Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire

The frost had broken.

Not in silence, but with the groaning of stone, the shattering of ancient snow, and the creaking release of a continent exhaling its breath after months of clenched cold.

Spring had come.

And with it, war was reborn.

The Iron Corridor — the great scar carved by Romanus through the eastern marrow of Francia — had held through winter's siege.

Though battered, encircled, and at times fractured by Saint Joan's relentless resistance, it remained open, a bleeding artery of iron and will leading from the interior heart of Germania to the northern sea.

But now, with the thaw, it pulsed anew.

And it was ready to bite.

~

Romanus Forward Command – Outskirts of La Morienne, First Day of Thaw

Julius stood at the edge of the encampment, his cloak catching the wind as he watched the fog lift off the river.

Below, the valley bloomed in slow agony — broken fortifications softened by months of snowmelt now thawed to reveal the true cost of winter: shattered stone, half-buried corpses, rusted war engines long since exhausted.

But beyond it, Francia still stood.

Still fought.

And he was tired of fighting ghosts.

Sabellus stepped up beside him, his breath white in the chill that still clung to the morning.

"They're moving again."

Julius didn't look away.

"Joan?"

"Aye. Scouting reports say she's headed east, toward La Morienne's second ring."

"With how many?"

"Fifty-three thousand by count. Mostly fresh. Some of the old vanguard. She's absorbed the militias from Varce and Daronne."

Sabellus shifted slightly, then added,

"They follow her like she's a god."

"She may as well be,"

Julius murmured.

"She's everything they think they've lost."

Sabellus didn't disagree.

But he held out a scroll — black-sealed.

The Root's mark.

"Then it's time we give them something they haven't seen."

Julius took the scroll and broke the seal.

He read it quickly.

Efficiently.

Then he nodded.

"Three fresh legions have arrived at Ostia by sea. One already marching to reinforce the southern corridor. Two more for the push."

"Any sign of Elheat's half?"

"He's already set off at Barrenhold."

Sabellus blinked.

"That far north already?"

"His cavalry moves like smoke,"

Julius said.

"He's turned the western invasion into a raid campaign. Dozens of Francian outposts have gone dark."

"Without siege?"

Julius smirked faintly.

"He doesn't need siege. He burns the food. Kills the officers. Leaves the peasants. Then vanishes."

Sabellus gave a low whistle.

"A bastard after your own heart."

Julius didn't respond.

He had turned his gaze toward the ridge to the east, where the thunder of marching feet had begun to echo across the awakening soil.

The 13th and 17th Legions.

Reinforcements.

Veteran legions — not conscripts, not newly raised auxiliaries.

Men who had bled in the east.

Men who had had helped conquer the Ramie kingdom, and liberate Carthaginia.

Men who didn't ask why they were here.

Only where the enemy stood.

Julius stepped forward and raised his hand.

From the ridgeline, trumpets flared — clean, high, sharp.

Their echoes cut through the mist like spears.

And then came the banners.

Black and crimson.

Each bearing the golden eagle.

The Empire had slept long enough.

~

Saint Joan's Encampment – Southern Highlands of La Morienne

The thaw had brought color back to the world.

And with it, movement.

Campfires no longer steamed when lit.

Boots no longer broke crusted snow.

Instead, the army marched over mud and stone — fields of early growth just beginning to peek from beneath the ruined farmland.

Saint Joan sat on a ridge above her army, her white cloak still as ever, watching the formation below tighten like a drawn bow.

The army wasn't raw anymore.

The winter had taught them.

Her captains had taught them.

She had taught them.

Three months of defensive campaigns, ambushes, engineering drills, forced marches and morale trials had turned rabble into militia, and militia into men.

Not legionnaires — but no longer prey.

Below, knights trained their squires in step formations.

The pike walls had been rebuilt.

It wasn't the army of a crumbling kingdom.

It was the army of resistance.

Still, she knew it wouldn't be enough on its own.

The one they said led Romanus with a hand like steel and a voice like winter wind.

Emperor Julius 'Aquitania' Ceasar

She didn't understand why the name made her heart ache.

Only that it did.

Somehow.

~

One of her captains approached, breathless from the climb.

"Milady."

"Captain Morn."

"They've moved. The corridor's begun to pulse again. Two legions have reinforced the pass at Arvest. A third broke out of the coastal hold and is pushing eastward. Reports say they've linked with the Iron Cavalry."

"And the emperor?"

"Still at La Morienne's mouth."

Joan nodded slowly.

She closed her eyes.

The blade at her side pulsed again.

It had grown warmer in recent days.

Like it, too, had sensed the end of slumber.

"We'll intercept the southern push,"

she said.

Morn hesitated.

"That will leave our northern flanks exposed."

"Good."

He blinked.

"Good?"

"They'll chase our shadow, thinking we mean to cut off the corridor. But I'm not after the artery. I'm after the heart."

She rose.

The sun caught the edge of her blade.

No one said it aloud, but some gasped.

It was beginning to glow again.

Not fully.

Not yet.

But it was waking.

So was she.

~

Francia's Royal Court – Capital of Cael Montaine

The war table shook with shouted arguments.

Pale-fingered lords in fine robes pointed at maps smeared with too many black-and-crimson pins.

"She's out of control!"

one screamed.

"Raising an army without permission is treason!"

"She's saving lives,"

another snapped.

"And winning battles! What have you done this winter?"

"She'll take the throne!"

"She doesn't even want it!"

"She'll split the nation in two!"

"It's already been split!"

And through it all, Prince Amaury sat in silence, staring at the flames flickering behind the stained-glass window.

His wine untouched.

His ring finger tapping the table, again and again and again.

He had not issued a single royal order since the winter began.

Because he knew what they all did not.

She was coming.

And when she arrived — either as ally or as enemy — no one in this room would be able to stop her.

He whispered to himself, almost too quietly to hear:

"She remembers nothing… but the world remembers her, both of them."

~

Romanus Eastern Front — Five Days Later

The legions had advanced again.

This time with the full force of spring behind them.

Fresh food.

Fresh arms.

Fresh horses.

And with them, new orders:

Break Joan's western wing before she can gather a proper force.

Destroy the militia before they learn to become soldiers.

Leave nothing behind but memory.

Julius oversaw it all with a quiet, cold precision.

Every battle they fought, every blade they crossed, only brought them closer.

He didn't know what she'd become.

Only that she was still alive.

And the world — the empire — would not be whole again until one of them stood above the other.

And in that moment, Julius whispered his own truth:

"If you're really her… then you'll understand."

He raised his hand.

The spring offensive began.

And with it, the next chapter of conquest.

Of memory.

Of reunion.

Through fire and blade.

Romanus marched once more.

And Francia braced for the storm.