Mikhin's outstretched hand. "Good to see you, Sergeant Optio Mikhin."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"And you, Sir Angar," Mikhin said, a smile almost cracking his stern face. "I'm unsure if you heard Captain Vernost commissioned a statue of Martyr Varko in Nalitha. Duty permitting, I'd be honored to visit it with you."

Angar nodded. "If you're free, we'll take my shuttle after this."

Yuuga, as if not to be left out, stood and thrust out her hand. "Remember me, Child? I exorcised you when Hell's vile claws had you dead to rights. We all truly thought you were given over to the darkness, some saying there was nothing to be done but end your suffering. But look at you now! Big as a mountain, surviving the Grim Ordeals. All thanks to my skill, else you'd be dead, Child."

Angar knew that wasn't truth but shook her hand regardless. "I remember, Sister. My thanks."

After the remaining introductions, Angar turned his gaze upon Dikaiosyne. "I won't squander your time, Fen," he stated, invoking the man's pre-noble nickname with deliberate familiarity. "I demand your oath of fealty."

The room stirred uneasily, a ripple of discomfort passing through the assembled figures like a chill wind.

Mikhin shifted in his seat, his eyes filled with wary respect, while Yuuga's weathered features tightened into a mask of scrutiny, and the bureaucrats exchanged furtive glances.

Only Fen held his composure, though his thin mustache twitched. Abruptly, he let out a bark of laughter, sharp and forced, shattering the tension. "And I require yours," Fen countered with mocking civility, "along with your full support, Sir Angar, Knight Adept, graduate of Saint Krakus, class of February '86.

"Shall I continue? Plagued by Heretics, slayer of a Pleiadean mercenary in a post-Anointment duel, enlisted in the unheard of chapter the Smallest Spark, most recently sighted at Lerig Imperial Megastation."

"Wrong rank," Angar replied coolly. "You only crave the mantle of a hereditary Baron, and the power, the prestige it comes with. My calling is higher."

Fen scoffed, leaning back in his chair with exaggerated nonchalance, his unearned insignias clinking. "A higher calling? Unless you're forsaking your vows for retirement, you'll govern your meager, ravaged fief through a steward. Sit, Sir. Let us converse. I'll unveil my visions for this forsaken rock, and you shall reveal yours. Then we'll discern who truly merits the other's backing."

Fen's intelligence wasn't good, as Mecia, with all the unclaimed lands now part of it, stood larger than the one nation of the northern hemisphere.

As the new Lord expounded his grand designs, Angar listened in stoic silence, already knowing the man's true plans.

He spoke of Sulfuron 9 terraformed into a verdant paradise, modernized, all the structure required for the Holy Empire to place a Lumen Anchor in system, prosperity, a world reborn under his benevolent rule.

Impossible lies. Mining this world would bleed as much cost as it yielded profit. Fen lacked the wealth to sustain two decades with only his current expenses, let alone realize even a fraction of this dream.

His true goal was easy nobility, a title plucked from a world near sacred Terra, but outside the Sol Dominion, far enough from, and undesirable to, the Holy Empire's many enemies. The only imperial world settled by savages ignorant enough to trade fiefs for cheap weapons and hollow promises.

When it was Angar's turn, he laid bare his own plans. The room fell into a hush, the silence stretching out awkwardly.

At last, Fen broke it with a nervous chuckle, his earlier confidence fracturing. "You jest, surely?"

"I do not," Angar replied.

"It's lunacy," Fen pressed. "Like a tale told by those who escape the Abyssal Sons' clutches."

Angar sighed heavily, knowing most reveled in their short-sightedness, desired their minds bound by invisible chains, to remain blind. "Nevertheless," he affirmed, "it shall be."

Fen waved a dismissive hand, though his fingers trembled faintly. "Divine Theosis would never sanction the required exceptions."

"They'll be approved," Angar countered with iron certainty. "Most have established precedents."

"But why?" Fen demanded, his puzzlement genuine. "It's insanity."

"Insanity?" Angar's fist clenched. "Insanity is knowing our Holy Empire teeters on the edge of annihilation, knowing the next galactic war shall spell our doom, and doing nothing about it. To squabble over titles, temporal power, ignoring the encroaching oblivion, that is insanity."

Fen sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "I cannot permit this, Sir. For the sanctity of my soul, I must stand in your way."

Angar had vowed to forge this world's unity with his own hands, without invoking Hidetada's overwhelming shadow. The Saint could bring Fen to heel with a word, but that'd taint the triumph, rendering it borrowed glory. "You have no say," he stated flatly.

Fen lifted his chin defiantly. "You cannot intimidate me, Sir. My youngest child is older than you. Crusader or no, I am ensconced amid my forces, barracks brimming with loyal souls, armories stocked, vehicles of war ready to unleash Hell. I have a Centaur, for God's sake."

A pang of pity stirred in Angar. Fen was in a bad spot.

Once owner of a thriving independent mining company, he had been contracted by Aude Heddle of Auronix Solutions to work the northern hemisphere, the cradle of this world's densest populace, unified under a single nation.

Aude had schemed to woo those northerners, the swiftest route to world ruler, descending upon Sulfuron 9 solely for that prize.

But her efforts, so far, had failed. Fen had stolen her idea but pivoted southward, bartering his title amid the fractured Kondune for hollow promises. Once gained, he sold his company and assets, wagering all on this gamble.

The south had more inhabited land than Angar ever imagined. Far beyond the Steadfast sprawled further settled realms, a vast sea, then additional territories, though largely vacant. East from Tormina yawned another sea, succeeded by vast wilds.

Kondune, perched at the pole, commanded access to all these lands. The old empire's legions numbered thirteen. The seven Angar knew of were dedicated to his expanse of land, what Konduneans dubbed Terenia.

Almost a third of the southern population clustered around the pole, in the greater Kondune area. Like Mecia, it was a fiefdom trivial by imperial metrics, yielding the same paltry Minor Gentry rank of N-1.

But, paired with the colossal northern dominion, it unlocked the Baronetcy, N-6, the lowest rung a world's sovereign noble could be.

Recent reports stated five fiefs already swore allegiance to Fen, a dozen more in negotiation.

All that toil, all that sacrifice, just for Angar to swoop in and take it all from his clutches.

"I sought peace in this," Angar stated, his tone filled with regret. "But conflict serves me as well. I accept your implicit challenge. I shall stand alone against your army. We pledge before God, witnessed by this Presbyter, the vanquished bends the knee to the victor, swearing eternal fealty."

"You truly are insane!" Fen erupted, his face flushing with incredulity. "Why would I ever agree to that? You can't harm me. Imperial Law shields me."

"My path favors you still," Angar pressed. "Kondune shall be our sole off-world bastion, with our only spaceport. You'll ascend beyond Baron, living the life you dream of."

"I ask again – why would I agree to this?" Fen nearly snarled.

"Besides it being your implicit challenge I accepted, inquire of Mikhin," Angar suggested calmly.

Fen pivoted toward the Sergeant Optio, who met his gaze with steady resolve. "Sir Angar's legend echoes across these lands like a clarion call," Mikhin explained. "His fealty would aid in knitting this hemisphere's tattered hide, but claiming his head in righteous combat? All would kneel. That'd give you a unified south."

Fen stared at the table, his brow creased in furious calculation. After a minute, he raised his eyes. "I command an army, machines of war, armored phalanxes, a Centaur that could level mountains. You have nothing but armor and a hammer. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Angar assured him. "To further assuage your doubts, I'll forgo even my armor and hammer."

Angar savored the surprised look on the faces arrayed in front of him. He added, "Thus, by your reasoning, I'll truly have nothing."

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