“Manuchehr has retaken control in Shatufan,” Icarius informed the meeting room.

    Leon sighed. The Shatufan problem was messy, and it was a mess largely of his own making. He didn’t regret his actions, but dealing with it was going to take some doing, especially now that Krizos and Rolor’s Highcastle were both officially on Shatufan’s side.

    “How?” Leon asked.

    “Sentudon, Krizos, and Rolor’s Highcastle joined forces with loyalists who fled the city with Manuchehr,” Icarius replied. “It wasn’t even a battle—the self-proclaimed King of Shatufan had bloodied himself fighting Jamshid, and what few forces he retained were skeletal. There wasn’t even a fight; as soon as Manuchehr appeared at the head of an army, the guards threw open the city gates and surrendered. Manuchehr took control over the city and had everyone associated with Jamshid and the ‘King’ executed. The ‘King’ he executed personally.”

    “What do the other cities get out of this...” Leon wondered aloud. “Their armies didn’t stay in Shatufan, did they?”

    “No,” Icarius answered. “They aided Manuchehr in securing the hinterlands and in boosting the size of his army’s profile, but it was natives of Shatufan who retook the city itself.”

    Leon nodded. “So they’re not after hard power, then. I suppose that makes sense, but it leaves open the question of what they expect to gain. How many troops did they deploy to support Manuchehr?”

    “Getting accurate numbers based on second-hand accounts is nearly impossible, but I can estimate that Sentudon sent ten thousand soldiers, Krizos sent twenty-five thousand, and Rolor’s Highcastle sent around thirty thousand. Manuchehr and the loyalists, plus those from the countryside they conscripted or recruited, numbered nearly fifty thousand.”

    Leon frowned in appreciation. Such an army was impressive, and he was surprised there was enough discipline that no towns were sacked along the way, and Shatufan apparently wasn’t damaged in Manuchehr’s retaking of the city.

    The Azadan had been gutted, though. First, Jamshid’s heavy hand had laid low many ancient families, then the King of Shatufan expanded the process, and then Manuchehr had him and all of his allies executed. Leon doubted there were any Azadan left in Shatufan who were not loyal to Manuchehr at this point. The ruling class had been devastated.

    “How was he able to take on that ‘King’?” Gaius inquired. “Wasn’t he one of the tenth-tier mages left in the city?”

    “There had been three before we arrived,” Icarius answered. “Jamshid was one. The King was another. The last supported Manuchehr, and the allies sent enough force that the King wasn’t able to put up enough of a fight to keep his seized throne.”

    Leon sighed again. “I suppose that it doesn’t matter in the end...”

    The room went quiet for a moment before Icarius asked, “What doesn’t?”

    Leon bit his lip for a moment as he let the lingering anger from the visit bleed out of him. “What these cities are getting in return for their support. I’ve decided that I don’t care.”

    “It would be easier to break their support if we knew what they were getting,” Valeria pointed out.

    “I don’t care,” Leon stated. “I’ve decided that my Kingdom will include all of the Far West. These cities have acted in bad faith, leaving me with no faith in them that they won’t be problems. When the next wave of colonists arrive, their arks will aid us in bringing these cities under our control.”

    “With respect, Your Majesty,” the Jaguar whispered, “even that wave of colonists will leave us short-staffed. These cities are large, and providing sufficient garrisons for them will be impossible even if we limit ourselves to just Shatufan, Krizos, Sentudon, and the Highcastle. If we expanded our ambitions to include all of the cities in the Far West, we would have perhaps a handful of soldiers for each garrison at the most.”

    Leon slowly nodded. “This will be no lightning campaign. And once we have arks... we can move more quickly. If we’ve taken our lessons from our first wave well enough, then we’ll be able to ferry more troops from Aeterna. Accelerate our plans.”

    “We can do that...” the Jaguar conceded. “Each trip will take weeks. We might not have that long.”

    Leon projected his magic senses briefly, noting that the delegation from those three cities had already been escorted beyond the misty veil. He found it somewhat curious that Sentudon hadn’t sent a delegation of their own and briefly wondered if that meant they’d be more open to surrendering to his authority. He didn’t mind giving them generous terms, as he’d given to Alhamachim, but no such terms would be offered to Shatufan. Krizos and Rolor’s Highcastle... would depend on how they responded to his rejection of their terms, he supposed.

    He pushed his magic senses out further, due north.

    Of these cities, Rolor’s Highcastle was the closest by a considerable margin, being south of the Southcourse mountains that separated the cities of the Finger Lakes from the plains and forests that extended to the King’s Ocean.

    The Highcastle itself was a relatively small, though still imposing structure built on a hill overlooking Tyrant’s Lake, a deep lake with green water. A river emptied the lake, serving as one of the larger tributaries of the Blue Feather River, and allowing easy access for shipborne travel from the Highcastle to Artorion.

    The problem for that was the Blackbone Fens, a dense, wild forest that the tributary almost, but didn’t quite skirt. For a large military force, however, the danger of the Fens was low.

    And Rolor’s Highcastle certainly appeared powerful enough to assemble a large military force, the army they sent to support Manuchehr looking to Leon like only a fraction of what they could assemble if they truly went to war.

    “Monitor the situation,” the Jaguar stated. “Take a year or two to fortify, build, and rebuild. Increase migration as much as is feasible. Once our position is more secure, deal with these arrogant cities permanently.” His tone and slight, nearly imperceptible emanation of killing intent made it clear how he wanted to ‘deal with’ those cities.

    Leon glanced around the room, silently asking for the opinions of the rest of his advisors. They were so few now that this was not a lengthy process, especially since many of those who yet lived weren’t present for this meeting.

    It was almost unanimous—all of Leon’s human followers wanted to wait, telling him that they were not in any position to be waging offensive war at this time.

    Anzu, Maia, and Siddi—who was present in a thin, ‘civilian’ variant of the giants’ frame—were more hawkish, being more than ready and willing to take any potential fight to their enemy’s doorstep rather than wait for it on their own.

    “Compelling arguments,” Leon stated. “The challenge of conquering these cities will be great. Fully expanding our Kingdom into these lands will be many times more challenging, still. Give me some time—a day or two—and I’ll think the matter over.”

    There were others he wanted to consult with, too. The Thunderbird, Xaphan, Clear Day, Anastasios, and Eva were the five at the top of his list. So, when everyone else acknowledged his decision, such as it was, he ended the meeting and made his way back to his bedroom. Maia, Cassandra, Valeria, and Elise followed him back, but he didn’t linger with them long before diving into his soul realm.

    To his relief, the Thunderbird was there, waiting for him in her human form, a stern if motherly look on her aquiline features.

    Without prompting on his part, she said, “I hope you’re not intending to let these common humans tarnish my legacy.”

    “Of course not,” Leon replied with incredulity. “I am to be the Storm King! How can I lay claim to such a title if I back down when a handful of city-states without a single post-Apotheosis mage between them—at least, as far as I know—make threats?”

    “How, indeed...” the Thunderbird replied, looking slightly mollified. “This is your chance, my boy. Sink your talons into the land here and never let go, not until the Nexus undergoes Reconstitution. By then, you ought to have planes you can evacuate to.”

    Leon nodded. “I think I’ll have the Far West in hand, for the most part, within a decade. From there, my Kingdom’s efforts will be directed outward. The planes. Reclaiming Tiryns, Kypros, and Minos.”

    “Don’t lose focus on the Nexus,” the Thunderbird warned.

    “My enemies are here,” Leon replied. “I’ll never turn my back upon it. Kamran and his lieutenants. The Clan’s vault. Justin. I... There is much to do. Children, too. Children most of all...”

    The Thunderbird’s expression softened. “You will live a long time now, Leon. There will be plenty of time for other endeavors. Propagating the Clan should be a priority that comes before all others.”

    “Still working on that,” Leon hissed, a sour look crossing his face. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop. My wives might cut me into little pieces if I tried.”

    “No they wouldn’t,” the Thunderbird replied. “I’d kill you, and thus myself, before they ever got the chance.”

    Leon met her gaze and detected not a trace of deceit in her demeanor. She meant what she said.

    “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    He was about to ask her some questions about the planes when he felt a light squeeze on his physical shoulder. With a growing sense of both irritation and concern, he returned to his throne and the physical world, finding that it was Valeria who was gently shaking him by the shoulder.

    “Leon,” she whispered, her tone tinged with concern. “The Highcastle...”

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    Leon immediately projected his magic senses. It hadn’t been even a single day since the delegates were thrown out of Artorion and he could see them still flying northward along the Blue Feather River. Coming down from Tyrant’s Lake, however, was a veritable armada of small military ships, while four arks flew above, acting as escorts.

    As a scowl spread across Leon’s face, he widened his attention, noting that a similar scene was playing out farther north—ships were leaving both Shatufan and Sentudon, with the latter even sending out a comparable number of arks as the Highcastle. Krizos, meanwhile, sent a dozen frigate-sized arks into the sky, followed by a cloud of other mages all flying under their own power.

    Individually, none of these military groups were that big of a threat even in Artorion’s diminished state, but all of them together could wreak considerable damage should they be left unchecked.

    Leon’s scowl deepened with every passing second, and he slowly got to his feet, wrath racing through his blood almost as fast as his lightning. There was no doubt in his mind about what the intention was for these various forces—they wanted to force him into concessions on their terms.

    His people may be averse to offensive campaigns at the moment, but such obvious movements could not be ignored. His neighbors wanted war, and he was only too happy to give it to them.