C50 Ares Sons

I cut him off with a raised hand.

"No need for excuses. I know it's not your fault."

The minister exhaled in visible relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

I leaned forward continuing to scratch Lupa between the joking of her alloy plates as she started tapping her hind leg In excitement.

"Don't worry. New, panzer and tracked APC designs, industrial production methods, conversion techniques, advanced construction blueprints, resource extraction protocols, and oil and rubber synthesizing techniques will be delivered to you shortly."

A heavy silence settled over the room. The ministers exchanged glances, barely concealing their anticipation.

They had already seen what my technology and tactics had done to Teutonica in battle. Now, they were about to witness what it could do to the economy.

But the one who perked up the most was the Minister of War.

His fingers twitched as he straightened in his chair.

"Imperator… you mentioned new designs?"

I smirked, already knowing what he was thinking.

"Yes. Medium panzer designs, tracked APCs, and the tactics for It. We will no longer rely solely on outdated light panzers. The next phase of my panzer cohorts modernization is coming."

The Minister of War exhaled slowly, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

He had seen firsthand the effectiveness of our current panzers and tactics.

But he also knew their limitations. The introduction of medium panzers and mechanized transport would solidify our dominance on the battlefield.

"Then, Imperator,"

He said, his voice filled with determination, "I will be ready to Inspect those designs at any moment"

I nodded, satisfied. The Imperium had conquered its first enemy.

But this was only the beginning. The world had seen what we could do in war.

Now, they would see what we could build in peace, even If that peace would be a short one.

...

March 5

Teutonica Capital.

The air was heavy. Not just with the chill of late winter, but with something deeper. Tension. Skepticism. Resentment.

The streets were lined with tens of thousands of Teutonica citizens, their faces hardened, their eyes filled with suspicion, some with barely contained anger.

Mothers clutched their children. Old men stood with crossed arms. Factory workers, merchants, and students all gathered in uneasy silence.

Some stared at the approaching procession with quiet defiance. Others simply looked defeated. Yet, not everyone in the crowd was mourning Teutonica's fall.

Scattered between the stiff backed Teutonica civilians were thousands of Spartanum Ducatum's supporters and diehards, men and women who had driven, ridden, or flown over the moment they had the chance.

They stood out among the crowd, their expressions beaming with pride, their cheers drowning out the whispers of resentment.

They waved flags high crimson banners with gold laurel leaves, the pitch black Iron Fenrir snarling at their center with the first Imperators motto written In white letters beneath.

"HAIL IMPERATOR!"

"GLORY TO THE IMPERIUM!"

There were also Teutonica citizens themselves, ones who had long believed their corrupt Grand Duke and weak government would lead them to ruin. To them, the Imperium's conquest was not a humiliation but a salvation.

The divide in the crowd was clear. On one side, resentment, cold stares, and barely suppressed rage. On the other, triumph, roaring voices, and unshaken loyalty. And in the middle? The eyes of the world.

Teutonica's news reporters, photographers, and international journalists lined the designated press areas, notes in hand, pencils scratching against paper, ears catching every chant, every silence, every shift in the air.

Some were Teutonica state reporters, forced to cover the parade under their new rulers. Others were Spartan journalists, eager to document history in the making.

Flashes sparked as primitive white and black cameras snapped photos of the massive crowds, the raised Spartan banners, the unmoving Teutonica citizens, and the Cerberus Military Police lining the parade route with their bolt action rifles held at the ready.

Their mere presence ensured that no riots or foolish acts of defiance would occur. But the crowd's silence? That was not something that could be forced.

A makeshift grandstand had been built in the city's main square, draped in black and crimson banners bearing the insignia of the Spartanum Ducatum.

Seated upon the elevated stand were the highest ranking officials of the Imperium. Ministers, legates, and senators sat in neat rows, their service and civilian uniforms immaculate.

Among them were the former Teutonica government officials, seated stiffly, their expressions unreadable, whispering amongst themselves.

To my immediate right, the former Grand Duke sat slouched, a man utterly stripped of his power, now just another seat warmer in a world he no longer controlled.

To my left, Lupa lay sprawled lazily at my feet, her enormous armored form exuding raw dominance. She exhaled a low, rumbling growl, her golden eyes half lidded, but her ears twitched at every sound.

I took a slow drag of my cigar, blowing out thick smoke as I gazed over the silent masses. Beside me, the Grand Duke shifted uncomfortably. His fingers twitched against the armrest.

"Imperator..."

He muttered, voice hoarse.

"... they hate you."

I exhaled another cloud of smoke, smirking.

"No s*it scherlock"

I said.

"But dont worry hat will change real soon."

The Grand Duke scoffed, adjusting the heavy coat over his rounded frame.

"Your arrogance will be your downfall."

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.

"Then Ill drag the entire world with me to the grave"

I chuckled, and I could see the grand duke recoil In utter horror.

Hmph! If I dont conquer the world asap and turn humanity into a machine bred and born for war then the whole galaxy will go exctinct.

I added In my mind as I did the conversation was cut short as a sharp, rhythmic sound filled the air. The military orchestra, standing at the foot of the grandstand, began playing.

The deep, resounding pound of drums echoed through the streets, a sound that sent vibrations through the very bones of the city.

Horns blared, their triumphant notes soaring through the air like a call to destiny itself.

I took a deep breath, stepped forward and grabbed the prepared michrophone, standing before the towering flagpole where the Spartanum Ducatum's banner, still furled, awaited its ascent.

I raised my right hand in a crisp military salute, my posture straight as iron. Around me, the officials, the generals, the diplomats, all followed, their straight hands raised to their temples.

The first notes of the anthem surged, and I opened my mouth. A lone voice. Strong. Steady. A voice that carried over the hush of thousands.

"Through fire, through steel, through blood we rise,

Great grandchildren of Kronos, grandsons of Zeus, sons and daughters of Ares, children of Nova Roma!"

The moment the first line left my lips, my Death Squad moved as one.

Helmets unclasped. Armor hissed as pressure seals broke. One by one, they removed their skull faced helmets and held them beneath their armpit, revealing their faces.

They stepped forward, their expressions fierce, and their voices joined mine deep, unwavering, unbreakable as they raised their right armored hands to their temples.

"Bound by duty, forged in pain,

We stand as one, we break the chain!"

The banner began to rise. The tempo quickened. The brass and drums surged. The sound of marching feet began to match the rhythm.

More voices joined.

First, the first paratrooper cohort, men who had fought and bled in the name of the Imperium, men who had crushed Teutonica's armies beneath their boots. Their voices, rough and proud, lifted into the air like a battle cry.

"Never broken, never bent,

Warriors that would break first before bending!

Ours is the land, the iron and stone,

Imperium reborn, the Imperator on the throne!"

The people of spartanum ducatum had lost for so long. They had walked with bowed heads, their pride stolen, their dignity shattered. They had been beaten, humiliated, forced to accept a world where they were weak.

But now, now something stirred in them. A fire long forgotten. A pride buried beneath centuries of shame. The anthem's chorus hit, and the voices of the city swelled.

"Hail the sword! Hail the shield!

Hail the ones who never yield!

Brothers, march! Sisters, stand!

One Imperium! One rule! One land!"

The streets shook with sound. From the streets, Spartanum loyalists and citizens who had traveled here at the first sign of victory waved flags wildly, their cries of joy ringing through the city.

Teutonica citizens, skeptical at first, found themselves caught in the wave. Their ancestors had once been part of the Imperium.

The blood that flowed in the veins of the conquerors was the same blood that flowed in theirs. And for the first time, they began to see not an invader, but something greater, a rebirth. The anthem soared higher.

"We are the hammer, we are the blade,

The shield that guards, the fire that razes!

Bound by honor, sworn by fate,

We carve our path, we change our state!"

The banner rose higher and higher, the golden laurel leaves catching the sunlight, fluttering against the wind like the wings of a phoenix reborn.