With just five days until the Festival of Meat, Kislev's Boka Palace, the Kislev National Duma, was convening.
In attendance were representatives of the Kislev Boyar nobility, including Grand Marshal Dimitri Zayev, Marshal Konev of the Kislev Central Army, Winged Hussar Marshal Romanov of the Gryphon Legion, Bear Cavalry Marshal Rokossovsky, and the commander of the Northern Front Army, Marshal Zaka Fedosev.
The palace was filled with the Kingdom's military and political leadership, including Chief Court Minister Petrov and Finance Minister Demilov. These influential figures had gathered to discuss the pressing crises facing the kingdom.
Kislev was a vast and sparsely populated country, with settlements scattered across its frozen tundras. Apart from the three main cities—Kislev, Erengrad, and Praag—most settlements were isolated, with communication often interrupted by the harsh conditions. Direct governance was difficult, and thus each settlement was essentially a fiefdom controlled by a Boyar noble, who held absolute authority over local military and political matters. While they all acknowledged the Tsarina's ultimate authority, any direct orders from her would often be met with surprise or even skepticism by these regional rulers.
The reality was that while Boyar titles were theoretically granted by the Tsarina, they were effectively hereditary.
As a result, Kislev's military was split into three main forces: the Tsarina's city armies, the regional forces controlled by the Boyars, and the Imperial forces stationed in Kislev as part of an alliance with the Empire.
Under these circumstances, the Boyars operated with near-total autonomy, leading to the formation of the National Duma, where they collectively made decisions for the kingdom.
In the grand, opulent meeting room of Boka Palace, adorned with bear-skin tapestries, ice sculptures, brightly colored murals, and intricately painted ceilings, the National Duma gathered to discuss the kingdom's next steps.
"The supply lines for the Northern Front, the relief efforts for refugees, and the supplies for the troops at the southern Jakova Fortress have all been arranged," Grand Marshal Dimitri Zayev stated, his voice steady. "We're trying to maintain about 70-80% of normal rations. As for the back pay owed to the troops, we're prioritizing the Bear Cavalry, the Gryphon Legion, and the Krem Guard. As for the Kossars, the Kislev Gunners, and the city defense troops, we'll make do with temporary arrangements until after the festival. We'll reassess then."
"What? The funds for the repairs at Ostrosk Fortress and the reconstruction of Slaghov Fortress further north haven't been allocated?" Marshal Zaka Fedosev of the Northern Front objected, his voice filled with frustration. "So, after all this discussion, you're saying nothing's been decided? How are we supposed to keep the trade routes to Zharr Naggrund open if we can't secure those forts?"
"What's your proposal, then?" Marshal Konev of the Central Army, a bald, stern-looking man in a pristine marshal's uniform, replied, taking a sip of vodka and fixing his sharp gaze on Fedosev. "Out with it. I have no interest in riddles."
"I'm saying the funding and supplies allocated to the Northern Front are grossly insufficient!" Fedosev's voice rose, clearly agitated. "Our soldiers are freezing and starving at the front, and we've run out of medicine. I understand that the kingdom is facing difficulties, but what about the forts? We've been trying to rebuild them for over two years, ever since the end of the Winter War, but we're stuck! The soldiers are spending winter in half-finished, open-air fortresses. If you don't give us the funds and manpower now, we won't finish them by next year!"
"From the Norsca expedition, the treasury gained close to 120,000 ducats. But you've only given us 40,000! That's barely enough to cover wages, supplies, and fortress repairs. In these harsh conditions, fortress construction costs are astronomical. You can't expect us to fight without proper provisions!" Fedosev pressed.
"What exactly do you want us to do?" Marshal Konev repeated, his voice growing more impatient. "I don't need complaints. I need solutions."
"We need an additional 40,000 ducats," Fedosev said firmly. "I know the trade agreements with the Zharr Naggrund dwarfs have increased customs revenue and mining taxes. That's a significant income source, and we've been the ones ensuring the safety of the trade routes. Why can't we allocate part of that income to the military?"
"Trade tariffs and mining taxes are collected directly by Tsarina Katarin's tax officials and sent to the Ice Palace. It's beyond our jurisdiction," Grand Marshal Dimitri Zayev said in a low voice. "Her Majesty is conducting a crucial ice magic experiment and urgently needs the funds. As for our requests…"
"The Tsarina has already refused," Finance Minister Demilov added slowly, his voice heavy with resignation. "The palace treasury has bailed us out numerous times. You all know that. We can't keep withdrawing without replenishing it."
"Very well," Zayev nodded in frustration. "Konstantin, do you have any suggestions?" he asked, turning to Bear Cavalry Marshal Rokossovsky.
"I don't know," Rokossovsky muttered absentmindedly. His attention was clearly elsewhere. "Maybe we could audit the budget again? See if there's anywhere we can cut back, even just a little?"
"How can we cut back? How can we make this work?!" Konev shouted, slamming his cup on the table, his face flushed with anger. "This is all we have—120,456 ducats! How do you propose we cut back? Do we send the Northern Front to fight the barbarians on empty stomachs? Do we stop feeding the refugees? Or do we just not pay the soldiers at all?"
The cup shattered as it hit the ground, its pieces scattering across the meeting room.
"As the Kislev Marshal and commander of the Central Army, I know better than anyone the dire situation we're in," Konev continued, his voice filled with bitterness. "Those Kossars, those Kislev Gunners, the city defense troops—they're drowning in debt! Soldiers have come to my house, begging for help. What can I do? Am I supposed to ignore the fact that our treasury is empty, that the Northern Front is in constant battle with the barbarians, and that Jakova Fortress in the south is on the verge of being overrun by the Red-Eye Greenskins?"
"If this continues, Kislev's thousand-year anniversary will be the day of our downfall!" Konev's booming voice echoed through the hall, and he didn't care who heard it.
Suddenly, a messenger burst into the room, breathless and urgent. "Marshal Romanov! We have an emergency!"
"What is it?" Winged Hussar Marshal Romanov asked.
"The Kossars and the Kislev Gunners have mutinied over their wages!" the messenger explained, his voice shaking. "They've clashed with the guards, and General Andrei shot himself to quell the chaos. But now, the officers are marching toward the palace, demanding an explanation!"
"What?!" The entire room fell silent, stunned by the news.
"Konev, you need to stop them," Grand Marshal Dimitri ordered. "As the commander of the Central Army and the city's defense, you're the only one with enough authority to calm them down."
"Hmph! Now you remember me?" Konev replied with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "What do you expect me to do?"
"Talk sense into them! Explain the law!" Dimitri urged. "You have a strong reputation in the military. The soldiers will listen."
"Has there ever been a case where a lecture on law and reason settled a riot?" Konev spread his hands in exasperation. "Give me a deadline—when will we resolve the back pay issue?"
"This…"
—————— Soup and Meat Pie ——————
Not far from the armory, General Belia and his deputy, Sherepin, stood watching the aftermath of the mutiny with complex expressions.
The situation had been temporarily defused—temporarily.
At the height of the chaos, General Andrei had stood up on a table, shouting at the top of his lungs, "It's my fault! I take full responsibility for your unpaid wages. I've failed you, and I've failed Tsarina Katarin. I'm sorry!"
Without another word, Andrei pulled out a pistol and shot himself under the chin.
The gunshot had stunned the rioting soldiers and the armory's defenders alike. Seeing the general take his own life for their plight, the Kossars and Kislev Gunners felt a pang of guilt and ceased their assault on the armory.
The officers, however, refused to let the matter rest. They regrouped and marched toward Boka Palace, determined to confront the Tsarina and demand their back pay. The remaining soldiers stayed behind, still queuing for the meager rations they had been promised, while awaiting further instructions.
In a nearby alley, Belia and his twenty heavily armed Ugol horse archers watched the scene unfold. Though his expression remained composed, Belia couldn't help but feel conflicted. "It seems the situation is worse than I thought."
"The soldiers are owed months of wages, and the streets are filled with starving refugees," Sherepin said bitterly. "I spoke with some of the men, General. The officers received ten kilos of bread, two sacks of potatoes, a block of butter, and fifteen deng a (Kislev silver coins), but the regular Kossars and Kislev Gunners only got five kilos of bread, two sacks of potatoes, and nine dengas."
"Nine dengas!" Belia remained calm, but inside, he was calculating rapidly. He asked, "Did you manage to check the market prices?"
"It was too chaotic to get a full picture, General," Sherepin replied, shaking his head. "But I did ask around. Can you guess how much a simple roast chicken costs on the black market?"
"How much?" Belia was not in the mood for guessing games.
"Three silver coins! Three dengas for a single roast chicken!" Sherepin exclaimed, incredulous. "Back in Bretonnia, you could buy the best roast chicken for maybe twenty-five to twenty-eight copper coins. Here, it's ten times the price!"
Belia remained silent for a moment, then swung into the saddle of his horse. "Follow me. We're going to the palace."
His troops immediately mounted their horses, ready to move.
As they began riding toward Boka Palace, Belia spoke again. "Do you know who Holkina is?"
"Your new maid, sir?" Sherepin was confused.
Belia let out a bitter laugh. "She's the daughter of a minor boyar, the lord of a village with a few hundred people. Even her family has been drinking watered-down gruel for months. What does that tell you?"
Sherepin's face turned pale. "If even the boyars are struggling, what about the common folk and refugees?"
"Exactly. And that's what makes this situation so dangerous," Belia said, his voice cold. "Our Tsarina might be a powerful sorceress, but she is not a good ruler. She's detached from her people, too focused on her research. She rarely leads her troops in person, unlike King Ryan. The people are starving, and the boyars are hoarding wealth. How long can this kingdom survive like this?"
"Be careful with your words, General," Sherepin warned, looking around cautiously. "There are spies everywhere in this city."
Belia ignored him. "We all know what happens when the commoners and lower nobility start falling into poverty. The kingdom is on the brink."
As they neared Boka Palace, Belia signaled his men to stop. They watched from a distance as the angry officers gathered in front of the palace gates.
Marshal Alexei of the Krem Guard stood at the palace entrance, his face flushed with anger. "What do you think you're doing? After wrecking the armory, you come to the palace to demand your wages? Soldiers, draw your weapons!"
"Wait!" shouted one of the officers, Kossar Captain Alyosha. "We're not here to rob anyone. We're Kislevites, just like you! We just want to see Tsarina Katarin. What is the National Duma doing, dragging their feet while we're owed months of back pay? My comrades and I, we've gone months without wages! We've been feeding our families with nothing but bread and potatoes! We demand answers!"
"You were given your pay!" Marshal Konev shouted as he arrived on the scene, having rushed from the Duma meeting. Konev was a well-respected general, known for his strength and leadership. "I know it wasn't much, but we're in a crisis. Take what you've been given, celebrate the festival, and I promise we'll sort this out later. I, Konev, haven't taken a salary this year either, I swear it by Ursun!"
While Konev's words held weight, today they fell on deaf ears.
"You expect us to survive on those meager rations? We saw with our own eyes the riches you brought back from the Norscan campaign!" another officer shouted. "You filled your mansions with treasures—gold, furs, fine elven silk—yet you hand us crumbs? You took the glory, and we took the losses. Now even our wages are gone!"
"Yeah! Tsarina Katarin handed the kingdom to you and the National Duma, and what have you done? You've hoarded the wealth while we bleed on the battlefield!" another soldier shouted, rallying the crowd.
"Thieves! Give us our wages!"
"Hand over the spoils of war! They belong to all of us!"
The atmosphere grew tense as soldiers and officers pushed toward the palace gates, and the Krem Guard raised their weapons in response.
Belia, observing from a distance, chuckled darkly. "I bet you're watching all this unfold from somewhere in the palace, aren't you, Tsarina Katarin?"
Konev was losing control of the situation. His appeals to reason weren't working, and the soldiers' anger only grew. The tension in the air was palpable—another mutiny was moments away from erupting.
Belia smiled coldly. "It's time for the next act. Yezhov, you're up."
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