On what was supposed to be a day of celebration, Aditya found himself standing amidst death and betrayal. It was his birthday, yet the grim reality before him left no room for festivities. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he realized that the day was far from over; in fact, it was shaping up to be one of the longest and darkest days of his life.

General Amber, who had been at his side through countless battles, stood there surveying the grotesque scene. She had a pretty good idea of what was coming next. She hesitated momentarily before speaking, her voice tinged with both uncertainty and expectation. “Your Majesty, are we going to…?” Her voice trailed off, leaving the question unfinished but clear in its intent.

Aditya looked at her, his eyes still icy but also full of understanding. He knew exactly what she was asking without her having to articulate it. “Yes,” he confirmed, his voice colder than ever, as if each word were carved from a block of ice. “The Church will pay a steep price for this.”

He continued, “Initially, I had reservations about extending our influence into the territories of the Northern Frost Dragon Empire. Back then, the Istarin Empire had just acquired an enormous amount of new land. Our military was stretched thin, and adding more territory would have been an irresponsible move. We were already struggling to secure our existing borders.”

Aditya paused, collecting his thoughts before going on. “But the circumstances have changed now. The Church has openly provoked us. They’ve killed our allies and desecrated this place with their treachery. Adding insult to injury, they chose to do it on a day that should have been one of personal joy for me. It’s an affront that can’t go unanswered. The Church has slapped us in the face, and it’s high time we slapped them back. They will rue the day they chose to cross the Istarin Empire.”

Standing amidst the grim tableau of death, Aditya looked down at the lifeless bodies of Prince Jordan and the three Dragonians who had fought valiantly beside him. These fallen warriors were a stark reminder of the cost of treachery and political maneuvering.

“Amber,” Aditya began, his voice tinged with a solemnity that matched the gravitas of the situation, “ensure that my Dragonians are taken back to the Istarin Empire for a proper burial, a ceremony befitting their sacrifice and valor.” His eyes shifted to the body of the fifth prince, Jordan. “As for him,” he paused, weighing his words carefully. “He was our ally, and in death, he deserves our respect. Send his body back with our Dragonians, so he may also receive a burial worthy of his station.”

Amber simply nodded, understanding the full import of Aditya’s instructions. “Understood, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice carrying a respectful acknowledgment of both the order and the emotion behind it.

A little distance away, roughly about 100 meters from where Aditya and Amber were standing, a crowd had gathered. They were a motley assortment of citizens, each with their own loyalties and convictions. Aditya and Amber had made no effort to conceal their identities, and so the crowd had watched the entire event unfold in front of their eyes.

The opinions among the assembled people were as diverse as they were conflicted. Some were supporters of the fifth prince, mourning the loss of a man they believed could have been a fair ruler. Others bore no love for the church and were more inclined to side with the Istarin Empire, given its reputation for strength and justice. Yet another faction was deeply religious, their faith aligning them firmly with the church. They wished for nothing more than for Aditya to take his leave from their lands as quickly as possible.

However, no one dared to voice their opinions openly. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and they could sense the dark mood that clung to Aditya like a cloak. Even those with strong convictions held their tongues, recognizing that speaking out at this moment could very likely be their last act. Aditya’s palpable displeasure served as an unspoken warning, a cautionary tale in a land already rife with cautionary tales. It was clear to everyone: this was not the time to test the limits of the Istarin Emperor’s patience.

Just as they concluded their solemn duties among the fallen, Aditya turned his back on the tragic scene, signaling his readiness to depart. Amber, sensing the shift, quickly fell into step behind him, her eyes clouding with uncertainty. This was the first time she had seen Aditya look so cold and displeased, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the verge of making a historic decision, one that would leave an indelible mark on the world.

“Your Majesty, where shall we head now?” Amber inquired cautiously, her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. She felt as if they were on the cusp of a pivotal moment, and she couldn’t fathom what would come next.

As the pair moved forward, the crowd that had gathered sensed their intentions and instinctively parted, clearing a path for Aditya and General Amber to pass through. For his part, Aditya couldn’t care less about the thoughts and judgments of the assembled onlookers. He had long since accepted the simple truth that it was impossible to please everyone in life. Now was not a time for concern about public opinion; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Breaking the uneasy silence that hung between them, Aditya finally spoke, his voice as cold as the Arctic winds. “What else could we be doing at a time like this? We’re going to light up the sky with Crimson Flames.” With that ominous declaration, he continued to walk, his form slowly disappearing into the distance, leaving a crowd of anxious and bewildered people in his wake, pondering what the meaning of his words could be.

Just as Aditya and Amber were about to leave the vicinity, a distinct voice rang out, arresting their steps. Emerging from the crowd was a man dressed in pristine white garments, gripping a staff in his hands. He seemed to carry an air of divine authority.

“Dead people, we’ve cleansed our sacred land of pollution. The 5th-prince Jordan, regrettably, was tainted by the influence of the Istarin Empire,” he proclaimed with an audacious tone. “Moreover, the Emperor had the audacity to dispatch Dragonians into our hallowed grounds, disturbing our tranquility and sowing discord.”

Aditya paused mid-stride and pivoted to face the audacious speaker. Amber, trailing closely behind him, suddenly felt an increase in the ambient temperature. It took her a moment to realize that the heat was emanating from Aditya himself, as if his body were a furnace fueled by suppressed fury.

“In eliminating this foul presence, peace will inevitably be restored to our lands. These words come directly from our Pope,” the man continued, casting a smug grin in Aditya’s direction as he spoke.

The crowd around them, hearing that this message was endorsed by the Pope, seemed to lean in favor of the church’s servant. After all, the Pope was a figure of enormous significance in their culture, considered the epitome of kindness and virtue. Nobody dared to speak ill of him for fear of retaliation from his devoted followers, who would vehemently defend his honor.

This public endorsement, couched in language that was clearly meant to provoke, turned the eyes of the crowd toward Aditya, waiting for his reaction. Would the Istarin Emperor let this insult slide, or would the air ignite from the spark of his smoldering rage?

Surveying the crowd, Aditya noted that the majority seemed to side with the man from the church. It was hardly surprising; much of the Empire’s population was uneducated and vulnerable to the carefully crafted rhetoric of religious authority figures. Attacking the man now would risk a backlash from the masses, who were already primed to view him as an outsider and an intruder.

He also realized that this public confrontation was a trap. The man from the church was baiting him, aiming to provoke a hostile response that would ruin his reputation. The church would surely use such an event as propaganda, painting Aditya as the villain in their carefully constructed narrative.

“Let’s go,” Aditya finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was well aware that launching a military action against the Northern Frost Dragon Empire in response to this provocation was not an option. After all, from a certain standpoint, he was in the wrong for sending his Dragonians into foreign territory. However, that didn’t mean he was powerless.

Without uttering another word, Aditya turned his back on the crowd and began to walk away, with General Amber following closely behind. As they departed, the man from the church, who had been eyeing Aditya expectantly, found his insides churning with frustration. He had failed to elicit any sort of reaction, not even a glimmer of emotion crossing the Istarin Emperor’s face.

From a distance, it might have seemed as though the church had won this public relations skirmish. But what the crowd failed to understand was the insidious nature of the church’s influence. Cloaked in divine rhetoric, the institution wielded enormous power over the 90% of the population who lacked education and discernment. They played the part of saviors, angelic figures offering guidance, but in reality, they were the architects of chaos and division. By cunningly seizing this opportunity to frame Aditya and the Istarin Empire as the cause of the ongoing strife in the Northern Frost Dragon Empire, they had revealed themselves to be master manipulators, expert at shaping public opinion to serve their own ends.

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