The Emperor's Invitation

News of the events at Khaz'Modan traveled faster than the Elysian disaster. The story was more visceral, more unbelievable. A world-ending threat, a plague from the dawn of time, had been "cleansed" by the Silent Sovereign and his host as a mere afterthought. The mighty, isolationist Dwarves had bent the knee not out of fear of conquest, but out of sheer, grateful worship.

The name 'Kaelus' was now spoken in every throne room, every spy den, and every council of mages on the continent. But nowhere was it spoken with more gravity and quiet urgency than in the gilded capital of the Baharuth Empire.

The Empire was everything Elysia was not. It was vast, ancient, militaristic, and ruthlessly efficient. Its legions were the most disciplined in the world, and its magical academies produced formidable war-mages. At its head sat Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix, a young, brilliant, and deeply paranoid ruler known as the "Bloody Emperor." He had ascended to his throne by systematically eliminating all his political rivals, and he ruled through a mixture of fear, cunning, and absolute control.

In his private war room, Jircniv stared at a massive map of the continent. Two new, black stains now marred its eastern edge: the vassal state of Elysia, and the now-subjugated mountain of Khaz'Modan. They formed a pincer around the Empire's most vulnerable border.

"Two kingdoms," Jircniv murmured to the empty room, his fingers tracing the new borders. "One human, one dwarf. One conquered through psychological warfare, the other through a display of apocalyptic power. He has not made a single mistake. His every move has been perfect."

Before him stood Fluder Paradyne, the Imperial Court Wizard and one of the most powerful humans on the planet. Fluder was an ancient man who had prolonged his life through forbidden magic, his face a mask of wrinkles, but his eyes burned with an insatiable hunger for arcane knowledge.

"His power is unlike anything I have ever sensed, Your Majesty," Fluder said, his voice a dry rasp. "The mages of the a guild near the border registered the energy release from the Amber River and Khaz'Modan. The scales are... astronomical. It is the power to 'edit' reality, not merely influence it. It is the magic of the gods."

"So he is another one," Jircniv said, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. He was referring to the Six Great Gods, the legendary Players who had founded the Slane Theocracy centuries ago. "Another 'god' has descended, and he has chosen my doorstep to build his new temple."

Jircniv was a master of the political game. He knew he could not meet this Kaelus on the battlefield. To send an army against a being who treated a crusade of ten thousand as a harvest would be idiocy. Direct confrontation was suicide.

"We cannot fight him," Jircniv stated, turning to his wizard. "So, we must either find a way to destroy him through other means, or we must find a way to appease him. To what end does this 'god' move? What is his goal?"

"Power, it would seem," Fluder mused. "But not for its own sake. He accumulates vassals, resources, worshippers. He is building an empire, just as you have. A divine one."

Jircniv began to pace, his mind working at a furious pace. "If we cannot oppose him, we must appear to join him. We must learn his weaknesses. We must get close to him. An enemy you cannot see is far more dangerous than one who stands before you."

He stopped, a shrewd, dangerous glint in his eyes. "We will not wait for him to look our way. We will invite him to look at us. We will extend a hand of friendship."

Fluder raised a skeletal eyebrow. "Friendship, Your Majesty? With a being like that?"

"The friendship of kings and emperors is a weapon, old man, not an emotion," Jircniv said with a thin, predatory smile. "We will host a grand summit. A 'Celebration of Continental Unity'. We will invite emissaries from every major power. The Dragon Lords, the Elven King, the Beastmen chieftains... and, of course, the new Sovereign of the Dominion of Nexus."

"You would invite him into our capital?" Fluder asked, a hint of alarm in his voice. "To bring that power within our own walls?"

"Precisely," Jircniv confirmed. "On our home ground, surrounded by our best mages and assassins. It will be a chance to observe him, to speak with his followers, to probe for weaknesses. And it will be a chance for the other powers of the world to see him as well. We will put him on a stage."

Jircniv's plan was taking shape. "Perhaps the dragons will see him as a rival. Perhaps the Slane Theocracy will deem him a heretic to be destroyed. We will create a web, and we will place him at its center. Let our rivals test his strength for us. If they succeed in weakening him, we benefit. If they fail and are destroyed... we also benefit, by learning more about his capabilities and by having one less rival to worry about."

It was a masterful, if cynical, plan. To use diplomacy as a weapon, to turn a gathering of peace into a den of wolves where every power would be sizing up the others, with Kaelus as the primary target.

"Prepare the invitations, Fluder," Jircniv commanded. "Use the most formal language. We will treat this 'Sovereign Kaelus' not as a monster, but as a respected fellow monarch. We will flatter him, honor him, and welcome him with open arms."

His smile widened. "And while all eyes are on the god, our own 'Workers' will be looking into the shadows. They will investigate his followers, his methods, his origins. Every god has a history. We will find his."

He was referring to the 'Four Blades of the Empire', an elite team of spies and assassins, each one possessing legendary skills and items, whose loyalty was to him alone.

"An invitation to the Bloody Emperor's court," Fluder mused. "Many would see it as an invitation to their own execution."

"And that is why it is the perfect trap," Jircniv said, his gaze returning to the map. "He will know it is a trap. I will know it is a trap. But his pride, his status as a new 'god' on the world stage, will compel him to attend. To refuse would be to show fear. And I do not believe this Kaelus is capable of fear."

The most powerful mortal empire on the continent had just made its move. Not with an army, but with a piece of parchment and a smile as sharp as a dagger. The game was escalating, moving from the battlefield to the ballroom, where the whispers were more dangerous than any sword.