The Imperium Trying to Strike Back?

Part 1

Golden evening light bathed the Redwood Estate's expansive rear deck in a warm glow, highlighting the polished teak wood and the distant orchard's verdant canopy. It was the perfect tableau of aristocratic tranquility—a stark contrast to the bloodstained grounds just two nights before. The servants had been temporarily dismissed under Lydia's careful instructions, creating what she'd described as "the ideal restful atmosphere for Master Philip's convalescence," though Philip suspected it was more to avoid witnesses to whatever absurdity might unfold next.

Philip reclined on a cushioned chaise lounge, a light blanket draped over his legs despite the pleasant temperature, a cool compress on his forehead. His temples throbbed with a steady, dull ache—the lingering effects of his concussion now compounded by the day's parade of absurdities. He winced slightly as he shifted position, his body still sore from the riot's violence.

Natalia perched attentively beside him on a small stool, her posture so alert she resembled a gazelle ready to sprint at the first sign of danger. Every few minutes, she would lean forward to adjust his compress or offer him freshly poured water from a crystal carafe, her movements combining the precision of a battlefield medic with the devotion of a religious acolyte. Her azure eyes remained fixed almost entirely on Philip's face, studying every micro-expression with the intensity of someone deciphering an ancient text.

In the background, the setting sun painted the sky in breathtaking shades of amber and rose—a spectacle that repeatedly drew Natalia's admiring glances whenever she wasn't attending to Philip's needs.

"The sunset is particularly magnificent this evening," she observed with genuine wonder. "The refraction angles of light through atmospheric particles create an optimal visual display." The clinical assessment, delivered in her melodious voice, created an adorable dissonance that made Philip's lips twitch.

"Indeed," Lydia agreed from her wicker armchair across from them. Her hands were folded in her lap, her expression pleasantly neutral, though her eyes held a hint of mischievous amusement. "Natalia, perhaps while we enjoy this celestial performance, we might discuss the… employment offers you received earlier."

Natalia brightened immediately, her face lighting up with enthusiasm. "Right! I almost forgot. It's just so hard to make these complicated decisions. Could you help me decide?"

"Of course, dear—but first things first: what are your thoughts on the matter?" Lydia prompted carefully, her tone suggesting she was tiptoeing through a minefield.

"Well, they all sound positively marvelous. But since I've never actually worked before or barely set foot outside this estate, I'm leaning toward the nude-modeling position, as it requires minimal exposure risk." She beamed with pride at her practical reasoning. "Of course, the financial compensation is less substantial, but I'd rather not risk Master's safety."

"Why do you feel that position offers the minimal exposure risk?" Lydia asked, genuinely curious about her reasoning while shooting Philip a concerned glance.

"Because Madame Rossignol promised to keep my identity anonymous and assured me I wouldn't have to speak at all," Natalia explained, her eyes lighting up with practical enthusiasm. "She told me I just have to sit there and look pretty and let the natural perfection of my physical form do the work." She clasped her hands together with delight.

Lydia blinked, suddenly realizing the monumental misunderstanding. She started chuckling, the sound gradually transforming into a barely suppressed chortle. "That's… not the exposure I was concerned about."

Natalia raised her eyebrows slightly, lips parting in gentle confusion. "Oh? What exposure do you mean, then?"

Philip, who had been watching this exchange with growing amusement, almost choked on his own laughter. "Natalia, I believe Miss Lydia is referring to the… physical exposure involved in nude modeling."

Lydia made a sound halfway between a laugh and a despairing sob. "You know, with Madame Rossignol's fame and her style's focus on realism, half the Empire would effectively see you… unclothed." She delicately cleared her throat. "Moreover, given how widely your recent photograph has been circulated, it wouldn't take a detective to identify the girl in her painting as the mysterious warrior maiden of Redwood Estate. It would draw more attention here and even more curiosity about your identity."

It would also give half the aristocracy heart palpitations, the System cheerfully reminded Philip, which led to his mind briefly wandering into the image of Natalia's perfect form captured for posterity in oil and canvas.

"I didn't realize that. Thank you for pointing out that risk, Miss Lydia," Natalia said with genuine appreciation. "But according to the book you gave me, The Aristocrat's Companion, Chapter Five clearly states that 'a mistress must always flaunt her alluring figure while she still has it, and use it to maximum advantage.' I assumed this meant I should utilize my physical form for financial gain."

"I don't believe that's quite what the author intended," Lydia managed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she shot a sheepish glance in Philip's direction.

Natalia glanced earnestly between them. "But… that's the offer that requires the least amount of human interaction and spotlight."

"But maybe you don't have to take any of those offers? Is there a reason why you're even considering these propositions?" Lydia asked in a motherly yet curious tone.

"Because they pay well and Master Philip really needs money right now." Natalia answered with the matter-of-fact delivery of someone announcing the weather.

Philip's mouth dropped open slightly, a surge of embarrassment tightening his chest. Was this truly how desperate she believed he was? So destitute that she'd willingly expose herself to strangers just to support him?

Suddenly, the System's voice chimed in his mind, dripping with amusement: "Congrats, host! That's one conscientious mistress you've got there. Most mistresses in this world would've ditched you the moment they suspected your coffers were going dry."

Philip mentally retorted, "Not! Funny!" as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Lydia watched the rapid shift of expressions cross Philip's face with growing confusion. "Master Philip, are you quite all right? You look like you're having some sort of attack."

Philip waved weakly, muttering, "Just… some internal soul-searching. Nothing to worry about."

Gathering his composure, Philip gently addressed Natalia, sincerity shining in his eyes. "Listen, Natalia, I deeply appreciate your intentions. Truly. But your safety—and dignity—are far more important to me than money."

Natalia's eyes softened warmly, a tender smile gracing her lips. "Master, that is remarkably sweet of you. But… what exactly does this have to do with my dignity?"

"Oh boy," the System commented. "I think we've found a gap in your Familiar's societal-integration programming."

Lydia quickly intervened, clearing her throat discreetly. "Natalia, dear, clothing to humans is not merely practical; it hides imperfections, preserves dignity, and prevents inappropriate reactions. In our society, nudity is often considered highly inappropriate and scandalous. So much so that it brings scorn and contempt from others."

Natalia bit her lip thoughtfully, processing this information. "Really? It is that serious? But… the book says the appropriate use of the nude form is critical for a great mistress to latch onto the heart of her man."

"Lydia! What have you been feeding Natalia?!" Philip blurted out as Lydia visibly bristled, her expression morphing into one of mortifying embarrassment.

Natalia blinked rapidly like a mechanical doll processing complex instructions. Suddenly, her face lit up with that special glow of someone who's just had a profound realization. "I got it! It's to prevent reactions like the one I had when Master's towel dropped the other night!" Natalia exclaimed triumphantly.

Philip froze, stunned into complete stillness. He couldn't believe Natalia still remembered that mortifying night. And most importantly—she had a reaction? What did that mean? Then, the image of her slightly blushing face floated back into his mind, along with the memory of her widened eyes darting briefly downward before she politely averted her gaze.

"Well, well, well," the System purred in his mind. "Seems like your Familiar is developing some very human responses after all."

Lydia coughed lightly, barely suppressing an amused smile. "Precisely, Natalia. Therefore, it's safer to avoid situations that could spark unwanted reactions."

Natalia nodded thoughtfully, her expression clearing like a sky after rain. "I understand now. I wouldn't want half the world blushing like I did that night. I didn't know what got into me back then. I get it now. So, it's Master and his nudity!"

Philip buried his face in his hands, thoroughly embarrassed. If the ground could open up and swallow him whole at this moment, he'd consider it a merciful escape.

She offered Philip a radiant smile. "In that case, I'll refrain from nude modeling. I wouldn't want to cause others trouble."

Lydia nodded approvingly, though amusement still danced in her eyes.

Philip cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. "But would the media be content with Natalia turning down all these offers? Wouldn't it just incite more curiosity?"

Lydia sipped her tea thoughtfully, quickly regaining her usual composure. "Perhaps we need to somehow satisfy public curiosity without risking too much exposure."

"What about the news-anchor position?" Natalia suggested brightly. "They said I can just sit there and—what was their phrase?—'just regurgitate whatever we feed into your mouth as if you meant it yourself.'"

Lydia nearly spilled her tea. "Dear heavens, no! That would place you directly in the public eye, where any slip might reveal your… unique nature."

"The modeling contract?" Natalia tried again, clearly eager to contribute to the household income.

"Constant travel, public appearances, fashion journalists dissecting your every word," Philip countered gently. "Too many opportunities for questions you might not be prepared to answer."

"Captain of the Arts Corps?"

"Military scrutiny," Lydia and Philip replied simultaneously, exchanging a knowing glance.

Natalia's face fell slightly, like a flower wilting in the sun. "It seems every opportunity carries significant risks. What am I going to do? I don't want them to come scrutinizing the estate and endangering Master."

Philip noticed her disappointment and felt a pang in his chest. Despite her otherworldly origins, Natalia's desire to protect those she cared about was touchingly human.

Suddenly inspired, Philip straightened. "What if, instead of accepting these risky offers, we satisfy the temporary public curiosity about you by publishing a memoir? Nominally under your name, of course."

Natalia's eyes sparkled eagerly. "You mean like my own version of The Aristocrat's Companion but with Master Philip being the aristocrat?"

Philip's face blazed hotter than a blacksmith's forge while Lydia chimed in, "Maybe more along the lines of The Mysterious Bodyguard of Redwood Estate, with a focus on how a commoner girl from some remote, underdeveloped part of the world trained in mysterious eastern martial arts and became the bodyguard of the scion of the Redwood family. It should be an inspirational book."

"Good idea," Philip nodded, grateful for Lydia's swift intervention. "We could use it to craft a background for you. It should be vague enough to avoid contradictions, but detailed enough to satisfy curiosity. Perhaps you can mention in the book that you're bound by a contract to protect me for a period of time, and that—honor being of paramount importance to you—you turned down the more lucrative offers to fulfill your contractual promise."

"Brilliant," Lydia agreed, setting down her teacup with a decisive clink. "Through the book, we could explain your exceptional combat abilities, lack of background, and reason for turning down fortune and fame. By controlling the narrative ourselves, we avoid the risks of escalating further public interest leading to scrutiny from paparazzi and unscripted interviews."

Natalia clapped her hands together excitedly, nearly bouncing on her stool. "That sounds absolutely delightful! I could also confirm my mistress status through the book!"

Philip smiled weakly, recalling her tendency toward blunt and vivid detail. "Just… tone it down a bit. Perhaps skip any chapters involving bathtubs, towel incidents, or detailed descriptions of my physical attributes."

"Pity," the System commented dryly. "Those would have been the bestselling chapters for me."

"Don't worry, I will edit it thoroughly," Lydia added softly, with the tone of someone prepared to wield a very heavy censorship pen. "Let's just settle on the book option, then. Given your unfamiliarity with societal norms, any of these external offers could inadvertently lead to questions that might reveal your true origin."

Natalia nodded soberly. "I would never risk that. Master's safety is paramount to me." The fierce protectiveness in her voice suggested she'd fight armies single-handedly before allowing harm to come to Philip.

The sincerity in her voice touched something deep in Philip's heart. Her selflessness was both beautiful and heartbreaking, despite being possibly artificial.

"Perhaps," Lydia suggested gently, "while we work on this memoir project, we might also begin some carefully supervised outings to help Natalia better understand human society. Small steps, in controlled environments."

Natalia's face lit up with such genuine joy that Philip felt his heart skip. "You mean I could see more of the world outside the estate?" Her voice trembled with barely contained excitement.

"Yes," Philip found himself saying, captivated by her enthusiasm. "Carefully supervised outings, proper training. It's time you experienced more than just this estate." The idea of showing Natalia the wonders of the world—even just a bookshop or a café—filled him with unexpected warmth.

Part 2

The grandfather clock in Castle Woterbatch's study struck midnight with a solemn gong that echoed through centuries of imperial ambition. Prince Einhard paced before the crackling fireplace, its dancing flames casting his shadow twenty feet tall against the oak-paneled walls. Each step brought him past another piece of his family's storied legacy—ancient naval sabers mounted in gleaming rows, portraits of stern-faced ancestors who had built empires, and maps of territories long lost to history.

His pocket watch clicked open with practiced precision. Another glance. Another minute wasted waiting.

"He's late," Einhard muttered, snapping the golden timepiece shut.

Baron Stromfeld stood sentinel by the iron-bound door, his military posture as rigid as when he'd commanded an artillery division decades ago. "Chancellor Eizenhollern is never early, never late, Your Highness. He arrives precisely—"

Three sharp, authoritative knocks cut through the night like pistol shots.

"—when it suits him," Stromfeld finished, moving to unlock the door.

Through the doorway swept Imperial Chancellor Otto Eizenhollern—winter incarnate in human form. Standing six-foot-four in an austere gray uniform devoid of unnecessary adornment, he brought with him the scent of pine and gunpowder. His glacier-blue eyes performed a swift, mechanical sweep of the room, cataloging every detail with the efficiency of a military drone.

"Chancellor," Prince Einhard said, lifting a crystal decanter. "You've kept the Woterbatch fifty-year reserve waiting." He poured three fingers of amber liquid that caught the firelight like liquid topaz.

Eizenhollern accepted the glass with a gloved hand, raising it slightly before taking a measured sip. For a heartbeat, satisfaction thawed his granite features.

"Some matters cannot be rushed," he replied, his voice deep and precise, like well-oiled machinery. "Speaking of patience rewarded…" He set the glass down on a cherry-wood sideboard with an air of theatricality. "The moment we have anticipated for decades has finally arrived."

From inside his immaculate uniform, the Chancellor extracted a leather document folder emblazoned with the imperial eagle. He unfurled its contents across the antique war desk with the practiced efficiency of a field marshal deploying battalions.

Prince Einhard's fingers—still strong despite his seventy years—traced a sweeping production curve on one of the documents. "Eighty years," he breathed, the words carrying the weight of generational yearning. "Eighty years we've bided our time since the Great Defeat, waiting for our nation to rise again from the ashes."

The Woterbatch Principality flashed through his mind—once the industrial heart of the Osgorreich Imperium, its shipyards and factories thundering day and night, producing the mighty dreadnoughts and artillery that had made the empire feared throughout the world. Now those same facilities produced luxury yachts for foreign billionaires, precision medical equipment, and a single navy ship per year—their capacity strangled by treaty terms imposed after the Great Defeat.

"It's a shame our fathers did not live to witness this day," Einhard added, his voice tinged with reverence and regret. "It was their lifelong goal."

"And now our moment has arrived," Eizenhollern declared. A predatory smile—rare as a desert bloom—creased his austere features. "The Continental Republic secretly supports our efforts, while Arussia fights on three fronts with its economy in shambles. Avalondia and Francimonica are both plagued by internal troubles, leaving them with no attention to spare for us."

Baron Stromfeld leaned forward, his monocle catching the firelight. "Those damnable treaty terms have been our greatest shackles for too long," he growled. "Only a single battleship per year, an army capped at one hundred thousand, and that infuriating ban on experimenting with summoning a Realm Guardian."

"That treaty," Chancellor Eizenhollern spat, as if the word itself were poison on his tongue, "paper chains imposed on a nation they still feared even in defeat. They called us inherently militaristic, inherently aggressive, but our only crime was being too good at the art of war."

A grim silence descended over the study, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire consuming ancient oak logs.

"There is, however, one significant problem," the Chancellor continued, his tone turning contemplative as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "The magical revolution. While we focused on preserving what little military strength the treaty allowed, we utterly missed the race for the so-called Realm Guardians."

At the mention, a flicker of something strange crossed Einhard's face. His jaw tightened. A thousand memory fragments cascaded through his mind unbidden.

He remembered Aurelia, with her silver hair cascading down her back, her pale, flawless skin gleaming in the firelight, her crimson eyes glinting with mischievous promise.

He remembered how her nude form pressed against him, every curve and line of her luscious body. The warmth of her thighs around his rejuvenated form, how at her touch his old body had melted away, revealing again the youthful strength he thought lost forever. Twenty-five again: golden hair restored, muscles taut, skin unblemished. Their bodies moved together, wild and insatiable, until reality itself seemed to blur into one endless night of sensation and whispered promises of eternity. The memory seared through him now, vivid and treacherous.

"Youthfulness is truly tempting," Einhard blurted aloud, the words slipping free before he could stop them. The Chancellor's head snapped toward him, brow furrowed in confusion. "Pardon?"

Prince Einhard started, realizing he'd spoken aloud. "I mean…" he scrambled to recover, "if only we could be young again and serve as proud members of a rising Osgorreich." He composed himself, straightening his jacket with an affected casualness. "It's unfortunate that we will only live to see the beginning of our empire's restoration, not its full glory."

"Ah, yes." Eizenhollern nodded, a rare hint of wistfulness softening his icy eyes. "I too wish I could be young again, to fully participate in our empire's restoration. But I suppose we will be like Moses, only getting to glimpse the promised land from afar, never to set foot in it ourselves."

But then the Chancellor's expression soured as his thoughts returned to the present. "Given the current state of our younger generation, I truly wonder what the future holds. Young people these days stream video games instead of studying naval strategy and assign more respect to online influencers than to military officers who have bled for the fatherland."

Einhard could not suppress a sigh. "Alas, under the imposed Constitution, we have force-fed our youth pacifism until our once-proud martial heritage became a source of shame rather than inspiration," he agreed, his voice tinged with bitter resignation.

"That is precisely why," the Chancellor said, leaning forward until the firelight carved deep shadows across his hawkish features, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "the future of our empire might depend on summoned entities commanded by elite officers from families that have managed to keep our traditional, disciplined culture alive in the privacy of their homes."

Prince Einhard set down his glass with a sharp click, intrigue sparking in his eyes. "Summoned entities? Don't tell me you're attempting to pave the way for us to join the Realm Guardian arms race despite the treaty prohibitions?"

"Indeed. I've developed a plan." The Chancellor's eyes gleamed with cunning. "I know even the slightest sign of us developing anything remotely resembling Realm Guardian summoning technology would alarm the world and bring harsh repercussions. But we can become experts in the prerequisite technology through repeated mass summoning of living entities for seemingly innocent purposes."

"But what plausible excuse could we possibly have for summoning such numbers—say, a million entities in the next five years?" Einhard asked, his mind racing through possibilities.

The Chancellor allowed himself a thin, reptilian smile. "First, to avoid drawing attention, most of these projects will be branded as commercial ventures under private corporations, many of which are already global household brands trusted worldwide."

He tapped a document showing corporate structures with a labyrinth of ownership connections. "We will have like-minded individuals from the imperial elite buying into these corporations with low-cost financing secretly provided by the state, leaving no direct trace of government involvement."

His voice quickened with barely contained excitement. "And because all the summoned entities will be officially offered as replacements for our aging workforce and caregivers for our elderly population, we can have various state agencies lease them under specific social programs, thus further channeling funds into these projects without arousing suspicion."

His eyes glittered with satisfaction. "After all, our low birthrate and aging population are well-documented problems acknowledged throughout the world."

"Most importantly," Eizenhollern continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, "our companies can advertise our summoned entities globally as a realistic elder-care solution."

The Chancellor's voice dropped to a near-whisper, though excitement made it vibrate with intensity. "This way, the privately produced entities can be exported as elder-care assistants for foreign markets, leveraging our reputation for high-quality medical equipment. But…" here he lifted a finger dramatically, "the fine print of those contracts will ensure our companies retain control of each entity's binding seal to guarantee 'quality service.'"

Prince Einhard's eyes widened as understanding dawned like the rising sun. "Which means that in times of war, we can recall these summoned entities to serve us as an instant army—or even use them as intelligence-gathering devices planted in the homes of foreign officials and military leaders!"

"My dear Prince," the Chancellor said with a slow nod of approval, "your father would be immensely proud of such strategic thinking."

"The summoning projects will operate on a strict need-to-know basis, a best practice learned from Avalondian corporate governance," Eizenhollern continued, his voice a controlled murmur. "Each participant will understand only their small piece of the greater plan. The summoning specialists will believe they're creating caregivers. The combat trainers will think they're teaching self-defense protocols to protect the elderly. The intelligence officers will assume they're installing basic reporting functions."

He tapped the side of his nose. "Only sixty-six people in the entire empire will know the true purpose—you, me, the Imperator, the other federal princes, and a few dozen like-minded individuals."

"Of course," he continued, eyes alight with fervor, "these entities will be trained in all manner of combat skills in addition to their medical functions, but their foreign clients need only know about the healing and caretaking abilities. And most importantly, each one will appear amazingly beautiful and completely unthreatening—designed to inspire trust rather than suspicion."

"A massive military build-up," Stromfeld murmured, his monocle nearly falling from his eye in astonishment. "Hidden in plain sight across the world. Brilliant!"

"Precisely," Eizenhollern affirmed, allowing himself a moment of visible pride. "While our rivals fixate on a few all-powerful Guardians, we'll build an army of thousands of lesser entities that we can activate simultaneously. Strength in numbers over individual power—the classic Osgorreich doctrine applied to magical warfare."

"Ingenious," Prince Einhard breathed, his mind already racing with possibilities. "We create an army that is paid for by the world."

"The formula is simple yet elegant," the Chancellor explained, tapping a diagram showing the proposed summoned entities. "We'll craft them to be aesthetically pleasing and unthreatening, with enchanting personalities designed to create emotional attachment in their elderly charges."

Prince Einhard raised an eyebrow. "The emotional bond ensures the hosts will defend their caregivers against any accusation."

"Precisely," Eizenhollern nodded approvingly. "Who would believe their beloved caregiver could be a foreign intelligence asset? Even if suspicions arise, the emotional attachment will delay action."

"And the activation trigger?" Baron Stromfeld inquired, his tactical mind already at work.

"A specific magical frequency broadcast from our territory," the Chancellor explained. "When activated, the entities will execute their secondary programming—gathering intelligence, sabotage, or direct combat, depending on the owner of their seal."

"How soon can production begin?" Prince Einhard asked, already calculating timelines in his head.

"Immediately," Eizenhollern replied with satisfaction. "We already have the ritual chambers prepared in several converted factories. The magical materials have been acquired through shell corporations over the past three years. Our like-minded mages have perfected the summoning techniques through seemingly innocent 'theoretical research.'"

His thin lips curled into a predatory smile. "The first batch of five thousand elder-care assistants will be ready within six months, with production accelerating thereafter. Within five years, we'll have placed one million summoned entities throughout the world—in the homes of military officers, government officials, industrial leaders, and other strategic locations."

The Chancellor stood; his imposing frame backlit by the leaping flames. He lifted his glass high, the amber liquid capturing the firelight like captured sunlight. "Gentlemen, today marks the true beginning of Osgorreich's return to greatness."

Prince Einhard rose and raised his glass as well, feeling decades younger in this moment of purpose. In the flickering firelight, his face and the Chancellor's were transformed by shared resolve and iron determination.

"To the Osgorreich resurgent," intoned Eizenhollern, his voice reverberating with conviction. "Let destiny be corrected to the right path!"