C49 The Iron Wolfs Triumph

His loaded, responded immediately.

"On it, sir. High explosive loaded!"

Only for the air raids sirens come to life a voice shaking, breathless, and utterly defeated poured through every air raid siren at once.

"T... this is the Grand Duke of Teutonica... I… I order all troops to lay down your arms… I repeat… lay down your arms… We… We surrender…"

Then, almost immediately, another transmission, this one crisp, official, and unmistakable sounded In every Imperium's radio.

"All units, cease fire. I repeat, cease all hostilities. The enemy has surrendered. Hold your positions and await further orders. Maintain discipline. Do not engage unless fired upon."

As these two announcements sounded almost Immediately only the sound of the distant hum of panzers, the occasional metallic creak of tracks moving, and the muffled thuds of weapons being dropped onto the pavement remained.

Decanus lifted himself slightly out of the turret, looking toward the ruined city square.

Enemy soldiers were slowly emerging from buildings and alleyways, their hands raised in surrender.

Some dropped their weapons immediately. Others hesitated, exchanging desperate glances with their comrades, as if struggling to process what had just happened.

One by one, Teutonica troops fell to their knees, their heads bowed in resignation.

Lucius exhaled, his voice shaky.

"F*cking hell… that's it, then? We won?"

Decanus didn't answer immediately. His jaw clenched.

"Well s*it guess I don't need you to blow that nest anymore."

Commander Nevra let out a slow breath, his fingers loosening from the death grip he had on his assault rifle.

"Guess not."

Commander Decanus muttered and as he did for the first time in this war, he felt the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

The war was over. And the Imperium had won.

...

1 day later.

The sun had barely begun to rise over Nova Roma, but the city was already alive not with the usual morning bustle of workers heading to the factories or merchants setting up their stalls, but with something far greater.

A feverish energy ran through the streets, carried by the desperate, frantic shouts of newsboys sprinting through the avenues, clutching freshly printed newspapers in their ink stained hands.

"VICTORY! VICTORY! TEUTONICA HAS FALLEN!"

"THE WAR IS OVER! IMPERIUM TRIUMPHS!"

"THE GRAND DUKE HAS SURRENDERED! NOVA ROMA STANDS UNCONQUERED!"

The words rang out like gunfire, ricocheting through every street, every alley, every marketplace.

For a moment, a single heartbeat, the city froze.

Shopkeepers stopped counting their morning earnings.

Women paused in their laundry washing. Factory workers, still covered in the grime of labor, lifted their heads in disbelief.

Then, as if a dam had broken, the streets erupted.

A roar of celebration thundered through Nova Roma.

Men threw their fists into the air, shouting at the top of their lungs.

Women clutched their children, weeping openly, whispering prayers of thanks. Strangers embraced each other in the streets, united by the sheer magnitude of fast as lightning victory.

But beneath the euphoria, something deeper had been ignited.

Something long buried beneath centuries of humiliation.

For years, since the Imperium split and Spartanum Ducatum was left to rot, its people had known nothing but loss.

Loss in war. Loss in politics. Loss in dignity. The Spartans of old, the descendants of the unconquered warriors, had become a nation of the defeated.

A people who had once stood tall, feared and respected, were now little more than a shadow of their past glory.

With every war they fought and lost, their self esteem crumbled.

It became a habit, a disease that seeped into their bones.

They walked through foreign streets with their heads down, their pride crushed under the weight of failure.

They dared not look foreigners in the eye, for they had nothing left to be proud of.

But now... Now, they had won. And the weight that had pressed them into the dirt for so long was suddenly lifted.

The pantheons bells rang out, their deep, thunderous tones reverberating across the city.

An elderly man, a veteran of the Spartanum Ducatums last border skirmish, collapsed onto his knees in the middle of the road, his cane clattering to the ground.

Tears streamed down his wrinkled face as he clutched his chest, sobbing.

"We did it… We actually did it…"

At the city center, a young mother, holding a baby no older than a few months, lifted her child toward the sky, her voice trembling with emotion.

"You will grow up in a world where we do not fear war, my son. You will grow up in an Imperium that stands eternal!"

For the first time in centuries, men and women stood taller.

For the first time in centuries, when they heard the name of their country, they did not feel shame. They felt pride.

The Imperial banners started appearing on the citizens balconies one after another, massive crimson standards bearing the sigil of the Iron Fenrir, their fabric catching the wind, waving proudly over the city.

Even the normally strict and disciplined Cerberus Military Police, stationed throughout the city, found themselves grinning, clapping along as civilians swarmed the streets.

Alcohol flowed freely from taverns, with bartenders tossing bottles to passing citizens who didn't even bother paying, drinking straight from the glass in raw jubilation.

At the city's largest market square, a young boy, no older than ten, held a newspaper twice the size of his head and screamed at the top of his lungs:

"HAIL THE IMPERATOR! HAIL THE IRON FENRIR! HAIL THE IMPERIUM!"

The crowd took up the chant, their voices blending into an earth shaking roar.

"HAIL IMPERATOR!"

"HAIL IMPERATOR!"

"HAIL IMPERATOR!"

The streets trembled. The Imperium had won. And Nova Roma rejoiced.

...

The grand study room of the former Grand Duke's palace had been transformed into a temporary command center.

The lavish furniture, gilded bookshelves, and opulent chandeliers felt out of place amidst the war maps, radio equipment, and the hardened faces of my ministers and military commanders.

The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air as the men gathered around the large oak table with me and Lupa at the tables front, awaiting my words.

I leaned back against Lupa, scratching under her armored plates.

The massive war beast purred like a satisfied cat, the sound vibrating through her alloy covered frame.

My ministers sat stiffly, their gazes flickering between the beast and me.

I had seen how they looked at me now, not just with fear, but with something more.

Respect. Three days. That's all it had taken to break the Teutonica Ducatum.

Three days to overturn a government, to force an entire nation to its knees.

No prolonged campaigns, no drawn out battles, just rapid, calculated destruction.

Lucilia, standing to my right, adjusted her notepad and cleared her throat before speaking.

"Imperator, preparations for the victory parade in Teutonica's capital are well underway. Everything is proceeding on schedule, and we are set to hold the parade tomorrow at noon. Security has been tightened, and Cerberus reports indicate no serious resistance movements forming."

"Good."

I exhaled, then shifted my gaze to my Minister of Industry.

"What's the expected industrial output after merging Teutonica's factories with our Industrial chain?"

The Minister of Industry sat up straighter.

"Imperator,"

He started carefully,

"On paper, our production is expected to double. However, in reality, we face significant limitations."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Explain."

The minister hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"Both the Spartanum Ducatum and Teutonica Ducatum lack sufficient natural resources. Our coal and iron deposits are minimal, and we have almost no oil fields and the refineries needed to sustain large scale mechanization. While our industry is growing, we are forced to dedicate almost a half of its production output to acquire raw materials from foreign markets. This creates a vicious cycle, we produce, sell, and buy resources just to keep the production going, but it keeps us dependent on imports."

I frowned. This wasn't something I had considered in detail when I first wrote this world.

The economy had been more of an afterthought, something I didn't bother to do because frankly speaking I wasn't good In It and It was a pain In the ass to write plus readers had no Interest In reading about It.

But now, the reality was staring me in the face.

Well s*it. I'll have to use the system again.

My facial muscles twitched. This wasn't something I could afford to ignore.

Without resources, my war machine would grind to a halt before it even reached full potential.

But at the same time I couldn't afford to Increase the ERC count more than I wrote In the original plot.

Because If I did that I had no Idea what kind butterfly effects It would have, and I'm not talking about a pot falling onto my head out of nowhere but the galaxy destroying kind of effects.

Seeing my face darken, the Minister of Industry paled.

"I… Imp… Imperator, I assure you, we are doing everything we can..."