Planet-Slaying Means Slamming a Fucking Huge Force onto the Planetary Surface (4)
'Ah.... I'm gonna die from exhaustion first.'
I hadn't slept properly for days now. Calling it "days" was inaccurate because I'd given up even trying to count exactly how many. I never imagined my sense of time would crumble like this after arriving on Forge.
Why? "Haha. Now that the governor's office is secure, I couldn't just sit idle, so I printed out some documents."
"No! (Damn right!) Stop! (Bring more! I feel like I can handle it!)"
"Understood!"
"What do you understand?!"
"I've brought more!!"
"What the hell did you understand?!"
My aide had zero tact, interrupting my brief nap with a fresh stack of steaming documents straight from the printer. Thanks to that.
Father. What kind of life did you live? And why'd you leave so soon? Couldn't you have stuck around to do a bit more?
Food was a mess too. Sure, it wasn't like we had access to fresh broth made from premium A+ meat from some ranching planet, or rice from an agricultural world to make a proper gukbap. But I had my pride. I wasn't about to throw a fit demanding luxuries, so I ended up eating the same "C-7 Imperial Army Standard Combat Ration" as the soldiers and officers.
If I had to rate the taste, first thought was: Soon as I get back, I'm auditing the supplier that peddled this shit. No idea which bastard made it, but you could taste the corruption in every bite. One pack was 3,000 calories—plenty of bulk—but no amount of diplomatic euphemism could call it anything better than "edible." Soy protein bricks, vitamin-enriched jelly, electrolyte drinks, and whatever the hell "locally sourced" ingredients got thrown in. The nutrition was calibrated to "won't die" levels. Not "feels alive," just "won't die."
Gripping these complaints, scant sleep, and shitty meals, I was venting on everyone.
"So...."
My voice was low, cold, laced with irritation, fatigue, and a raspy edge. I wasn't trying to intimidate, but humans—unless you've swapped your vocal cords for machines—let their condition bleed into the vibe.
"My order was 'Execute decapitation strike with drones.' What the fuck are you all? Rebellious brats? Why interpret it backwards?"
Across the table sat the legion commanders, heads bowed like kids scolded by parents—Reichenbach, Müller, and Hohenstaufen. All three stared at the floor, and seeing 195cm-tall Reichenbach hunching his shoulders made him look less like a bowed subordinate and more like a thug posturing.
"With drones. Decapitation strike. Execute. Which of those three words says 'Stuff people in rockets and launch 'em!'? I'm genuinely curious. You got 'war' tattooed on your left brain and 'lord' on the right?"
Silence.
"Where?!"
Reichenbach hunched further; I sighed.
"Where does it say that? This goddamn botched op—sigh—Aide. Explain it properly. I'm no good with words."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Kreuz stood carefully by my side, speaking in my stead with measured looseness.
"This operation was executed without His Majesty's prior approval, on the unilateral judgment of field commanders. This violates reporting duties to His Majesty and amounts to insubordination."
Kreuz paused a beat.
"Insubordination is treason, bordering on imperial insult."
The commanders' faces went white. "Treason" and "imperial insult" hit like death sentences before you're even a soldier. Demotion was guaranteed; dishonorable discharge possible. Lifetime surveillance too—not fun.
Of course, I had no plans to execute them. The op succeeded, minimal casualties. But letting it slide sets precedent: "Under mission-oriented command, results justify ignoring orders!" Then what's my point? A rubber-stamp machine!? No way!!
Though... it kinda already is. Anyway, I'm no passive cog.
Thinking about it, I'm getting pissed.Wanna swing this authority around.
"I didn't wanna say this far, but fighting these psychos was insane from the start! Am I wrong?!"
The outburst was thick rage from sleep deprivation, malnutrition, stress.
"Might as well normalize diplomacy with those orc regime-changers—the Krogan—and go chat with the Eldra instead!!"
The Krogan War-Clan Federation: humanity's oldest foes. Branded aggressive savages, but intel said recent civil war flipped their regime. New leadership seemed more reasonable, with a whiff of spicy potential.
To face Eldra, sort other xeno ties first.
"I don't just talk. I act!!
In this world, nothing force can't fix!
"Aide!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Run it my way, enact my way, veto my way! Sleep deprivation simplified thinking. No complex rationale. Fuck it, I'm emperor. My rules. You're supposed to rein me in, not the other way.
"Propose official diplomatic channels to the Krogan Republic. Now!"
Kreuz's eyes widened. "To Krogan... diplomatic channels?"
"Yeah. Regime change. Worth talking to the new ones. Right!? They might bite on Eldra intel too."
Orcs are orcs, warlike core intact. But I'm war-weary.
To stem bleeding, pull Krogan to check Eldra, cap this war, force closure. End quick, back to Terra, sleep properly.
Kreuz nodded, noting on her datapad. "Understood. Sending via imperial decree."
"Good.... Sigh."
I exhaled, reeling in rage-fogged reason. Leaning back, catching breath, one thought hit: Tell the people. What’s happening here. Why emperor's here. Ties to MEGA. What we're fighting for.
No official statements since Forge; only state media from embedded reporters. Citizens get fragments. Fragments breed rumors, rumors anxiety... anxiety paperwork. Preempt to seal leaks.
"Open broadcast!"
I shouted. "As emperor, I owe our people what we're fighting, why!!"
Kreuz gestured; aides bustled with broadcast gear.
But setup reignited rage.
"I'm emperor! Final say's mine! Doesn't this feel fucked?!"
Aimed at slumped commanders, aide, whole mess. Reason for constitutional monarchy: All eggs in emperor basket? One bad call sinks empire; sleepless emperor stalls decisions; rogue ops still need post-hoc nod—back to me.
"Without me, who commands? Who decides?!"
Reichenbach cautiously: "Y-Your Majesty's wisdom lights the empire. With you—"
"If that light dies?!"
"It won't. Eternal—"
"Not eternal!! I'm human! No sleep = death! Age = death! I'm Kaius VIII! Eighth!"
Müller urgently: "For Your Majesty's health, we'll redouble loyalty—"
"Don't! Even emperor needs sleep!"
Hohenstaufen sternly: "Your Majesty, Guard prioritizes your rest—"
"Who's disturbing it now?!"
Room fell silent, my doing. Their loyalty's real. But sincere loyalty manifesting as "Launch manned rockets behind emperor's back"? That's disaster. I clean up.
Chain these fuckers ASAP. Who knows next rampage. Parliament... yeah, ballsy ones. Radical reformers yelling 'fuck you' at me. Thrill-seekers veto-wielding maniacs.
Thousands of reps; bound to have firebrands.
"Rotting...."
I sighed, forcing calm. "If you get why I'm pissed, stop ignoring orders 'for my sake.'"
Commanders bowed unison: "We obey."
Broadcast gear setup: Two holocams in corner, lights on me. Two aides tense-checked equipment. Approaching stiffened their backs.
"Cameras ready?"
"Y-Yes! Ready, Your Majesty!"
"Good. Then—"
"Y-Your Majesty... but—"
Aide hesitated, eyes dropping from face to below.
"What now!!"
Snapping, aide flinched, pointing nose—like "there."
"Huh? Oh...."
Warm trickle from nose, metallic on lips. Nosebleed.
"....."
Blood streaked red line down chest. Not drizzle—gush.
"Ah.... Uh, um."
Sleep dep, malnutrition, stress, BP spike: Four horsemen. Expected. But no rest. Broadcast first.
"Stim shot. Quick! Stop bleed, blast fatigue."
Kreuz frowned worriedly. "Your Majesty, but stims—"
"I know. Know. But wipes fatigue, heals scratches."
"Then... order?"
"Order! Now!!"
"....Understood."
Kreuz fetched medkit. Military stim—epinephrine derivative + cognition booster. Arm jab: 6-hour hyper-alert. Crash after, but later problem.
"Broadcast in 1 min! I owe people truth."
Needle pierced; cold flood veins. 5 sec: Fog lifted, vision sharp, chest energized, heart pounding.
Bleed stopped; wiped, hid stains under trench coat.
"Hoo...."
Deep breath, steadying. Retrospect: Emotional outburst. Reasons valid, but they're my people. My sleep issue, not theirs.
"...Sorry."
Room hushed. Emperors don't apologize—in their world.
New era, new shocks. Long life ≠ all experiences.
"Sleep dep turned you into my emotional dump. Sincere apology."
Reichenbach rushed: "No, Your Majesty! We—"
"No. My fault, my apology."
"You've never erred—"
"Victim admits; why argue? You're not lowly enough for insult. Legion commanders. Leading empire's sons/daughters. Honorable."
Reichenbach shut up.
"Forgive us... Your Majesty. We... never learned accepting apology."
"....Just hear it."
"Understood."
Nods; onward. "Post-broadcast, one wish each. Within my power."
Müller: "Your health suffices."
Hohenstaufen: "Your safety our wish."
Reichenbach: "Fighting beside you—honor!"
Nice words. I just smirked.
"Your Majesty! Broadcast starting!"
"....Good."
Coughed, cleared throat. Live: Full-color holo, empire-wide.
At podium, hands clasped forward: "Imperial citizens. Speaking from TR-7742-III, aka Forge."
Distant artillery rumble backdrop. Unplanned, perfect proof: Emperor on frontlines.
"First, Forge: Factory world producing imperial munitions. 8 billion souls cranking gear—Giant parts, ship armor, ammo. Much of your army's kit forged here. 'Much' is massive."
Value first: Backwater numbered planet? No—emperor's here, spotlight permanent.
"Governor Victor Grayburn exploited it 40 years, defied my policies, oppressed locals. Paid for treason? No—bigger betrayal."
Voice drop, right fist clenched, index jabbed air: "Exploited fringe status, invited xeno foes."
Internal foe calls external. War's core.
"Eldra Coalition warlord faction invaded. Admiral Selene Astraea, 5th Fleet, honorably holds ground. Emperor here too—with citizens, troops."
Sitrep done; message time.
"In this war, MEGA—Make Empire Great Again—responds to obstructors. Exploiters, policy-defiers, xeno-inviter: No mercy!"
Strong, but needs balance. Whip needs carrot.
"Yet to them: We don't see all Eldra Coalition enemy. This invasion: Rogue warlords, not confirmed coalition-wide. Yes! That 'platinum fleet' might just be plated trash."
Scale says ballsy warlord terror, regular army. But leave wiggle room. Full war crushes empire. You Eldra fucked too? Go separate ways; scapegoat a warlord, done.
"As former crown prince, I remember Great War horrors. Quadrillions human, hetero-species dead. No repeat."
War kills production. Earth history proves: No wins, just pol gains. This? Zero for me. End it best.
"Assuming Eldra retains reason, dialogue door open. Humanity seeks explanation, ready negotiate. Choose peace over war? I extend hand!"
Solid close: Firm yet open, paths galore—no cornered rat bites.
"Citizens, I believe in you. We—"
BAM! Podium finale shattered—door kicked open, slamming wall.
Blood-soaked Aurora Astraea, Governor Lilian entered beaming. Hands: Golden platters, dome lids—like fine dining.
Enemy HQ loot, probably. Prisoners trailed: ~10 Eldra officers, bound/blinded, paraded for cam.
I darkened my hard-won solemn face.
Aurora strode forward; cam followed.
"Emperor Your Majesty!"
Aurora's glee echoed. "Per Your Majesty's command, head of Ki-yeol-jjin-ppa Ganpeu Zeno delivered!!!"
Platter on desk. Red liquid—like blood.
Lilian added hers. Aurora grinned, hand on lid: "Ta-da~"
Lids off: Two Eldra heads—commander, deputy. Flanks: Paired insignia stars on galactic embroidery, decorative.
"...."
Eyes closed, blood fresh—silver fluid gleaming on gold. All live-broadcast.
3-sec stare. Nod to aide: "....!!!"
Cams killed.
Instant: "...Sis. What the—"
Aurora: "Pre-made hot birthday gift for lil bro... Or dowry from governor here."
"Dowry? What.... bullshit."
Speechless, hand drifted to platter.
"Oh. Warm. Real? Haha.... Yeah. Lil sis never lies. I know. Sigh...."
Toasty.
Aurora beamed: "Fresh-made! Brand new! Like centuries-aged wine!"
I shook head at madness; Lilian pointed prisoners: "Now, extract good stuff from these heads?"
Hand off, sigh: "....Do as you like."
"Thanks, Your Majesty!! General! Let's go!!"
"Yes! Onward!"
Thick as thieves. Clique fun.