By evening, the streets of Kislev's commercial district were desolate. Many shops had nothing left to sell, and numerous businesses had shut their doors. Soldiers, mostly from the Imperial forces, patrolled the streets, visibly shivering in the bitter northern cold, cursing how unbearable it was.
Prices continued to soar, with basic necessities, especially bread and salt, becoming increasingly expensive. Meat and sugar were almost impossible to find, and even firewood and coal had become luxuries, ensuring that refugees could afford nothing at all.
The snow continued to fall relentlessly. Kislev was known as one of the harshest lands in the Old World, a place where many Imperial troops refused to be stationed. There were rumors that some soldiers went mad after months of never-ending snow, springtime mud, rock-hard bread, and strange-tasting rations.
But this was Kislev, the Old World's first line of defense against the northern Chaos tide, a buffer zone between civilization and the forces of destruction.
Hundreds of refugees crowded the commercial street, barely clothed and hungry, huddled together for warmth. The Imperial soldiers could only sigh at the scene. Piles of straw mats lined the streets, and everyone knew exactly what they were for.
A group of Ugol soldiers appeared, attracting attention. Many refugees struggled to approach them, hoping for food, but Belia shook his head and gestured for his soldiers to raise their weapons. The refugees retreated, continuing to curl up in the corners of the street.
Even the most desperate refugees wouldn't dare confront these soldiers. They knew it was easier to loot shops or harass civilians than to mess with this group. After all, everyone knew the Imperial camps and the Temple of Ulric had plenty of food, but no one dared to rob them.
"I could have stayed in the Internal Affairs Committee and replaced Yezhov someday," Belia remarked casually as he led a group of Ugol archers through the street. "Yezhov has done a lot for our Empress, but I doubt he'll live long. When the time comes, Her Majesty won't hesitate—there's no shortage of people who want his position."
Following behind him was the lovely Kislev girl, Holkina, who was warmly dressed. She had enjoyed a hearty lunch of lamb pie, buttered bread, and a bowl of corn and ham soup. Her stomach was full, and she was content despite the sacrifices she'd made for her family.
For now, eating her fill was all that mattered.
"General, I've been thinking. Her Majesty's actions are only addressing the symptoms, not the root cause. And treating the officers this way will weaken the army's combat strength," Sherepin said, still uneasy about what had happened. "What if the Cossacks and Riflemen rebel?"
"Small uprisings don't matter. If things get serious, just kill Yezhov to make peace," Belia replied dismissively. "Did you follow up on the orders I gave earlier?"
"Yes, we received word," Sherepin said, fuming. "General Andre, who was in charge of logistics and distributing back pay, has been declared guilty after his death."
"What was the charge?"
"Suicide to avoid punishment."
"Hmph!" Belia sneered. "Now you see why I pledged allegiance to Ryan. Following the right person is more important than anything else. Do you think Ryan would do something like this?"
The others nodded in agreement. It was clear they were better off under Ryan.
As they spoke, a group of Imperial soldiers passed by, carrying rolled-up straw mats. The mats were wrapped tightly, revealing only blackened, frostbitten, and rotting feet sticking out.
The snow kept falling, the howling wind masking their voices. After walking a few streets, they finally found a relief center. Several large iron cauldrons hung over fires, with a dozen or so soldiers standing guard. When they saw Belia and his group approaching, the officer in charge shouted, "Ugol soldiers? What brings you here? Judging by your equipment, are you mercenaries? Or do you have orders from Her Majesty?"
Outside, the line for porridge stretched over a kilometer.
"I'm Belia Gulag, Lieutenant General of the Ugol archers and envoy of the Knight King of Bretonnia!" Belia presented his documents. The officer was startled and quickly saluted. "Lieutenant Mihalovich, Second Platoon, First Company, Third Battalion of the Kislev City Guard."
"Hmm, what are you cooking?" Belia asked as he eyed the steaming cauldrons. The water hadn't yet boiled, and the liquid had a slightly greenish tint, but after staring for a while, Belia couldn't tell what was in the pot.
"Porridge… we're cooking porridge," Mihalovich replied sheepishly. "It'll be ready soon."
"Porridge? Porridge?" Belia exchanged a glance with Sherepin before saying, "Put out the fire!"
"Yes, sir!" Mihalovich obeyed immediately.
With the fire extinguished, Belia leaned over the cauldron to inspect it more closely.
In the reflection of the pot, he saw a refined man wearing round, rimless glasses, his face gentle and scholarly. He was dressed in a Bretonnian military uniform and wore medals commemorating the Grand Expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain and the Golden Fleur-de-lis Third Class.
Belia calmly adjusted his collar, brushed the snow off his shoulders, and extended his hand toward the man cooking. The man hesitated but quickly understood and handed Belia the large iron ladle.
The Ugol general dipped the ladle deep into the cauldron and stirred vigorously, churning the contents until what was inside finally surfaced.
The pot was filled with tree roots, bark, and rotting pickled leaves. After stirring several times, Belia concluded it was mostly hot water. He scraped the bottom of the cauldron and finally scooped up a few unground grains of rye and even fewer grains of buckwheat. With a hint of approval, he nodded. "Yes, porridge. Rye porridge, no less. Smells wonderful!"
Hearing this, Mihalovich's face grew even more uncomfortable. Despite his embarrassment, the relief center only had one sack of rye and half a sack of buckwheat left, with thousands of people still waiting in line.
"By Ursun's fur, this is what they call porridge?!" Sherepin's face flushed with anger as he was about to explode, but Belia raised a hand to stop him. "Calm down. We've seen enough."
Belia turned to Mihalovich. "You're running low on food. Make sure to stretch it out."
"…Yes, sir."
Belia and his men left the relief center, with Sherepin hurriedly following behind. "General, how can they call this porridge? Is this even food?"
"Of course it's porridge," Belia replied calmly. "Authentic, with the unique flavor of Kislev. Sure, it's thin, but that's not important. In fact, it's perfect—the thinner, the better! The thinner it is, the more right they have it!"
"Now that we've confirmed how thin the porridge is, it's time to file a diplomatic note requesting an audience with Her Majesty Katarin."
Three days later, in the Bokaha Palace, Kislev City.
Belia Gulag, Lieutenant General of the Ugol archers and envoy of the Knight King of Bretonnia, was granted permission to enter the grand hall of the palace to meet Empress Katarin.
Though the Kingdom of Kislev wasn't large, its rules were strict, and Belia and his entourage had to follow them to the letter. Otherwise, while no one would dare kill him, it was certain they'd face unnecessary hardship, and their mission would be jeopardized.
First, no one was allowed to turn their back on the Empress, meaning they had to leave the room walking backward unless the Empress left first, which was usually the case since she was often quite busy.
Second, no one could sit in her presence unless she granted permission or if they had no legs.
Third, no one could stand behind the Empress.
Fourth, no one could be taller than the Empress.
Only those of boyar status or higher were allowed to speak to the Empress, and even they could only speak when invited. They had to preface every sentence with "In response to Your Majesty…"
Despite the numerous formalities, Belia remained calm throughout, bowing until Her Majesty Katarin ascended her towering Tsaritsa throne. Under the watchful eyes of many boyars, Kislev generals, and several legendary ice witches, the Ugol general knelt on one knee. "By Ursun's blessing, I, Lieutenant General of the Ugol archers and envoy of Bretonnia, Belia Gulag, bring greetings from Knight King Ryan-Malcador of Bretonnia, from the distant south."
"Kneel on both legs, Belia," Katarin's voice was as cold as ice, devoid of emotion. She sat regally on her throne. "Or you may leave."
Without hesitation, Belia dropped to both knees, bowing his head to hide the fleeting fury in his eyes.
"Our young Knight King… oh, pardon me, our Knight King Ryan has sent you so far. What business brings you here?" Katarin spoke coolly, her tone impatient. "I'm very busy."
"After his victorious return from the Grand Expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain, His Majesty Ryan sent me to share the joy of his triumph with the generals and boyars of the Ice Kingdom. We also bring a modest gift for Your Majesty and the generals and boyars." Belia
motioned for the gifts to be brought in. The generals and boyars, who were still upset about being forced to give up some of their spoils, brightened at the sight of gifts. Belia had brought fine salt, white and brown sugar, rare medicines, crates of fine bread, and plenty of frozen meats, which immediately put everyone in a good mood.
"Hmm, His Majesty Ryan is very considerate," Katarin said nonchalantly, though it was clear from her tone that she wasn't particularly impressed by the quantity or quality of the gifts. "You may rise."
Given the dire situation in Kislev, it was understandable that Katarin had hoped for a more significant windfall to address the kingdom's many problems. Belia, his mind sharp as ever, stood and gestured for the next round of gifts. "Additionally, Elder Aurora and Senator Teresa have also sent some small tokens for Your Majesty and the Ice Witches' Sisterhood."
The attendants brought forward two more boxes filled with luxury items such as high-end cosmetics, perfumes, five boxes of unopened Wolford velvet floral stockings, and refined sugar, honey, and bottles of Bordelaux wine. Katarin's eyes lit up, and she quickly signaled for the gifts to be accepted. "Aurora still finds time to send me gifts? How rare. I suppose she should focus on her own problems first! These gifts are excellent, I'll gladly accept them. You may sit."
The generals and boyars looked on with envy, knowing the Ice Witches had just received luxury items that were impossible to find in Kislev. They were indeed priceless treasures.
"Bring him a seat!" The Krim Guards brought in a small stool for Belia.
The Ugol general chuckled inwardly. Without her father's leadership and prestige, gained from his personal valor in battle, how is this Ice Queen able to rule so effectively?
It was all thanks to the Sisterhood of Ice Witches. These witches married into noble and military families, controlling the boyars and generals. Katarin, in turn, was the undisputed leader of the Ice Witches.
After a few more rounds of formal pleasantries and small talk, Katarin grew curious about Ryan's conquests in the Grand Expedition. Belia, however, gave vague but polite answers.
When the conversation turned to business, Belia stated that he was there to form a new army, intending to recruit several hundred Ugol soldiers. Katarin didn't hesitate to agree, though she insisted on a "training fee" for the kingdom on top of the regular payment.
Belia wasn't surprised by this request, knowing it was standard.
The second issue was the large shipment of goods Belia had brought, including food, meat, salt, sugar, textiles, and everyday items. These goods were exactly what Kislev desperately needed. Katarin and the Duma quickly agreed to buy the entire shipment, offering gold, silver, magical ores, bear pelts, timber, and iron and copper ores from the Norscan Expedition as payment. Belia took the opportunity to set a price much higher than Ryan's standard rates, and both sides agreed to send representatives to negotiate further.
Then came the third issue. "Your Majesty, I'd like to purchase some… people," Belia stated carefully.
"People? Has His Majesty Ryan run out of workers? Or has his fertile land turned to waste?" Katarin said impatiently. "What kind of people do you want?"
"We're looking to purchase prisoners from the Cheka's dungeons," Belia explained cautiously. "Some of these people… shouldn't be left to rot in prison, should they?"
"Wait! You want to buy… no, absolutely not!" Katarin instantly grasped Belia's meaning and shouted angrily. "I will never allow it! These are traitors and fugitives! I won't permit them to leave Kislev, not even to a foreign land!"
"We're willing to pay a high price!" Belia reiterated.
"No means no!" Katarin repeated firmly.
"Then… I've heard that many officers and soldiers have been arrested recently," Belia tried a different approach, hoping to negotiate. "Perhaps we could—"
"No. Many have already been sentenced and will be executed within the week," the Empress interrupted. "You've come too late, Belia."
"…Well, I've noticed that there are many bankrupt workers and starving intellectuals in the prisons and on the streets," Belia finally conceded, taking another step back. "Our benevolent King Ryan is willing to give them a second chance. We also need more workers."
Katarin fell silent. She realized that refusing again might seem too harsh. Besides, in Kislev's current state, the population was more of a burden than an asset. If she could offload some of these "useless" people and exchange them for much-needed food and cash to help the kingdom through its crisis, it wasn't a bad deal. Given Kislev's dire situation, the workers and intellectuals weren't contributing much anyway.
Ryan's reputation now spread across the Old World, and fostering good relations with him might lead to future military and material aid from Bretonnia.
After a few minutes of thought, Katarin reluctantly nodded. "Akinfeyev! Demilov!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" The Minister of Internal Affairs and the Minister of Finance stepped forward.
"Take Belia to the prisons and let him pick out some people. You know what I mean. I don't want to repeat myself."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The meeting ended.
As Akinfeyev and Demilov escorted him out, Belia felt a sense of urgency.
He had come to Kislev for one specific person, someone he needed to rescue and bring back to Bretonnia.
That person was Sergo, Kislev's former chief engineer and one of the designers and builders of the Hellstorm Rocket Battery. He was currently imprisoned deep in the Cheka's dungeons.
Bretonnia's gunsmith workshops desperately wanted the designs and production capabilities for the Hellstorm Rocket Battery, and this man was their only hope. Ryan had issued strict orders: no matter the cost, Sergo had to be rescued and brought to the Knight Kingdom.
It was clear that another plan would be needed.
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