Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire

The command tent was a fortress of canvas and steel.

Massive poles held up its high ceiling, draped in the dark crimson of Romanus banners stitched with gold thread.

Lanterns hung from iron hooks, casting a warm, steady glow over the maps, scrolls, and ledgers strewn across the war table.

Brass braziers hissed faintly, warding off the chill of northern winter.

As Julius stepped inside, all conversation ceased.

The assembled Legates and senior generals stood at attention, a few offering crisp salutes, others bowing with solemn respect.

Julius removed his helm slowly and placed it on the table.

His silver hair caught the firelight, and his eyes — sharp, pale, unreadable — swept over the gathered men.

Haddin, Gallius, Sabellus, Caetrax, and more — commanders from the old and new, veterans of Lunan, Roserun, and the Greecian conquest.

Each man had earned their place here through blood and brilliance.

"Speak,"

Julius said, his tone calm but firm.

"I want reports. All of them. We've ridden hard for six days, and I need to know how the world's changed in my absence."

Gallius, a thick-shouldered man with a scar from temple to jaw, stepped forward first.

"Your Majesty, as of three days ago, the last major columns of our forces arrived. We've established a tri-camp formation across the ridgeline and central basin to cover both the northwest flank and the route into central Germania. Supply chains from Rosaria and eastern Lunalia are operational — no major delays."

"Defenses?"

Julius asked.

"Solidified,"

Caetrax replied, stepping up beside Gallius.

"Palisades, earthworks, full triarii rotation every six hours. Morale is high. The men have been…expecting you."

That much had been obvious from the reception when he and his Praetorian guards had ridden into the camp.

Julius gave a small nod and gestured toward the large central map table.

"And the enemy?"

Silence followed — the kind only broken by the sound of thick parchment being unrolled.

Sabellus stepped forward, tapping the region near the Achaean interior and the northern hills shared by Germania and Francia.

"We've seen scattered Francian movements along the central river plains,"

he said.

"They're testing the borders — nothing direct, not yet. But they're no longer static. Raiding parties have pushed into outer Germanian hinterlands. We estimate they've moved at least twenty-five thousand into the northeast. Led by… Prince Amaury."

Julius's brow twitched at the name.

He remembered Amaury.

A sharp boy in a velvet scabbard.

Raised in a golden cage.

Unworthy of the weight he now tried to wield.

"And the Achaean front?"

Haddin took that question.

"Stalling. The Germanians are rebolden thanks to our arrival in the war — too many mountain passes, served as natural defenses, but the iron cavalry have broken through allowing access to the south. General Elheat's campaign in the south has paid off. They've split their command structure — we intercepted reports suggesting their coastal reinforcements were pulled back to defend key inland hubs against the surging Germanian warbands."

"So they blinked,"

Julius murmured.

"Good."

He looked down at the map again.

Two warfronts — neither fully committed, both teetering toward collapse or escalation.

And all of it built atop a fracturing enemy alliance.

Julius reached for his gloves, slowly sliding them off.

His voice was softer now, but no less dangerous.

"And the King?"

"King Theodric remains in court,"

Sabellus said.

"But… there's more."

He handed over a sealed scroll, the wax already broken.

"One of Lady Caelia's informants embedded in the Francian court delivered this yesterday. Confirmed by three separate runners."

Julius opened it and read quickly.

His jaw didn't tighten — but his grip on the parchment did.

Prince Amaury was moving without full royal sanction.

Francian nobles refusing to coordinate their efforts believing a war would not require the full might of their kingdom to win.

The Dhorlin Celtic tribes seeking protection in exchange for allegiance due to the Brittanian attack.

And worst of all — the Brittanic advance south.

Julius finished reading and set the scroll aside.

"Theodric's kingdom is a house with a thousand doors, each lord locking their own. No wonder they're bleeding even before the war has begun."

He looked around the table.

"They think this is a border war. A skirmish. That they can contain me by flanking the Germanians and cutting off the Achaeans."

His fingers tapped once on the table.

"They haven't realized what we've become while they sat back in their royal halls, what they provoked when they stole a jewel from our kingdom."

The room was silent again.

He wasn't boasting.

He was stating a fact.

Romanus was no longer a hidden dagger.

It was a sovereign blade drawn openly across the neck of an aging order.

"Word has already reached the Celtic North,"

Caetrax said.

"The Brittanic invasion has crushed the lowland tribes, and if they cross further south…"

"They'll border Francia directly,"

Julius finished.

"And Theodric will have no choice but to divide his forces even further."

Gallius raised a brow.

"You're saying we let it happen?"

"No,"

Julius said.

"I'm saying we shape it."

He stepped to the far end of the map and tapped a series of river cities along the mid-Germanian corridor.

"We hit these — not to capture, but to scorch. We bait the Francians into overcommitting. And while their nobles argue over whose land is burning, we move the real armies east. Once we encircle Achae, we'll have the coast and the heartland in a vice."

"And if Brittania invades?" Caetrax asked.

Julius looked up at him.

"Then Francia will finally scream. And when they do, no one will come to answer."

~

An hour later, the meeting adjourned.

Plans had been drawn.

Scouts dispatched.

Saboteurs given their orders.

But Julius lingered behind, staring at the map, alone.

His mind racing even as his body started to settle into rest after a long and hard ride.

The maps were showing a pre-war state.

But comparing it to his system map he could see just how far Elheat's campaign had gone, the southern coasts were almost entirely secure and basing off the casualties Elheat should be preparing to launch a new attack wing north to further secure coastline that can act as staging areas for the Romanus naval forces before the invasion of Francia.