Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire

The bells of the Papal City tolled grimly as another round of solemn ceremonies were completed, but within the stone walls of the Vatican halls, there was no celebration — only grim preparation.

Pope Peter III, flanked by a cohort of red-robed cardinals, including the ever-watchful Matthaeus, stood in the Sanctum Majoris — the ancient heart of the Holy See — a vaulted hall where only the most secret councils of the Church were held.

Laid across the marble table before them were letters bearing the crests of the various knightly orders of Christendom — the Hospitallers, the Templars, the Santiagoans, and more.

Each had been sent summons with urgent missives:

Come to the Holy See.

Stand ready.

God's sword must be drawn.

The orders responded quickly, and The grandmasters were arriving day by day, their armoured retinues swelling the narrow streets of the Principality's great capital.

Horses, footmen, banners — a military gathering unseen since the old Crusades when the principality was first founded.

But beneath the martial pageantry, doubt festered.

In the private chambers of the Pope, reports flowed in from across the western world — and many were not what Matthaeus had hoped for.

The inquiries were endless: Why were the Carthaginian ports silent?Why had no merchant caravans crossed from the south in weeks?Why was there no news from the border towns?What had happened to the once-busy roads between Carthage and the Holy See?

It was like a phantom hand had severed the Principality from the continent itself.

And when word finally filtered back from a few surviving merchant sailors, it carried a singular, horrifying image:

A wall.

A great wall.

Miles upon miles of stone and fortifications, stretching from sea to sea, from the mountains to the coast, unbroken and unbreached.

Romanus had walled them in.

And the Holy See had not even realized it until it was far, far too late.

~

Matthaeus stood at the Pope's right hand as the pontiff reviewed the growing stack of troubling correspondence.

"Our influence beyond these walls... weakens," the Pope murmured, his face tight with frustration.

"We have been... contained."

Contained.

The word left a sour taste in Matthaeus's mouth.

It was one thing to cast down heretics by proclamation.

It was another to find oneself trapped behind stone and steel, rendered irrelevant by nothing more than simple geography and brutal efficiency.

He could feel the murmurs growing even among the more loyal cardinals.

The Faithful who had fled Carthage spoke of Romanus organization, their generosity during the exodus, how soldiers bearing the eagle standard had helped carry the old and infirm to the border gates instead of cutting them down.

Worse — some whispered that Julius had shown more Christian charity to the exiles than the Church itself had managed as upon arriving beyond the wall and into the holy lands, they were all but abandoned left to travel on their own until reaching towns and villages only to find they were not exactly welcome since tens of thousands had just arrived and the stores had not enough food to provide for all.

It was a knife wound Matthaeus could not endure.

"We must act,"

he said harshly, voice slicing through the heavy air of the chamber.

"If we delay longer, we will be a priesthood trapped within our own cathedral."

The Pope, tired but resolute, nodded slowly.

He turned to one of the attending scribes and gave a single, sharp order:

"Summon the Grand Conclave of Orders. In ten days, I shall speak to the Masters myself."

The Pope's gaze hardened.

"If Romanus has sealed itself behind walls of stone…"

He closed the holy book before him with a heavy thud.

"...then we shall tear them down with fire and righteous fury."

Matthaeus bowed low, hiding the smile that twisted his lips.

War would come.

Not just by decree.

Not just with excommunications and empty threats.

No.

Christendom's swords would be unsheathed.

A Second Crusade — this time not to free themselves from he ties of the old gods, but to shatter Rome reborn.

~

Meanwhile, outside the Holy City, far from the plotting halls of the Church, the common people stirred uneasily.

Supplies already began to dwindle.

Trade shriveled to a trickle, as all outside sources were completely cut off.

Luxury goods disappeared entirely — spices, silks, even wine grew scarce.

Prices soared.

Tensions rose.

And in dark alleyways and quiet taverns, whispers began to spread.

"Did you hear? In Carthage... their fields are full. Their shops still open."

"They say Romanus merchants are richer than kings now."

"Meanwhile, we starve and wait for God's mercy… while our masters hoard what little remains."

Jealousy.

Anger.

Hunger.

All the old plagues that no holy decree could cure.

All growing, day by day, like rot under a painted mask.

Matthaeus could not hear these whispers from his golden halls.

But Julius?

Julius would have known.

Julius understood that walls did not just keep enemies out.

They kept decay trapped within.

And soon...

The Principality would learn that the greatest threat to its survival was not the armies outside its borders.

But the despair already blooming within them.

The Holy See and the upper echelon that ran it believed themselves to be higher men, men of standing blessed by the very hands of god himself.

And as the cardinal had shown before the Julius they viewed themselves as such higher than kings and even Emperors as gods chosen, while the rest of the continent was merely waiting for the faithful to become strong enough to enact the holy crusade to bring all the poor souls to salvation under the loving embrace of the one true god.

Even as the Holy See and the nation as a whole was beginning to roil with uncertainty and anst the true powers within the land the militant wings of the church had begun to move, not just the grandmaster's but all the forces under their command also began to march towards the capital, viewing the words from the papacy as more than just a mere summons.

They marched off to receive the lord's blessing before being unleashed to fight a true war worthy of their cause.