The Great Chaos of the Eastern Bus (2)
“Why must we—as a sovereign nation—submit to a foreign power?!”
They had barely escaped the pirates, only to face the grim reality of bowing to the Kerzin Federation. Those who could not accept that truth drove public opinion in the Sir Citizens’ League to the brink of a full-blown schism.
“Realistically, that’s impossible.”
“Nonsense!”
Even as people raced about trying to prevent the nation from fracturing while enemies already surrounded them on every side, the situation only grew worse.
“If we play this right, part of Sir territory might fall into our hands.”
The Fuxviet Union—now thoroughly red-pilled, or rather red-flagged—intervened in Sir’s division to expand its own borders, and the crisis spiraled further.
“The Sir Citizens’ League must never split! We must exist as a single nation—”
Bang!
Those who tried to hold the fractured national will together began dying in mysterious accidents. In the end…
“We will never submit!”
“You damned idealists—look at reality for once!”
The league split north and south, and a brutal civil war erupted.
“If you’re going to make us fight, at least give us weapons or a fleet first.”
“Everything we have was seized from the pirates. Split that in half and what the hell are we supposed to do?”
The problem was that neither faction had any real weapons or ships to speak of. All they could do was hurl ugly insults at each other.
“North Sir is nothing but a pack of defeatists who only know how to surrender to foreigners.”
“South Sir are idiots who refuse to face reality and cling to empty pride!”
The Galactic League finally grew sick of the noise.
“Those people are too loud. Go mediate, would you?”
“Agreed.”
After a tangle of complicated circumstances and negotiations, the civil war ended when North Sir declared:
“We will become part of Kerzin entirely.”
They would not merely become a vassal; they would be fully annexed in stages. That decision put an end to the fighting.
With North Sir absorbed into Kerzin, South Sir was left high and dry—now simply “Sir,” its national strength halved, seemingly destined to be carved up by the surrounding Fuxviet Union or Zeltech.
Yet just as the nation teetered on the edge of annihilation, a savior appeared.
The problem was where that savior came from.
“Wait, everyone stop.”
“Bro… what are you doing here…?”
It was a new state born from the reunification of the Warlord’s former domains, which had themselves been locked in civil war.
“Until now we fanatically followed only the teachings of the Lord of War. But we have realized that such stubbornness and arrogance were wrong.”
“Uh… uh…”
“Therefore we wish to become one with those the Warlord once trampled, and walk the path of peaceful prosperity together.”
When the Khagan—successor to the Warlord and ruler of the Horde—voluntarily merged his territories with Sir…
“As of this moment, we clearly reject all foreign intervention.”
“But peace is good. So let’s talk trade.”
“…”
“Is this for real?”
In one stroke, the surviving Warlord forces—including the once-mighty Keshik fleets—joined them. South Sir, almost by accident, became a new nation fused with the Warlord’s domains: the Sir-Horde Federation. And with that, it secured its safety from neighboring aggression.
Meanwhile, the Kerzin Federation accepted North Sir’s submission. Strangely enough, the Galactic League did not punish them the way it had punished Uko’Praknar, which had also once submitted to the Warlord.
“Why are you only crushing us and leaving those bastards alone?!”
The sight drove the Uko’Praknar Interstellar Union—already reduced to beggars by the League—into a fury.
“Punishment for the Kerzin Federation… punishment… puni—”
“Do we really have to?”
“Can’t we just let it slide?”
It was unfair from Uko’Praknar’s perspective, but Kerzin’s situation was entirely different. In short, the two nations’ political standing within the Galactic League was worlds apart.
“Demanding punitive damages from Kerzin feels… a bit much, doesn’t it?”
“Quite right.”
It was not because Kerzin was somehow “nicer” than Uko’Praknar. From the League’s viewpoint, keeping Kerzin alive was simply several times more profitable than extracting reparations.
“Without the Kerzin Federation, there is no force in the east that can hold back the Prosnark.”
First, Kerzin had voluntarily taken on the tank role on the anti-Prosnark front. Second, unlike Uko’Praknar, Kerzin had caused no further conflicts with other nations after submitting to the Warlord—earning them bonus points.
True, their surrender had helped collapse the Warlord encirclement that Mekt-Fux had planned. But Mekt-Fux itself was gone, and its successor, the Fuxviet Union, was behaving so badly that no one remained with standing to criticize Kerzin’s actions.
On top of that, Kerzin had submitted yet offered no real support—purely focusing on defense. That had caused a minor hiccup by stalling the northward advance of the Ztrakpor fleet, but…
“Anyway, we only ever acted in pure self-defense, you know?”
“…”
By sticking strictly to defense, they had merely faced off against Ztrakpor, preserved their strength, and avoided any major clash.
“Well… they didn’t really do anything. How about we just let it go?”
“Besides, with Sir deciding to join Kerzin, if the League punishes them now the burden on every nation trying to contain the Prosnark becomes far too heavy.”
After all the complicated political wrangling, the Galactic League settled for a mild verbal reprimand and a token compensation demand that was little more than a face-saving gesture.
Of course Uko’Praknar and the Fuxviet Union erupted in furious protest.
“You lot actually went out and fought, unlike Kerzin.”
“Ah.”
Uko’Praknar had recklessly charged in and inflicted real damage, so their opinions were casually ignored.
“Kerzin is the one who destroyed the encirclement we established. They owe us proper compensation.”
“Then you can start by honoring all those Mekt-Fux treaties you claim to have inherited.”
“…”
The Fuxviet Union’s objections were likewise dismissed as the natural price of their own behavior.
While the galactic east descended into chaos of that sort…
“Virtorius! Virtorius! Virtorius!”
“Minister! Look over here!!”
“Is that the famous prophet?”
“Whoa!”
On my way to the imperial palace to meet Artraia, I was besieged by hordes of fanatics.
“Your Grace! Please, just a touch of your hand!”
“Great Prophet! Have mercy on the people!”
Some of them even launched human-wave assaults on my vehicle just to touch my hand once.
“Did you know? If you get a scrap of the prophet’s clothing, you’ll have good luck for life.”
“Wow, really?”
Thanks to some baseless rumor, the moment I stepped out of the car the fanatics swarmed me and started ripping my clothes to shreds. I arrived at the palace looking like a beggar who had once been a duke.
“Minister Arto! As expected, your prophecy was accurate—ah.”
“Your prediction struck true once again! Truly bless—aaaah.”
Dozens of unfamiliar senators and high officials approached with smiles, ready to praise or flatter my “prophecies,” only to freeze when they saw the state of me.
“Duke Arto, His Majesty is waiting—”
Even the imperial guards Artraia had sent could not hide their shock at my appearance.
“…Sorry, but could you escort me in?”
“Y-yes, sir…”
Thus I faced Artraia looking like a wild man.
“Arto, you’re really something.”
“…”
“Did you know? Even the religious authorities are starting to push for your canonization as a saint.”
Just hearing it drained the strength from my body. I covered my face with both hands, feeling my spirit quietly collapse.