Capital Paris, France, Europe – July 8, 2023The low hum of turbojet engines echoed across the cloudy Parisian sky as the Holy Mirishial delegation's aircraft approached Charles de Gaulle Airport. Unlike the sleek, modern airliners of Earth, these machines were bulky, rugged, and almost nostalgic—resembling the early Cold War-era aircraft of Earth's history. Painted in the blue and silver insignia of the Holy Mirishial Empire, the fleet of diplomatic pnes banked gently over the sprawling city, revealing a view that no Mirishial had ever imagined.

  Inside the lead aircraft, Percs, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, sat near the window, his hands resting on the wooden armrests of his seat. He was a composed man, but even he could not hide the curiosity in his eyes as he peered outside. Paris—the famed capital of France, the heart of Earth’s cultural and political power—spread out beneath him like a living masterpiece of history and modernity intertwined.

  "This city…" Siwalf, the Chief of the Western International Affairs Department, muttered from across the aisle. "It stretches as far as the eye can see. And those buildings… none of them are enchanted, yet they rise even higher than our tallest towers in Runepolis."

  Percs nodded slowly. "This world continues to defy our understanding. First, their weapons… now their cities. And yet, they have no magic. Only… industry and science."

  As the aircraft descended, the nding gear screeched against the tarmac, and the Mirishial officials braced for the unfamiliar sensation of touching down on foreign soil. It was their first official step into Earth’s heartnd—a world that had not only humbled them but now dictated the very terms of their future.

  The moment the Mirishial delegation stepped off the pne, they were met with the crisp summer air of Paris. Unlike the warm, humid climate of Runepolis, the weather here felt cooler, refreshing, yet oddly foreign. French diplomats, escorted by armed security personnel, stood ready to receive them. Cameras fshed as international media covered their arrival—Earth’s eyes locked onto the once-mighty empire that had been brought to the negotiating table.

  Percs took in the sight of the modern airport, its runways teeming with sleek, streamlined aircraft, far different from the bulky, robust designs of Mirishial’s own. Even as a high-ranking official, he had rarely felt out of pce. Yet here, in the heart of Earth’s power, he felt like a man from a bygone era, walking among giants.

  "Welcome to Paris," a French diplomat greeted them in fluent Mirishialian, bowing slightly. "We trust your flight was comfortable?"

  Percs, maintaining his composure, nodded. "It was… enlightening."

  They were quickly led toward a convoy of bck diplomatic vehicles, their engines humming almost silently compared to the loud, enchanted carriages of Mirishial. As they boarded, Percs cast one st gnce at their aging aircraft, standing awkwardly among the futuristic machines of Earth.

  It was a visual reminder—the old world was fading, and the new one had already taken its pce.

  The convoy made its way into the heart of the city, and for the first time, the Mirishial delegation witnessed the full splendor of Earth’s civilization up close. Towering skyscrapers, intricate roads with speeding vehicles, electronic billboards fshing advertisements in countless nguages—everything about Paris screamed modernity, efficiency, and a civilization at its peak.

  Percs sat beside Siwalf, watching as the city unfolded before them.

  "Look at their roads," Siwalf noted. "No cobblestone, no magic guiding their paths, yet everything moves in perfect coordination."

  "And their people," Percs added, observing the pedestrians. "They're dressed so differently. No robes, no magical crests. Just… practicality. And yet, the wealth is evident."

  The convoy first stopped at the Louvre Museum, where the Mirishial officials were invited inside. The moment they entered, their eyes were drawn to the vast, open halls, lined with priceless artifacts, paintings, and sculptures spanning countless civilizations—each one carefully preserved.

  "This… this is their history?" one of the junior diplomats whispered in awe.

  Unlike Runepolis, where history was told through enchanted murals and preserved magical artifacts, Earth’s approach was different, yet eerily simir. They had no magic to store memories, no grand spell to project the past, and yet, through sheer dedication, they had preserved thousands of years of history in these halls.

  Percs stopped before the Mona Lisa, his eyes narrowing.

  "A simple painting… and yet, they revere it as a treasure," he murmured. "How peculiar."

  A French guide overheard him and smiled. "It is not just the painting, Minister. It is what it represents. A masterpiece that has withstood time, war, and change."

  Percs turned to the guide, then back to the painting. Something about those words unsettled him.

  Later in the afternoon, the Mirishial delegation was escorted to a high-end restaurant, where they would experience French cuisine—something that had been highly anticipated. Despite their long history, Mirishial had never encountered food quite like this.

  As ptes of foie gras, escargot, and coq au vin were served, the delegation hesitated. They had dined on enchanted feasts, meat preserved with alchemy, and fruits infused with mana, but here, on Earth, there was nothing magical about the food.

  And yet, the moment Percs took his first bite, his eyes widened.

  The fvors were rich, yered, and complex—not because of magic, but because of technique, refinement, and centuries of culinary mastery. The table fell into a stunned silence as each delegate took their first bite.

  Siwalf pced his fork down, looking at Percs. "They do all of this… without a single enhancement spell?"

  Percs nodded slowly. "Yes… just skill."

  For the first time since arriving, the realization began to settle deep into their minds. It wasn’t just Earth’s weapons, cities, or technology that made them powerful. It was their mastery of everything they touched.

  As night fell over Paris, the Mirishial delegation returned to their hotel—an elegant structure towering above the Seine River, overlooking the city. They stood on the balcony, gazing at the illuminated Eiffel Tower, the symbol of France’s resilience and progress.

  Tomorrow, they would sit at the negotiating table. Tomorrow, they would face judgment.

  Percs tightened his grip on the balcony railing. Mirishial had ruled as the greatest superpower of Elysia for centuries, yet here they were, defeated, humbled, and forced to accept the terms of another world.

  Siwalf stepped beside him. "Do you think we can recover from this?"

  Percs exhaled, watching the lights of the city flicker. "That depends on what we do next."

  The weight of tomorrow loomed heavy over them.

  For Mirishial, this was not just a peace treaty.

  It was the beginning of a new era.

  The Concorde Accords, July 9, 2023 – Pais de l'élysée, Paris, France

  The grand halls of the Pais de l'élysée, where some of Earth's most pivotal diplomatic decisions had been made, now bore witness to a moment that would alter the course of Elysia’s history. Inside the opulent chamber, illuminated by the golden glow of chandeliers, two civilizations sat across from one another, separated not just by a polished oak table but by the weight of history itself.

  At the heart of the room, Percs, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Holy Mirishial Empire, sat with an expression that was neither hostile nor submissive. To his right, Siwalf and Philme, the senior diplomats, maintained their poise, while Schmill Pao, the Minister of Military Affairs, and Saul Rotunfa, the Minister of Economics, sat stone-faced, their gazes locked on the Moroccan delegation across from them.

  On the other side, King Mohammed VI of Morocco exuded the quiet authority of a ruler who had been forced into war, not by ambition but by necessity. Fnking him were Foreign Minister Nasser Bourita and key military officials, their postures firm but not unyielding. They had won, but now they sought resolution.

  At the head of the table, United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres sat as the neutral arbiter, fnked by French President Emmanuel Macron, U.S. representatives, EU diplomats, and a delegation from China. The eyes of Earth watched, their expressions unreadable, their influence undeniable.

  With an air of calcuted diplomacy, Percs leaned forward, breaking the silence.

  "Before we proceed, let us address the fundamental cause of this conflict," he began, his voice smooth yet measured. "It is imperative that we crify the misunderstandings that led to the unnecessary hostilities between our nations."

  The Moroccan King listened intently, then gave a slow nod, gesturing for his Foreign Minister to speak.

  "Morocco holds no ill will toward Mirishial," Nasser Bourita responded. "But let us be clear—the aggression did not originate from our side. The Holy Mirishial Empire deployed its forces upon our seas, engaging in military operations that we could only interpret as an act of war. Our response was one of defense, not conquest."

  Percs inhaled, his fingers pressing lightly against the table’s surface. "Our forces acted on an assumption—one that, in hindsight, was gravely mistaken."

  There was a shift in the atmosphere. The Moroccan delegation exchanged gnces, some raising an eyebrow at such an admission. Even the UN officials showed mild surprise.

  Percs continued. "Our intelligence initially misidentified your oil extraction ptforms as floating military barracks. We believed we had encountered a forward operating base constructed in preparation for hostilities. As absurd as it may sound now, it was the prevailing theory at the time."

  King Mohammed VI’s expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of incredulity in his eyes. "You mistook our oil rigs for military outposts?"

  Philme, the Mirishial diplomat, interjected. "It is not as absurd as it sounds to us, Your Majesty. Our world has never seen such structures. In Elysia, anything that rge on the water is either a warship or a fortress. The concept of extracting oil from the seabed using such a method was… beyond our imagination."

  A moment of silence passed before one of the Moroccan officers let out a small chuckle. "I suppose that expins why you attacked something that wasn't even armed."

  Schmill Pao shifted uncomfortably. "We… acknowledge the miscalcution."

  There was no apology—not yet—but an admission of error was already a step forward.

  Morocco’s Foreign Minister leaned forward. "Regardless of the reasons, the fact remains that your forces initiated conflict. We lost valuable resources, our ammunition stockpiles depleted, and our nation was forced into an unnecessary engagement. Compensation must be addressed."

  Percs steeled himself. "We recognize the losses suffered. However, let us also crify that no Moroccan lives were lost during the engagement. The battle was one of machines and munitions, not blood and bodies."

  A murmur spread across the Earth representatives. The Moroccan military officials gave firm nods—it was true. Morocco had suffered no casualties. Their defenses had been well-pced, and the Mirishial forces had withdrawn before inflicting anything beyond economic damage.

  "Nonetheless," King Mohammed VI said, "resources are the lifeblood of any nation. The war may not have taken lives, but it has taken from us in other ways. And we expect compensation."

  Percs exhaled slowly. "We are willing to discuss reparations, but we will not agree to terms that cripple the sovereignty of our nation."

  The room tensed.

  French President Emmanuel Macron, having remained mostly silent until now, finally spoke. "Then let us hear what conditions the Holy Mirishial Empire is prepared to accept."

  Percs exchanged brief gnces with his delegation. Then, he spoke, his voice firm but not confrontational.

  "We are willing to offer financial compensation to Morocco to recover its lost resources. We will also ensure that no further military actions will be taken against Moroccan territories or interests."**

  King Mohammed VI considered this, but he remained unmoved. "And the restrictions on your military expansion?"

  Siwalf, speaking for the first time since the session began, folded his hands on the table. "That is where we must draw the line. We cannot allow our military to be dictated by foreign nations. We will not accept a forced reduction of our defensive capabilities."

  The room grew quiet. Morocco’s side exchanged gnces, and the representatives from the United Nations and NATO leaned in slightly.

  King Mohammed VI sighed. "We understand the importance of national defense, but Earth has no interest in allowing another arms race to develop in Elysia. If we allow you to rearm unrestricted, what assurances do we have that another war will not break out?"

  Schmill Pao spoke next. "We can commit to not expanding our military beyond its current size, but we cannot disband our existing forces."

  Bourita frowned slightly. "That is not enough."

  The conversation was moving, but neither side was yet satisfied. The negotiation had reached a wall.

  Macron turned to the UN Secretary-General, António Guterres, giving him a knowing look. The discussion was at a dead end, and there was only one entity in the room that could step in now—the United Nations itself.

  Guterres, sensing that the time had come, slowly sat forward in his chair. His expression was calm but commanding, the weight of global governance resting on his words.

  "Then I believe it is time for the United Nations to formally mediate the next stage of this treaty," he said, his voice carrying across the chamber.

  The room fell into silence.

  For Mirishial, Morocco, and the gathered nations of Earth—this was the moment where the fate of an empire would be decided.

  The room was silent as United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres leaned forward, his hands csped together on the polished oak table. The negotiations between Holy Mirishial and Morocco had reached a dead end, and now, it was time for Earth’s highest governing body to dictate the terms that neither side had been able to settle.

  Guterres’s voice was measured, yet it carried the weight of finality.

  “Both sides have expressed their unwillingness to fully concede to the other's terms. However, a resolution must be reached. The United Nations will now propose a settlement that ensures both stability and fairness for all parties.”

  The representatives of Morocco and the Holy Mirishial Empire turned their attention toward him.

  “First,” Guterres began, “Mirishial will provide economic reparations to Morocco, but in a manner that does not cripple its sovereignty. The payments will be structured over a negotiated timeframe, preventing economic colpse while ensuring Morocco’s restitution.”

  Percs inhaled sharply, exchanging gnces with Saul Rotunfa, the Minister of Economics. This was something they could accept—it would be a blow to their treasury, but not an immediate death sentence.

  “Second,” Guterres continued, “Mirishial’s military will not be forcibly dismantled, but it will be subject to international oversight. The UN will station neutral peacekeeping observers in Mirishial to monitor its military activities. Any expansions beyond its existing capacity must be reported to the international community.”

  There was a moment of palpable tension. Schmill Pao, the Minister of Military Affairs, clenched his jaw, clearly dissatisfied. But Percs raised a hand, stopping any protest. They had no choice. They would not be disarmed, only observed. It was not ideal, but it was a lifeline.

  Guterres let that settle before moving on.

  “Third, to ensure long-term stability, Mirishial and Morocco will establish a formal diplomatic mission between their nations, with permanent embassies established in both capitals. This will prevent future miscommunication and allow for direct diplomatic engagement.”

  King Mohammed VI nodded approvingly. This was a way to ensure that Mirishial would never again act uniterally.

  Percs remained silent, then slowly exhaled. "These terms… they are reasonable. The Holy Mirishial Empire accepts."

  A murmur spread through the room. It was done.

  Morocco’s Foreign Minister exchanged gnces with the King, then gave a firm nod. "Morocco also accepts these terms."

  The Concorde Accords had been signed.

  The war was over.

  Holy Mirishial SocietyNews of the peace treaty spread like wildfire across the Holy Mirishial Empire. Headlines bred across Runepolis, newspapers and magical bulletins dispying the unthinkable: their empire, once thought invincible, had been forced to sign a treaty dictated by outsiders.

  In the streets, protests erupted. Citizens filled the grand pzas of Runepolis, waving banners and shouting in rage and disbelief. The idea that their greatest nation had been reduced to accepting Earth’s terms was something many could not comprehend.

  "Treachery! The Council has betrayed us!" one protester yelled, his voice echoing through the marble streets.

  Another, an elderly man clutching a symbol of the empire, shook his head in sorrow. "We were the pinnacle of civilization… now we are under foreign rule."

  Riots broke out in some districts, while others descended into heated debates. Schors and politicians scrambled to interpret the treaty’s implications, while nobles met in secret, whispering of the shame their nation now bore.

  In the Imperial Pace, high-ranking officials furiously debated what this meant for the empire’s future. Some demanded that Mirishial rearm in secret, preparing for an eventual reckoning. Others urged adaptation, realizing that Earth’s power was beyond anything they had ever encountered.

  The once-unquestioned dominance of the Holy Mirishial Empire had been shaken to its very core.

  The InternetOn the other side of the world, the internet was abze. Millions of people across the globe tuned in as news outlets covered the signing of the Concorde Accords, with social media becoming a battlefield of its own.

  On Twitter, hashtags like #MirishialSurrenders and #UNPeaceDeal trended worldwide.

  One viral tweet read:

  "Bro… these guys thought an oil rig was a military fortress and attacked it ??????"

  Another popur post compared the situation to historical events:

  "This is like if ancient Rome got bodied by NATO and had to sign a peace treaty. Wild."

  Meanwhile, geopolitical analysts debated the long-term consequences.

  On a CNN panel, one expert stated: "This is a turning point. The nations of Elysia are beginning to integrate into the international system. The question now is—how will they adapt?"

  Another commentator on a Chinese news channel remarked:

  "Earth has shown its strength, but we must remember—humiliating an empire too much can lead to unpredictable consequences."

  Memes flooded Reddit, including images of Mirishial soldiers staring at an oil rig with captions like:

  "Sir, the floating barrack is too strong! We must retreat!"

  Others simply marveled at the sheer absurdity of the situation:

  "A civilization that survived for thousands of years just got nerfed in a UN meeting."

  But among the humor and celebration, there was a more serious question emerging—what would happen next?

  The world had just witnessed the fall of an empire’s arrogance. But history had shown, time and time again, that an empire does not simply accept defeat forever.

  Central Calendar, April 2, 1639 – Leifor Royal Pace, Vicomté

  The grand halls of Leifor’s Royal Pace were rarely this silent. Normally, the marble corridors would be filled with the chatter of nobles, military officers discussing strategy, or government officials debating the kingdom’s modernization efforts. But today, only the quiet clicking of polished boots against the floor echoed through the high ceilings.

  Inside the Imperial Council Chamber, beneath the ornate golden chandeliers, Emperor Armand VI sat at the head of the long mahogany table. To his left, Prime Minister Laurent Dufresne kept a neutral expression, but his fingers lightly tapped against the table—an unconscious sign of his unease.

  To the Emperor’s right, the most powerful figures of Leifor’s military stood ready. Marshal Reindhart Bal, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, sat with his arms crossed. Admiral Charles Levasseur, leader of the Leiforian Navy, remained still, yet his eyes flickered with suspicion. General Victor Landegarde, Chief of Staff of the Army, leaned slightly forward, a look of curiosity in his sharp gaze.

  These were men who had spent their lives studying the great powers of Elysia—Mirishial, Mu, Parpaldia. Yet today, they faced an unknown force.

  Across from them sat the representatives of Gra Valkas, a nation that had arrived like a phantom from the storm, whose fleet dwarfed anything Leifor had ever encountered.

  Cielia Oudwin, Director of Gra Valkas’ Eastern Retions Department, was composed, her hands neatly folded on the table. Her icy blue eyes betrayed no emotion, no intention—only quiet calcution. She had the appearance of a diplomat, but everyone in the room knew she wasn’t just here to negotiate.

  Beside her, Dals Cymond, Vice Director and second-in-command, was different. Arrogance radiated off of him like heat from a furnace. His posture was rexed, almost disrespectful, as if sitting across from Leifor’s most powerful rulers was no more meaningful to him than chatting with a merchant in a tavern. He smirked, tapping his gloved fingers idly against the table.

  Emperor Armand VI, a man who had ruled for over three decades, was the first to break the silence.

  "We welcome you to Leifor, representatives of Gra Valkas," he said, his deep voice carrying the weight of a ruler who had seen many seasons of change. "Your arrival was… unexpected. And your fleet is unlike anything we have seen before."

  Dals let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I would expect so."

  There was a slight shift in the room, subtle but noticeable. Dals had not bowed. He had not even acknowledged the Emperor's authority.

  Admiral Levasseur’s fingers twitched slightly. A break in etiquette like this would have been an insult in any other meeting.

  Cielia, ever composed, merely gnced at Dals before returning her gaze to the Emperor. "We appreciate your hospitality. It is always fascinating to meet new nations… especially ones with such great ambition."

  Armand studied her. He could sense the underlying message behind her words. Leifor was a nation caught between tradition and modernization—a kingdom that had begun its transformation from sword and wyvern to tank and aircraft.

  They knew.

  Leifor was not yet a superpower. But it was trying to become one.

  Marshal Reindhart Bal cleared his throat. "Your fleet appeared off our coast without warning. Some of our naval officers were… armed."

  Dals gave him a side gnce, his smirk widening. "Then they are not accustomed to real warships."

  Silence.

  General Victor Landegarde's expression remained neutral, but inside, his mind was working fast. He had studied military psychology long enough to recognize a deliberate provocation when he heard one.

  Cielia, choosing to soften the moment, spoke smoothly. "Gra Valkas is a nation of order, strength, and discipline. We do not wander aimlessly. We seek… opportunities."

  Prime Minister Dufresne finally spoke. "And what kind of opportunities are you looking for in Leifor?"

  Dals leaned forward. "That depends. Are you the kind of nation that understands power… or the kind that fears it?"

  The question hung in the air.

  The Emperor did not react, but he did not have to. Across the table, Admiral Levasseur’s grip tightened on his chair. He had spent his life commanding warships, overseeing Leifor’s expansion of its navy, pushing for carrier-based warfare. He had not fought a war with modern tactics yet, but he knew what it meant when a foreign power spoke like this.

  Gra Valkas was testing them.

  Dals continued. "We know little about Leifor. But we have eyes. We have seen your warships, your steel mills, your factories. You are growing. But growth alone does not make a nation great."

  Cielia added, "It is how a nation chooses to grow that determines its future."

  The words were simple. Yet they carried weight.

  This was not just a diplomatic visit.

  Gra Valkas was deciding whether Leifor was a potential ally… or just another stepping stone.

  Prime Minister Dufresne remained calm. "We are well aware of our standing in the world. Leifor is growing, and we choose our partners carefully. Some… are worth working with. Others are better left to their own devices."

  Dals let out a quiet ugh. "Spoken like a man trying to measure a shark while standing on the shore."

  Admiral Levasseur couldn’t stand it any longer. "And what does Gra Valkas know of this world?"** he asked coldly. "You arrived only recently, yet you speak as if you are already its master."**

  For the first time in the conversation, Cielia’s expression changed—ever so slightly.

  It was subtle. A flicker of genuine curiosity.

  Gra Valkas did not know.

  They did not know about Earth.

  They did not know about the United Nations, NATO, China, the wars that had already reshaped Elysia.

  Leifor knew only fragments—whispers of Mirishial’s shocking defeat, of aircraft unlike anything in Elysia’s history, of weapons that made even Gra Valkas' steel fleets seem… outdated.

  But Gra Valkas? They were still blind.

  They had power, but they did not yet understand what kind of world they had been thrown into.

  And that… was the only thing that gave Leifor some comfort.

  After more rounds of diplomatic formalities, the meeting concluded, but nothing had been resolved. No alliances were formed. No agreements were made.

  But something far more important had happened.

  Both nations had measured one another.

  As the Gra Valkas delegation stood to leave, Dals turned one st time, grinning.

  "You’ll hear from us again, Leifor. I’m sure of it."

  The chamber doors closed behind them, leaving only silence.

  Emperor Armand VI finally exhaled, rubbing his temple. "That… was enlightening."

  Prime Minister Dufresne frowned. "They are dangerous, Your Majesty. And they believe they are untouchable."

  Marshal Bal spoke darkly. "For now, they are. But they have one weakness."

  Admiral Levasseur nodded slowly. "They don’t know about Earth."

  The Emperor gazed at the map of Elysia before him, tracing his fingers along Leifor’s borders.

  "Then we will keep it that way."

  The tension inside Vicomté Pace was thick enough to choke. The grandeur of Leifor’s royal halls, lined with golden chandeliers and tapestries of past conquests, now served as the backdrop for what felt less like a diplomatic exchange and more like an imperial inquisition. The Gra Valkas delegation stood unshaken, towering over their hosts not just in stature, but in their sheer confidence—no, superiority.

  Seated at the long mahogany table, Emperor Armand VI took his time analyzing the situation. To his left, Prime Minister Laurent Dufresne and Foreign Minister étienne Roqueure remained composed, but the subtle tension in their shoulders betrayed them. Across the table, the wolves of Gra Valkas were at ease, as if they already knew how this meeting would end.

  Cielia Oudwin, the calm and calcuting diplomat, sipped from her untouched gss of Leiforian wine before setting it down with deliberate care. Her companion, Dals Cymond, leaned back in his chair, wearing a smirk that made it clear—he wasn’t here for negotiations. He was here to deliver terms.

  Armand spoke first, his voice even. "Let us not waste time. You have come here with a purpose. Say it pinly."

  Cielia’s gray eyes met his, unreadable and sharp. "Leifor is a nation on the cusp of modernity. We admire its ambition, its will to advance."

  Armand remained silent, waiting.

  Cielia leaned forward slightly. "But ambition alone is not enough to survive in this new world."

  A murmur ran through the Leiforian delegation. Foreign Minister étienne frowned. "Survive?" he repeated.

  Dals scoffed. "Let me put it in simpler terms, so there is no misunderstanding." He gestured zily toward the rge windows, where the Gra Valkas fleet could still be seen dominating the harbor.

  "Your nation stands at a crossroads. You either embrace the future and become part of something greater… or you will be left behind."

  Armand’s grip on the armrest of his throne tightened ever so slightly. He did not like where this was going.

  "What exactly are you proposing?" the Emperor asked coldly.

  Cielia smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Leifor is strategically positioned, rich in industry, and filled with potential. Under our guidance, it could become a beacon of civilization. An example of what true progress looks like."

  Laurent Dufresne exhaled sharply. "Your guidance? You speak as if you expect us to submit."

  Dals chuckled. "Submission is such an ugly word. We prefer the term… integration."

  A chilling silence followed.

  They were not asking for an alliance. They were demanding servitude.

  Armand’s voice was quiet but firm. "You wish to make Leifor your colony."

  Dals spread his hands as if the answer was obvious. "Call it whatever you like, Your Majesty. But the reality is this—our empire is bringing civilization to Elysia, just as we did in our homend. Those who refuse to move forward with us will find themselves swallowed by history."

  étienne’s knuckles turned white. "You expect us to simply hand over our sovereignty?"

  Dals smirked. "Not immediately. We understand transitions take time. But under our administration, Leifor will thrive beyond its wildest dreams. You will have access to our technology, our industry, our military strength. Your people will live better lives. You will be part of something greater than yourself."

  Cielia nodded, her voice smooth and diplomatic. "We are offering Leifor a pce among the true powers of this world. This is not a threat. It is an opportunity."

  But Armand heard the threat beneath her words.

  Marshal Reindhart Bal, the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, had remained silent until now, observing every word exchanged. But now, he could hold back no longer.

  He turned his gaze to Dals, his voice heavy with restrained fury. "You speak of civilization, yet you arrive in our waters with warships instead of envoys. You stand in our halls and mock our strength. This is not diplomacy. This is coercion."

  Dals didn’t even blink. "Coercion? No. We are simply showing you reality." He leaned forward, locking eyes with the Leiforian commander. "Your military—impressive as you may think it is—stands no chance against us. Your air force is still learning how to repce wyverns. Your navy is testing carrier-based warfare while we have already perfected it. Your army, as disciplined as it may be, has never faced an enemy like us. Do not mistake honor for strength, Marshal Bal."

  The Leiforian officials stiffened. The insult was clear, but it was the undeniable truth beneath it that made it hurt.

  Minister of War Henri Montalivet gritted his teeth. "You assume much about our capabilities."

  Dals shrugged. "I assume nothing. I know."

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a dossier, sliding it across the table. Armand hesitated before opening it. Inside were detailed reports—maps, intelligence on Leifor’s military formations, statistics on their economy, known exports, and infrastructure projects.

  étienne’s face paled. "How…?"

  Cielia smiled lightly. "We are thorough in our observations."

  Dals leaned back, satisfied with their reaction. "Now, before you make any foolish decisions, let us be clear—this offer is not one we extend to just any nation. You have the privilege of being chosen. Do not throw it away."

  The Leiforian side remained silent, processing the weight of what had just been revealed.

  Armand closed the dossier slowly, his face unreadable. "And if we refuse?"

  Cielia’s response was immediate. "Then we will consider our options accordingly."

  Dals smirked. "And I assure you, Your Majesty, some options are… far less pleasant than others."

  The unspoken ultimatum was clear.

  Join us—or be dealt with.

  Armand stood, his royal cloak flowing behind him, signaling that the discussion was over. His voice was controlled, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

  "Leifor is not a pawn to be pyed. We will deliberate on your proposal and give you our answer in due time."

  Cielia nodded, as if she had expected this response. "Of course, Your Majesty. We look forward to your decision."

  Dals simply chuckled, whispering as he turned to leave. "Take your time. It won’t change the outcome."

  As the Gra Valkas delegation exited the hall, the room was left in a suffocating silence.

  Prime Minister Laurent turned to Armand, his voice grave. "We cannot bow to them. But if we fight, we will be crushed."

  Reindhart clenched his fists. "We need time. We need allies. We need a way to resist."

  Emperor Armand VI, ruler of Leifor, closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them with steely resolve.

  "Then we must find one—before it is too te."

  The doors of the royal chamber swung open with an air of finality as the Gra Valkan delegation stood from their seats. The meeting had ended, but the impact of their words remained like a scar upon the pride of the Leiforian Empire.

  Cielia Oudwin adjusted the golden insignia on her pristine white uniform, her expression unreadable as she gave Emperor Armand VI a slow, courteous nod. "We will await your decision, Your Majesty." Her voice was calm, assured—because she already knew what their decision would be.

  Dals Cymond, however, was not so restrained. He grinned, his arrogance in full dispy. "Think wisely, Leiforians. You’re smart enough to know which way the winds are blowing." He turned toward Marshal Reindhart Bal, whose veins bulged in his temple, barely restraining his fury. With a slight chuckle, Dals patted the table before making his way toward the door.

  As the Gra Valkan officers followed, their boots echoed against the marble floors, their movements disciplined, unwavering. They did not look back. They didn’t need to. They had already won.

  For the first time in Leifor’s history, a foreign delegation had entered their capital—not to request an alliance, but to decre dominance.

  As the Gra Valkans left the pace grounds, the streets of Vicomté were already buzzing with rumors. News of the foreign fleet had spread like wildfire, and now, hundreds of Leiforian citizens lined the streets, whispering among themselves as the Gra Valkans walked past.

  "Are those… the foreigners?" one woman murmured, gripping her child’s hand.

  "They arrived on those steel monsters in the harbor," an old man said, voice shaking. "Their ships… they cast a shadow over our navy."

  Some stared in awe, others in fear—but all of them felt the same uncertainty in their hearts.

  Who were these people? And what did they want with Leifor?

  Dals could feel the eyes on them. The stares, the whispers, the silent fear. He smirked, savoring it. This was how it should be.

  Cielia, however, remained detached. She was already thinking five steps ahead.

  As they reached the docks, the full might of the Gra Valkan fleet loomed before them. The steel-gray hulls of their battleships and cruisers towered over the Leiforian harbor, their gun barrels angled slightly outward, not in an offensive stance, but as a silent message.

  Dals took a deep breath. "Nothing like the smell of oil and steel," he mused as they walked toward the gangway leading up to the Grade Atstar-css battleship—their floating fortress.

  The Leiforian naval officers standing at the docks watched in quiet humiliation. Admiral Charles Levasseur, one of the greatest naval minds of Leifor, clenched his fists as he observed the sheer difference in scale between his fleet and theirs.

  "They act as if they already own us," one of his officers whispered.

  Levasseur said nothing. Because deep down, he feared that was already true.

  As the Gra Valkans boarded their fgship, Cielia turned one st time to gaze at the city behind them.

  "They will submit," Dals said, crossing his arms. "They have no other choice."

  Cielia remained quiet for a moment before speaking. "Perhaps."

  Dals arched an eyebrow. "You doubt it?"

  Cielia turned her gaze toward the Leiforian pace in the distance.

  "Even a wounded animal will fight if it has nowhere to run."

  Back in the royal chambers, the moment the Gra Valkans left, the room exploded into chaos.

  "Unacceptable!" Marshal Reindhart Bal smmed his fist onto the table, shaking the gsses. "They came here not to negotiate, but to decre our subjugation! And we just let them walk out without consequence?!"

  General Victor Landegarde exhaled sharply. "We don’t have a choice, Reindhart. If we refuse them outright, they will take what they want by force."

  "But if we submit," Prime Minister Laurent Dufresne cut in, "Leifor will become nothing more than a puppet. A vassal state to an empire that treats us as if we are beneath them!"

  Emperor Armand VI sat silently at the head of the table, staring at the documents left behind by the Gra Valkas delegation. Their intelligence reports. Their precise knowledge of Leifor’s weaknesses.

  They had been watching. Studying. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  Foreign Minister étienne Roqueure spoke, his voice quieter but no less serious. "The people already sense something is wrong. They saw the Gra Valkan ships. They saw their soldiers walk through our streets as if they were already their rulers. If we dey too long, we may not get to choose our fate at all."

  Reindhart gritted his teeth. "Then we must prepare for war."

  Laurent snapped toward him. "You want war?! Against them? You saw what they brought to our harbor! That was not a fleet, that was a message! We would be signing our own death warrant!"

  "Then what do you propose?" Reindhart growled.

  Laurent took a deep breath. "We need time. Time to reach out to Mu, to other powers that might help us. If we submit now, we are finished. But if we decre war recklessly, we will be crushed."

  étienne nodded. "The answer is simple: We py along. For now."

  The room fell silent.

  Armand finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Then we shall give them an answer—but not the one they expect."

  All eyes turned toward him.

  "We will entertain their offer. Dey their demands. Make them believe we are considering submission." His gaze darkened. "But in the meantime, we will make our own preparations."

  A slow understanding spread across the room.

  Reindhart exhaled, a grim smile forming. "A game of deception, then."

  Laurent closed his eyes, tension still heavy in his chest. "We can only hope we have enough time."

  Armand stood, his royal cloak flowing behind him.

  "Then let us buy every second we can."

  News of the Gra Valkan visit spread across Leifor like wildfire. The newspapers, the telegraph lines, the whispers in the marketpce—everyone knew something had changed.

  At the shipyards, dockworkers spoke in hushed voices.

  "Did you see them?" one whispered. "They walk like they already own this pce."

  "I heard they demanded we join their empire," another muttered.

  "Join? You mean bow?"

  At the military academies, cadets debated in the halls.

  "We cannot fight them! You saw the size of their fleet!"

  "And if we don’t fight? What then? Do we let them rule us?"

  In the streets of Vicomté, citizens gathered in murmurs. Some feared, some whispered of resistance, and others simply prayed.

  But one thing was clear.

  The future of Leifor had never been more uncertain.

  July 13, 1639 – Beijing, China

  The rge conference hall in Zhongnanhai, the political heart of China, was filled with some of the most powerful figures in the nation. The State Council was in session, gathered to discuss a topic that had been gaining increasing attention among China’s strategic pnners: North Phides.

  At the head of the room, President Xi Jinping sat calmly, listening as Premier Li Qiang id out the details. Surrounding them were key members of China’s leadership, including Foreign Minister Qin Gang, Defense Minister Li Shangfu, and several high-ranking economic and military officials.

  Li Qiang leaned forward, adjusting his gsses as he spoke. "The situation in Phides is changing. South Phides is in complete turmoil with the ongoing conflict between the Parpaldian government and ISIS insurgents. While that region remains unstable, the North presents an opportunity."

  He tapped a digital screen, bringing up a map of North Phides, highlighting its coastal cities, trade hubs, and key resource deposits.

  "Our economic advisors believe that a well-pnned investment strategy can integrate North Phides into our economic network. We’ve already had success in establishing a presence in Rodenius, but expanding further will ensure our long-term influence in the region."

  President Xi remained quiet, allowing the ministers to present their findings. Foreign Minister Qin Gang spoke next, his voice measured.

  "The North Phides nations have little understanding of China but are open to foreign partnerships. Currently, they are economically stagnant, cking modern infrastructure. If we introduce development programs—ports, roads, and industrial hubs—we can establish ourselves as their primary partner before the Americans or Indians do."

  Minister of Transport He Lifeng brought up the next slide, showing images of a massive port project on China’s western coast—a key asset in supporting their push into Phides.

  "Our work on the deepwater port in western China is nearly complete. This will allow us to establish direct shipping routes to Rodenius and Phides without relying on intermediary supply chains."

  Defense Minister Li Shangfu nodded slightly. "This also improves our strategic mobility. The Americans and Indians are aggressively expanding in the region. If we do not act now, we may find ourselves locked out of key trade routes."

  Li Qiang continued. "Our next step is to establish diplomatic missions in North Phides. Initial offers will focus on infrastructure development, resource extraction, and trade agreements. We will start small—railroads, highways, modernizing their ports—but eventually, we will integrate their economies into ours."

  President Xi finally spoke, his tone decisive.

  "Make sure our companies get priority contracts. Focus on long-term projects that will tie their development to us. Once we establish dependency, we will have the leverage to dictate terms."

  Everyone in the room nodded. The strategy was clear: China would not take North Phides by force—it would buy it.

  Foreign Minister Qin Gang spoke again, shifting the discussion toward global politics.

  "India and the other Asian nations are rapidly growing their presence in Rodenius. We should expect resistance from them as we expand. However, they are not unified. If we leverage our economic strengths properly, we can outmaneuver them in key negotiations."

  "And the Americans?" Premier Li Qiang asked.

  Defense Minister Li Shangfu gave a small smile. "They are watching. But they are spread thin. Their focus remains on managing diplomatic retions with Mirishial, the ongoing events around them, and containing Gra Valkas. As long as we remain within the economic sphere, they will not intervene directly."

  Xi Jinping nodded. "Good. Let them watch."

  The room was silent for a moment before Premier Li Qiang spoke again.

  "We will proceed with phase one: initial diplomatic engagements with North Phides. If we establish strong retionships early, we will have the upper hand before any other Earth nation can react."

  President Xi gave a final nod. "Begin immediately."

  With that, the meeting was over.

  China’s expansion into North Phides had begun.