The desert heat had faded over the past two days, like a memory gradually being erased. The sand had given way to rocky terrain, then to plains where grass sprouted in vigorous tufts, almost insolent after so much aridity. The air had changed too—fresher, laden with moisture, carrying forgotten scents of wet earth and vegetation. On the morning of the third day, as the sun climbed into the sky—more familiar now, less overwhelming—our destination finally took shape on the horizon.
There, nestled in the hollow of a generous valley, spread a small village. Thatched and dark wooden roofs emerged from a sea of greenery like fragile islets. Cultivated fields encircled its modest palisades. It was an almost naive pastoral scene, of striking tranquility that contrasted sharply with the desert expanses we had just faced.
"The village of Eichenwald, Your Majesty," murmured Greta who rode at my side. Her voice remained measured, precise as the edge of a blade. Her slender finger pointed to the distant settlement. Behind the village, the trees gradually became denser until they formed an impenetrable mass that devoured the surrounding hillsides—this Black Forest she had told me about, both resource and threat.
"Although they have officially been part of the Kaiserreich Valora since the annexation of this region a few years ago," she continued, adjusting her posture, "the loyalty of isolated villages like Eichenwald remains... nuanced." A fleeting smile passed over her lips. "They bow to the distant authority of the crown, pay their tributes, but jealously preserve a certain autonomy in their daily affairs. The agreement we are coming to 'finalize' must anchor their allegiance more firmly by creating economic dependence. That is the essence of the 'political world,' Your Majesty—conquering through diplomacy and resources, not solely by the sword."
This explanation resonated within me with troubling clarity. This world was not just a simple Risk map with shifting borders where it was enough to move armies. Subtleties were everywhere, power dynamics intertwined like underground roots. Even an Emperor had to deal with these invisible realities.
We approached the village. Cultivated fields gave way to paths beaten by generations of footsteps, then to a wider dirt road that wound toward a rough wooden palisade marking the entrance. Two men stood guard, dressed in worn tunics and armed with spears too heavy for their thin arms. Their posture betrayed both pride and insecurity.
One of them crossed his spear in front of our procession with an awkward but determined gesture. "Halt! Who goes there? State your identity and intentions!" His voice trembled slightly, but his eyes scrutinized our group without recognizing us.
Greta advanced a pace, her face freezing into a mask of icy authority that made the guards flinch despite her evident beauty. "You are blocking the passage of His Majesty Konrad Valorius, Kaiser of Valora, on an official visit to seal the treaty with your village. I, Greta, his advisor, order you to step aside immediately."
The two men froze as if struck by lightning. Their eyes widened, their jaws dropped, their spears wavered in their suddenly damp hands. Their gaze frantically scanned my person—the white and gold uniform I wore, the imperial attitude I was striving to embody—then the silent escort of succubi who followed us, led by the intimidating Sergeant Frieda whose bearing betrayed contained power.
"His... His Majesty?" stammered the first guard, his forehead instantly beading with sweat. The second dropped his spear, which crashed into the dust with a dull sound, almost obscene in the silence that had settled. "Our... our most humble apologies, Your Majesty! We didn't... We didn't know!"
They rushed to clear the passage, bowing with touching awkwardness, their pale faces distorted by a terror that might have seemed comical if the weight of my imperial title hadn't suddenly seemed so crushing.
We passed through the entrance to Eichenwald. The interior offered the classic tableau of a rural village—modest wooden and stone cottages, carefully tended vegetable gardens, a few domestic animals going about their business. The simplicity of the place, its almost painful authenticity struck me. Children were playing in the central square, their crystalline laughter abruptly dying at our appearance. Adults interrupted their tasks—an artisan bent over a cart, a woman hanging laundry on a line—and turned toward us as one. Their faces changed from surprise to deference tinged with apprehension as they stared at this strange and powerful procession that had just burst into their peaceful daily life. Their gazes lingered on me before sliding toward the succubi, recognizing their nature with that mixture of fear and fascination inspired by supernatural beings.
We slowly advanced to the center of the square. Whispers ran through the crowd like a wave. Then, emerging from a building more imposing than the others—doubtless the chief's dwelling—a man came forward with a heavy step. Tall, with massive shoulders, he sported a thick beard and a face weathered by seasons and labor. His clothes, of good quality for a villager, betrayed his rank. His eyes, deep black, quickly embraced the scene before fixing on me. His reaction was as immediate as it was eloquent.
The man almost collapsed, prostrating himself in the dust, his forehead touching the beaten earth—a gesture of absolute, almost primitive submission. "Your Imperial Majesty! Welcome to Eichenwald! We are... we are overwhelmed by the honor of your presence!" His voice carried the weight of reverence reserved for gods.
Faced with this demonstration of deference, something crystallized within me. Doubts vanished, hesitations faded. The time for games was over. I was the Emperor—I had to be. I halted my mount, straightened my shoulders, and looked down at this prostrate man with an expression I intended to be impenetrable, carved in the marble of power. The initial amusement and confusion of the first days evaporated, giving way to a cold determination that had until then been foreign to me.
"Rise, peasant," I ordered in a clear voice that echoed across the suddenly silent square. This word—peasant—crossed my lips effortlessly, not as an insult, but as a simple acknowledgment of his place in the order of things. "We have not come seeking honors. We are here to finalize the signed agreement. Lead us without delay to the site mentioned in the treaty."
The chief slowly raised his head, visibly surprised by my directness, then hastened to straighten up and bow again, even more deeply. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty! Immediately! Please follow me!"
He set off at a hurried pace, guiding us through the maze of narrow streets. The villagers stepped aside as we passed, bowing with respect mingled with ancestral fear. According to the terms of the agreement I had come to "finalize"—an agreement that my predecessor must have imposed rather than negotiated, and that they had "signed" under pressure whose intensity I could guess—access to the precious shadow ore deposits buried beneath their lands now belonged to me, or rather to Valora. In exchange, the village would receive a portion of the extracted materials for their own use, as well as regular imports of food and other necessities—a deal that, in this world obsessed with survival and resources, passed for fair despite its obvious inequality.
Politics. Domination. Not only through brute force, but through treaties, economic interdependence, resource manipulation. I had come here to understand these subtle mechanisms. And to impose the relentless will of Valora.
The village chief, visibly troubled by my presence, guided us away from the bustle of the center. We followed a winding path toward the limits of the community, where the air became lighter, almost serene. The place he showed us seemed unremarkable at first glance—a simple rocky area at the foot of a wooded hill, not far from the threatening edge of the Black Forest. Yet I noticed how Greta scrutinized the space, her amber eyes evaluating every detail. Her expression betrayed discreet satisfaction.
"Perfect," she murmured before straightening up. "Sergeants." Her voice cracked like a whip, drawing Frieda and the squad's immediate attention. "Sublimate the terrain. Access the deposits according to the terms of the agreement."
Sublimate the terrain? Dig a hole, I supposed, while observing the escort move with military precision. The succubi dismounted and formed a perfect circle around the designated area. Their hands rose in hypnotic synchronization, palms open to the sky. Threads of cold light—azure and pearly white—escaped from their fingers, intertwining in the air to form a shimmering spiral of pure ice.
"[Frost Drill]!"
Their voices merged into a strange chorus, almost melodious despite its power. The crystalline column struck the ground with startling violence. Earth and rock yielded without resistance, like butter under a heated blade. The grinding of the spell penetrating the geological layers made my teeth clench.
A few heartbeats later, a dull rumble rose from the depths. The earth trembled, cracked, then gave way completely. A sharp hissing preceded the impossible—a geyser of liquid gold erupted from the gaping hole, rising toward the sky like a fountain of wealth before solidifying in mid-air.
It wasn't raw gold. It was coins. Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of struck gold coins fell in a metallic rain around us, quickly piling into a mound glittering in the sun. An instant mine. A brutal manifestation of pure wealth.
I remained petrified, mouth slightly open. Never, even in my wildest dreams, had I imagined so much gold gathered in one place.
Greta approached the mound with a calm step, visibly accustomed to this kind of supernatural spectacle. "This wealth now belongs to Valora. To you, Your Majesty," she said in a measured, almost detached voice. "You should secure it now. Bind it to your essence. Impose a magical law that will make it inviolable. This is how we protect imperial treasures."
Impose a law? Bind this treasure to my essence? The idea seemed as vertiginous as it was absurd. "I... can I really do that?" I stammered, unable to mask my incredulity. I didn't even understand how I had "marked" the treasure of the capital.
Greta exhaled slowly, a barely perceptible sigh that betrayed her weariness at my ignorance. Her eyes met mine with a troubling intensity.
"Your Majesty," she articulated slowly, as if addressing a particularly obtuse child. "You are *ridiculously* more powerful than any being in this kingdom. Of course you can impose your will on matter, on concepts. It is the very essence of your existence here." She made a vague gesture toward the gold. "Concentrate. Desire that this gold belongs to you. Pronounce the law."
*Ridiculously more powerful*. These words resonated within me, awakening the memory of Frieda's explanations about "frequency"—that energy whose existence I had been unaware of in my former life and which was here the source of immeasurable power.
Eyes fixed on the heap of gold, I let my thoughts drift toward primordial notions—betrayal, vulnerability, possession. I plunged into myself, groping for that source of power evoked by Greta. The sensation was strange, as if I were pulling on an invisible thread connected to a reservoir of warm, dark energy that instantly responded to my call.
I visualized the gold, each coin individually, then as a whole. I projected my will around this treasure, enveloping it with an invisible but unalterable imprint. Then I pronounced the words, my voice charged with an authority I didn't know I possessed:
"Let anyone who touches, steals, or even covets this treasure with ill intent... die on the spot!"
A flash of darkness erupted from my body, extending like a wave to the mound of gold. The air tore around us with a sharp crack.
The village chief, who had insensibly approached, fascinated by this sudden wealth that appeared before his eyes, was staring at the coins with poorly concealed greed. Suddenly, he choked. His body stiffened, his fingers clenched like talons, his face froze in a mask of pure terror. The next moment, he collapsed in the dust, dead before even touching the ground, the expression of covetousness still etched on his features.
Absolute silence fell over the scene.
I blinked, unable to fully comprehend what had just occurred. This man was dead. Just like that. My power... my law... had killed him in the blink of an eye.
I slowly turned my head toward Greta and Frieda, desperately seeking a reaction that would make sense of this horror.
Greta merely sighed deeply. She rolled her eyes and massaged her temples, looking profoundly... annoyed. Not shocked. Not horrified. Simply exasperated, as if facing an irritating setback.
Frieda, for her part, first seemed surprised, then a mischievous gleam lit up in her gaze. A dry laugh escaped her, almost admiring in its mockery.
"Ah, Master..." she said, a sly smile stretching her perfect lips. "I told you he was strange. Even his law is... excessive! Poor man. He didn't even have time to regret his covetousness."
Greta crossed her arms, adding in a dry, deadpan voice: "Well... at least the effectiveness of the spell isn't in question. And the first example is... particularly dissuasive."
They were simply annoyed. Almost amused. In the face of an instantaneous death caused by my manifestly excessive property law. This world was absurd. My power was terrifying. And my main lieutenants reacted with sarcasm.
I was the King of Succubi. And I had just accidentally killed a man with my magic simply because he had looked at my gold with too much desire.
Learning domination was proving... rich in surprises.