Sic Semper Tyrannus

In front of him Fritz could see a more than a dozen companies of German soldiers battling valiantly for possession of the field near Trent. Hundreds of men were already dead as the nobles of the Reich contended against one another. After this day the Empire would never be the same, no matter which side won. And now his force, the largest Imperial army, was ready to throw it's weight into the battle. Fritz opened his mouth to give the order, and, just for a second, hesitated...

This was the moment. The true test. Over the next few hours the destiny of the Reich would be decided for the forseeable future, and it was Fritz von Kastilien whose hand once again gripped the tiller to turn the Empire itself! Not Ansehelm, the favored son, certain to inherit a Duchy on no merit but birth order. Nor was it Siegfried, fate's fortunate fool, who never fell off a horse without hitting a pot of gold and a soft blanket on the way to the ground. Nor even Peter, who combined the traits of both his brothers, certain and destined by being born third to become a soldier with little hope of power, but also in the right place at the right time to sieze power and become not only Prinz, but eventually Kaiser of the Reich.

No, it was the second son. The reserve. Not allowed to spend his youth training full time as a soldier, like Peter, nor foppishly running from one carefree pursuit to the next like Siegfried. Always held back, waiting in safety like a coward, just in case Ansehelm should fall, but never to be shown the reigns of true power either. Fritz's life had been one of buried rage and subsumed fury in the face of an incomprehensible fate. When his father had taken up religion late in life, as his strength began to fail, Fritz had taken the lesson to heart and even, in his youth, considered running off to join a monastic order. In the end all his faith had availed Gunther little in the face of age, and on his death Fritz abandoned all thought of a life devoted to the church. Their answers were for the next life, and gave little solace in this one.

As the instant drew on in his mind Fritz thought back to his childhood. His earliest memories were of chasing after Ansehelm, wearing his older brother's discarded clothes, begging to be admitted to the older boy's games. Ever the target of their pranks and cruel jokes, while little Peter was protected and watched by their Mother, until Siegfried replaced him as youngest at least. His recollection grew specific.

A moment when he was eight. He and Peter were just pretending to duel with simple wooden toys, but when Fritz struck his own head and drew blood, earning the first of the many scars his life would see, father was enraged. He lectured Fritz endlessly on his duties as second son, vowing that if Fritz could not be careful a nanny would be assigned to follow him about. Meanwhile Peter stood in the courtyard coverd in dirt and bruises, twirling his sword and grinning ear to ear at the thought of Fritz being chased by some old ninny.

A year later Fritz's first real sword, a notched and battered hand me down from Ansehelm. Peter, who was just barely a year younger, got a gleaming new sword the very same day! Father's comment was 'Can't leave my little soldier out,' as he fondly rubbed Peter's head.

Forward three years, and little Siegfried was belting out some fool song directly at Fritz while he struggled to study economic reports hastily copied from those Gunther and his advisors were even now discussing with Ansehelm. Whenever Ansehelm said something clever one of father's men would slip him a candy from his pocket while father pretended not to notice. Once in a great while Gunther would glance up to ensure Fritz was paying attention, but otherwise the men ignored him. As soon as father shifted position, Fritz turned and whispered a demand that Siegfried be silent, but the boy just made a face and cupped his hands around his mouth while he carried on. Rage burned on Fritz's face as he dashed over and struck his little brother in the stomach, to quiet him. Siegfried cried out petulantly, as Peter never would have, and father looked up in annoyance. As soon as he grasped the situation he took Fritz brutally by the hair and drug him back to his chair, shoving the illegible reports into his hands. Meanwhile out of the corner of his helplessly tearing eyes Fritz saw father's advisor slipping Siegfried one of the candies out of his pocket to quiet him.

A year later and Ansehelm was already riding with parties of soldiers to collect brigands, or joining father as he toured the countryside enforcing order. Fritz was never invited on these trips, though soon rough and tumble Peter would begin to join them. The excuse was that someone must stay behind and manage the castle. Fritz would hear that excuse for years yet, but listening to the muttered conversations between his father and the officers of his court Fritz often also heard the words 'insurance policy,' and eventually realized it referred to him.

At last when he matured Fritz was, on rare occassions, given the chance to ride to battle, but always under another's care. Never given a command himself. Never placed in the way of danger. Still an insurance policy. Thus his frustration only grew as the years went by, boiling forth in infrequent and sometimes bloody episodes of brawling and wenching in taverns. As his life neared it's peaceful end, Gunther turned increasingly away from practical concerns and bent his will more and more to improving his reputation as an honorable man. It looked like an absurd sham to Fritz, the cruel and cunning man whose youthful exploits Fritz had studied now took to releasing prisoners taken fairly in battle and showing a soft hand in dispensing justice. One part of his father's life had been a lie, and Fritz could not help but think it was this late blooming honor.

In short order then father died, leaving the Duchy of Franconia to Ansehelm. Just a few years later Kaiser Jobst was killed by a freakish catapult shot, and Fritz's unimaginably lucky, weak stomached, and carefree younger brother Siegfried was vaulted into the Emperor's seat. Peter was already a renowned general in the Reich, clearly a rising star in the field of battle and destined for greatness. And what was Fritz? Still just second son? Still following other men's lead in battle. Oh Ansehelm had promised him one of the minor Counties, and Fritz didn't doubt he would deliver in his own time, but what had Fritz done to earn it?

Into this gap stepped Lothar Steffen, Voice of the Illuminati. He seemed to know Fritz's heart better even than Fritz's own brothers. Fritz's desperate need to find meaning and order, to bring glory and triumph to the Reich and thus to himself. Lothar vowed that the Illuminati did not measure a man on the order of his birth or the luck of his stars, but by the power of his mind and the strength of his contributions to the Empire. Would Fritz join? In those glorious moments he might well have sold his soul for just the chance!

And so it was that Fritz von Kastilien, second son, destined ever to follow, became one of the secret leaders of the Reich. Reading over the Order's documents Fritz came to realize that much of Ansehelm's frustration in life came at the hands of the Illuminati, and his respect for them grew. For a time the Reich itself grew and clearly took profit from the actions of the Illuminati, but Kaiser Siegfried, Fritz's little brother, was increasingly distant from Fritz and indeed from the Reich itself. He was the first Kaiser in living memory to keep a fool always at his side, and much mocked for it. He took to wearing an absurd set of ornamental armour, and let his royal escort deal with many of the minor matters of state. At last, however, the personal accolades began to roll in as Fritz won success in the field and the political aims of the Order were achieved, but what little sentiment Fritz had for his brothers vanished.

Kaiser Siegfried, increasingly out of touch since his assumption of the throne, began to display truly unusual behavior only after spending extensive time in Byzantium. It was at this point that Fritz himself proposed to the Illuminati that a movement be created to oppose the Kaiser's will, though the purpose was to be deceptive. The Illuminati were meant to take the lead in quelling the resistance they had themselves created, thus winning favor with the Kaiser. Subsequent events made that impossible.

Fritz would eventually be passed over in the appointment of a Ducal heir to Franconia in favor of his brother, Peter, but by that point it meant far less to him than it once would have. Peter was a worthy candidate to stand in the open channels of power, but Fritz would still be one of the hands behind the Reich.

Then, near disaster! Fritz went out tavern wenching one night, though it was already rarely his custom, and told a certain young lass a rather fanciful tale of his membership in a secret order. Lothar discovered that the woman was an accomplished agent who manipulated her knowledge into a working relationship with the Order. Fritz swore off of drinking and never broke his vow. He very nearly swore off women as well, and never found himself able to trust such a creature again. His life would be wifeless and childless; all his love he would give to the Reich herself.

When Siegfried and his foreign Empress began to conspire to reshape the world, Fritz and both of his other brothers, who knew all too well Siegfried's flippant nature, stood against that act. The Illuminati too recognized the danger. They struggled to win influence with the Kaiser and break him away from Theodora, but unsuccessfully. Subsequently the Kaiser proposed a series of incredible territorial transfers to tie the Reich to the Byzantines, demanding support for them from the Illuminati; Fritz vocally expressed his disgust for his birth brother and Kaiser with his Brothers in the Order, whom he now felt closer to than his family. As Siegfried withdrew deeper and deeper into seclusion and his plans spun ever greater madness the Illuminati began to plot ways to usurp his power.

Fritz spoke openly, passionately, heatedly in the Diet about his brother, and was expelled for it. He struggled to reach the distant boy he'd once knew, and even loved, but the situation in the Reich was spinning out of control. The appointment of Emperess Theodora as co-Steward of the Reich was a hideous act of betrayal. Giving away the territories in Outremer started a furor amongst the Illuminati brothers, and indeed, all the Reich. The proposal of religious unification was the last straw. Surely God himself would oppose such a compromise of holy, sacred doctrine! A great man and powerful speaker, Father Luther, arose in this time to proclaim exactly that, and won Fritz's unwavering support. Fritz became fervently religious and tried to convince Peter that God himself opposed Siegfried. Peter was dismissive of the religious aspect, but happy to capitalize on a power base to oppose Siegfried; thus despite his disinterest matters of religion Peter declared himself the Voice of the Lutherans. That title in the hands of his brother, who had never espoused much faith, would always rankle Fritz.

Desperate measures were proposed amongst the Illuminati Brotherhood to halt the destruction of the Empire and her religion. Fritz himself was the first to, tentatively, propose regicide. It pained him to think of little Siegfried, the thoughtlessly happy boy he remembered so fondly from his own childhood, pouring out his life under an assassin's blade, but it caused him more pain and anger to watch his nation, his faith, and his whole people torn apart by an ironically named Unification plan.

Eventually, after much debate, a plan was put in place to hire mercenaries and have them ambush the Kaiser as he travelled through Bavaria. Most of the details were handled by Lothar, but Fritz compiled and assessed a listing of the available mercenary companies of Europe seeking just the right mix of loyalty to coin, gullibility, and disposability. The contacts he made in the mercenary industry would serve him well in the Cataclysmic years to come, though few would truly understand how he came by them. The black act was done. Guilt and hope gnawed at Fritz together, and for weeks he suffered blinding rage induced headaches. Would the Order's plan protect the Reich from Byzantium's blatant power grab? Alas, it was not to be. Most horrific and frustrating of all, Siegfried's death seemed purposeless. Elberhard the blowhard carried on with placing the Reich at the mercy of a nation that had manipulated Siegfried into a unimaginably poor arrangement, even to some extent expanded the trust placed in Theodora.

A plan was concocted to launch a war with Byzantium, but their illicit capture of Matthias Steffen destroyed that hope. With Fritz's none too subtle urging Peter came close to launching that war in the name of Lutherism, but failed and was imprisoned by the Reich. At last the Order voted to cause a state of war to come into being between the Papacy and the Reich, the resultant excommunication being virtually certain to break the mad unification scheme. As it happened the sack of Constantinople and the casting down of Pope Abbate were nearly simultaneous, and while they ended the political threat to the Reich, they also helped plunge it deep into the chaos of the Cataclysm when Jan von Hamburg returned to the Empire from Outremer and called up a sectarian army to oppose the Lutheran aims in Swabia. Fritz proposed that the Order try to stabilize what parts of the Empire each individual member could reach, and be prepared to pick up the pieces afterward to forge a new Reich.

The years of the Cataclysm were dark. Ansehelm died early on, victim of his youngest sibling's wild abuse of power, and Peter became Duke of Franconia in addition to declaring himself Prinz. Killing the Kaiser, his own brother, was not Fritz's blackest act during those years, though Fritz would forever feel that stain on his soul and see Siegfried's silly, childish grin in his dreams. Still, it was done in the name of God and the Reich! The name of carving order out of chaos, and preserving the light of civilization! The untamed world would not serve mankind except at the point of a sword, and once the political power of the brotherhood became less meaningful Fritz discovered a passion and ability for war. He began a vicious and very personal struggle with the Danish people that ruined his once beloved County, but ended with the utter destruction of their nation.

As the seemingly endless struggle against overwhelming odds and complete chaos dragged on and on Fritz dismissed politics from his mind. He gradually lost contact with the other members of the Illuminati. Fritz watched with interest Peter's ascent to power, on the basis of his more open but less effective resistance to their brother Siegfried's proposals, as carried forward by Elberhard. Prinz Peter, ever ready to call on Lutheran support, but hardly ever seen actually attending a Lutheran church. By the time the Cataclysm came to an end, Peter was fully established as Prinz and Fritz was a well known general. Shortly before the Diet reconvened and order returned to the Reich Lothar contacted Fritz to make certain he was still committed to the ideals of the Illuminati. There could be no question, Fritz was eager to return to power and restore the Reich to it's rightful place in the world.

Afterward, the Order asked him to reconcile with Elberhard and attempt to win influence with the Emperor. Fritz made the attempt, but when it failed he was secretly glad. Needling Elberhard and constantly recalling to him his failures provided Fritz with immense pleasure and a small measure of revenge for Elberhard following through with Siegfried's mad plans despite his death, though it never made up for the pain of Siegfried's murder. Elberhard's death gave Fritz no satisfaction, as he'd secretly hoped to someday face the man on the field of battle. Peter's choice of Dieter Bresch to be Duke of Franconia while he became Kaiser rankled Fritz little, as he no longer sought the open reigns of power, but despite his vow to restore Franconia to it's pre-Cataclysm prosperity Bresch did little but lay about Madgeburg seeing off Polish sieges. Year after year Fritz toiled in the field with armies of ill equipped militia while his Duke sat behind high walls with hardy professional soldiers. The uneven distribution of resources against successes began to grate, especially when Duke Dieter so loudly prattled on about his honor and his reverence for so called Saint Jan.

Fritz played many roles as the years wore on, protecting the Illuminati, running for Chancellor as a stalking horse for the Grand Master, and finally, at the moment of his destiny, taking on the Chancellorship himself to prepare the Reich for the final assumption of Illuminati power. When the time came for the Illuminati to declare themselves, Fritz was ready. While the Kaiser was relatively quiet in the Diet Fritz spoke violently and made bloodthirsty calls for vengeance, trying to drive the men who rejected those ideas towards the Order. The extermination of Stockholm and the utter destruction of the Danes was meant to goad the chivalrous subjects of the Reich to reject the power of Peter the Tyrant and his brother's bloody ways. It was a sacrifice, a sacrifice both of Danish lives and of Fritz's already black reputation, but if it put even one more hand to sword for the Illuminati, then it was a price Fritz was prepared to pay.

Abruptly snapping back to himself, Fritz grimly looked back up at the struggling Imperial soldiers who were expecting his aid. Time to settle all those old accounts. Time to tear down the old system of tyranny and inequality. In the Republic there would be no second sons. With an angry twist to his mouth he looked towards his gunners and shouted, 'Fire!'

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Trent, 1380

You are Péter von Kastilien, son of Günther, brother of Ansehelm, Siegfried, and Fritz, Holy Roman Emperor. All your life, you have fought for what you believed was right. Sure, some of these opinions were in contrast with the majority’s belief, such as your arguments against Outremer when the land was in its heyday, or in conflict with each other at points, but you always did the best you could. More importantly, you never abandoned your main priorities: The advancement of your family, your House, and your Reich.

You watched as the country around you grew and shrank; all the while you were fighting to keep it great, against the Russians, Poles, Hungarians, and whoever else was stupid enough to invade Imperial territory. You wish it could always have been that simple. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The tragedy and the complexity probably began when your brother Siegfried became Kaiser through a freak accident. Everything that man ever did was controversial and contested, beginning with his very ascension to the throne. You supported him, as a good Franconian and loving brother would naturally do. Unfortunately, Siegfried did not reciprocate, as he became infatuated with the Byzantines in general and Theodora specifically.

He proposed a hare-brained reunification plan that most of the Diet, you included, saw could be catastrophic. Ansehelm and Fritz, your two older siblings, agreed with the majority opinion and did your very best to convince Siegfried to listen to reason. Instead he banned you and made Fritz apologize before he let the man back in. As reunification plans went on and the overall outcome became more and more clear, you and several people realized that they had to take things into your own hands. Deciding that a blunt, direct approach was always effective, you took a large army and drove right for Constantinople. You failed, but Tancred von Tyrolia succeeded. Reunification, however, still dragged on. And then Siegfried died, killed by the Illuminati.

You now had a new passion in life. For whatever Siegfried had done wrong, he did not deserve to die for it. You were certain that your brothers stood with you on this. Fritz did, as did Ansehelm, at least for a little while before he perished. And so, you began your slow rise to power, again killing the foreign enemies and helping restructure the Reich, but never taking that main goal out of your mind. Neither did Fritz.

It all came to a head after the new evidence surfaced that Lothar, in fact, did order Siegfried to die. Finally, you had an excuse to act. Finally, there was general outrage. You and Fritz, by this time Chancellor and pretty much second-in-command to you, despite Dieter von Kassel’s official title, declared Lothar and the rest of the Illuminati outlaws. The time had come to strike.

Instead, the Illuminati turned it all around, blaming you and Fritz for causing tyranny, blasting Fritz’s over-the-top antics as proof, declaring that the Kaisership over and proclaiming the Reich a Republic. Amazingly, it worked, with most of the defectors citing Fritz’s menacing demeanor as the chief reason why they did what they did. Still, you never told him to cool it down, to watch what he was saying. Instead, you were encouraged by his behavior and also ramped up yours. Fritz, of course, took it in stride.

You found yourself at Trent, finally ready to shape the Reich according to your beliefs, finally ready to rid the world of the evil Illuminati, after all these years. But not all went well. During the first critical moment, with the red flag waving, Max Zirn switched sides and annihilated Ehrhart Ruppel’s flank. You were surprised at this, for treachery was always in the back of your mind, but not too concerned. After all, Fritz, your brother, your last brother alive, your comrade until the end, was up and in a good position to correct the mistake. He would take up the flank and prevent the east from closing in.

With that in mind, you ordered an all-out charge for the center. It would be the glorious charge you had always hoped for, somehow righting the world. But it was different. Your horsemen were depleted, having participated in two other charges and undergoing heavy missile fire, and Tancred was off commanding in the west. Still you charged, running through Arnold’s crossbowmen whose only objective seemed to be to stand in your way. Still you charged, despite Arnold activating his dismounted Gothic Knights. Still you charged, killing quite a few of the armored terrors, because you knew that righteousness was on your side. Of course you would break through.

But what you didn’t notice is that you were the only spot where you were breaking through. To the immediate west, Jan Zirn and his horsemen were giving the same treatment to your remaining Dismounted Imperial Knights, shattering them without any thought to the cost. To the north, Dieter Bresch was closing in around you. Not betraying you, as you suspected, for the black flag was up, but trying to get a shot in at Arnold. And to the east, Ludwig von Bohmen and Max Zirn were closing in, unchecked, ready to roll over your flank.

You had put everything into the frontal attack, trusting that the flank would be safe. And it wasn’t, for here the Republicans came, the crossbowmen and Gothic Knights just holding on long enough for help to come. And then you looked north while setting up for another charge, with the handful of men left, and you realized why in an instant.

You saw Fritz’s cavalry charging at Dieter’s unsuspecting crossbowmen, killing them. You saw Fritz’s gunners getting their last shots in at Dieter’s infantry before the flank closed up. You saw Fritz’s infantry simply standing there, doing nothing as the flank closed around them.

In an instant, you realized it all. Everything. The black flag. It was all a setup, everything. Fritz had always been one of them, playing an elaborate deception game all of these years. He had dawdled getting to the battlefield, maybe not so much as to hire as many mercenaries as he could, but maybe to ensure that he was in the rear and hitting you the hardest.

How long? How long had the Illuminati been plotting this? Since Lothar revealed himself as a Brother? Since Fritz became Chancellor? Since you became Kaiser? Did they rig the Chancellor election to make it look like an Illuminati loss? Were they the ones who had brought the prisoner the new information? Was Fritz involved in the Siegfried assassination plot? Was he the one that proposed it?

In the end, it didn’t matter how they did it, only that they did do it. You realized that you had lost the war just by fighting it in the first place.

As the rest of the horsemen go down around you, you realize it’s just you left. You try to get out, but cannot. Dieter Bresch’s men are all around you, pressed by Max, Ludwig, and of course, Fritz, closing in. You have nowhere left to go.

In the distance, you see a new body of cavalry coming in, charging right for you. Their lances are drawn, ready to destroy what was left of the breakthrough. As the charge draws closer, you see that it is led by a figure, armored in black obsidian as well as the usual metal. The Grand Master has come to finish the job.

You wait for the inevitable lance blow to come, to finish the Illuminati’s plan. For while Arnold is about to end your physical life, it’s already over. Fritz von Kastilien has killed you.

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Milan, 1364

The city gate was well-guarded by the militia. Within the walls, and without, there was little security beyond private guards. Milan, like so many other cities in the Reich, controlled its population by policing choke-points such as this one. Unsavory activity was easy to commit, so long as you did not have to pass through such a place. Yet there was no other way out of the city. A tunnel could be dug, but that required time and men. He did not have the former and could not risk the latter.

Behind him, the mercenary Stoyan stood, staring at the sky, oblivious to all else around him. The man was almost certainly insane. Thus, the satchel of documents that the man carried with him. The perfect evidence to incriminate the Duke of Bavaria. Documents signed in his own hand, sealed with his own ring, and bearing words too damning to be ignored.

He walked back to Jacobus, and whispered into his ear. “The city gate is ahead and guarded, and we must pass through. Beyond is your freedom, but you must do exactly as I say or you will never see it.”

The emaciated fool jerked his head in what must have been a nod. The man did his best not to gag at the smell emanating from the husk that remained of the mercenary’s body.

“Good. Keep your head down and do not speak. Stay right behind me.”

He walked forward, openly and with a spring in his step, directly towards the militia guarding the gate. Jacobus shuffled along behind him.

He nodded at the captain of the watch. “Evening, Mikeus.”

The guard arched an eyebrow, silently questioning how the hooded man knew his name. He grunted and spat, then replied, “A bit late for a walk, ain’t it?”

The man put on his broadest grin. “It’s never too late for a whore, Mikeus.”

The imbecile captain eyed him again and then pointed towards Jacobus. “And him?”

This game was already growing tiresome. It was late already and there was work to be done. He shrugged and walked into the gateway. “The son of a client. His father wants him ‘educated’ in the ways of the world.”

At that, Captain Mikeus’ mouth lit up. “Ah! Taking him to Emilia’s then? Or Old Prath’s? If it’s Prath, let ‘em know I sent ya.” The guard winked. “He’ll give you a discount, and I get a florin for each patron I pass their way.”

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Jacobus chose that moment to experiment with true madness. An ungodly banshee wail came from the man’s lips. The guards were drunkards and louts, but they were still Bavarians and they knew their duty. Light burst forth from half a dozen torches, revealing the desiccated face of the former prisoner.

“This is a client’s SON?!” shouted Mikeus.

The man sighed. There were always complications; nothing was ever simple. Jacobus was screaming again, when the man turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He thrust the bag into his arms and shouted into his ear.

“Take that to the Kaiser, you bloody fool! If not him, then the Chancellor! Get it to someone who can damn well read! Franconia! Go to Franconia!” There was no intelligence on the mercenary’s face at all. It was a good thing he had forged those documents; there was no way that any man would believe this lunatic’s story without hard evidence. He just hoped no one would realize that the Duke of Bavaria was not stupid enough to ever put such incriminating evidence on parchment. “Go, you idiot! Run!”

Finally, understanding bloomed on Jacobus’ face and he turned to flee. The man knew he would run until he fell from total fatigue. As long as the guards could be delayed until he was gone, his work would be done. He turned and drew his sword, the cold steel glittering on the night sky.

He parried the guards’ first, clumsy blows with ease. He had been trained well, and it would take more than a few fattened militiamen to best him in battle. Yet victory was not what he desired. He swung wide in a flourish intended to drive the guards back, then cried out in mock pain, tinged with just a hint of fear. The guards hesitated at this unexpected and unexplained sound. The brief interval was long enough for the man to turn and see that Jacobus had vanished into the night, undoubtedly propelled by the thought of death behind him. With him went the dogs of war.

The man turned back towards the guards, and lowered his sword. They advanced warily, weapons held high to strike. “Stay where you are, you are under arrest!”

“Now, now, Captain Mikeus,” the man said, “is that any way to speak to one of your betters?”

For a moment, it seemed as if the guard would strike him, then the man pulled back his hood and exposed his face. Every watchman took a step back and lowered their weapons. Mikeus, stood wide-eyed, staring at the man in front of him.

He gestured to Mikeus’ sword. “Were you planning on using that, Captain?”

The guard blinked and dropped his sword, before collapsing to the floor in a full bow. “I… I’m sorry m’lord. I didn’t know…”

“Now, now, no need to grovel, Captain. You were just doing your duty, and no one can fault you for that; not even me. We must all do our duty to Bavaria and the Reich, isn’t that so?”

Mikeus nodded slightly without lifting his eyes from the cobblestones.

The man sheathed his sword. “Let’s just forget all about this little incident, shall we?” No one replied.

He smirked as he walked back into Milan. The die was cast and the game was about to begin. It was a game he had played more times than he could remember, and he had never lost. What better way to ensure victory, than to control both sides in a battle? Lothar Steffen bit back a laugh as he disappeared into the dark of the Bavarian night.

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Edmund Becker was off his horse. Vomiting.

"Even when I decided to leave the Reich, there was still hope. Now this... The Illuminati are victorious, and Fritz von Kastilien is alive. I could not have imagined a worse outcome. Fritz, my son... Have I sacrificed your soul because I was too weak to make a clean break from the Empire?"

Edmund weakily remounted his horse, and set off in pursuit of his family. The Reich would continue to grow strong. He had never heard worse news in his life.

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Trent, 1380

Peter charged at Arnold. Here was the embodiment of everything he despised throughout his life. Secrecy. Manipulation. Treachery. Dishonor. He hoped that by eradicating the head of the Illuminati, their influence would wholly diminish.

The nagging thing was, he was fooled. He thought Lothar was the one he was after. He thought he could trust Maximillian Zirn. He respected Matthias. Arnold may have been a little crazy, but he was a great soldier. Lothar was once his friend - had he been manipulating him that whole time?

Where is Tancred? He should be at my side for this. He knew Tancred's heart well - going outlaw with a friend is the deepest bond of trust, Peter always said.

Fritz was a trustworthy man, as well. Ehrhart's death will not be in vain when Fritz avenges it mercilessly.

Dieter, on the other hand - Peter gave him the Duchy of Franconia over his own brother because he hoped Dieter would not divide the Reich. Instead, he stayed locked up in Magdeburg for years. Peter couldn't believe the mistake he made. Now the black flag saying "SIC SEMPER TYRANNUS" threatened him,
cursing his name. Dieter would betray him, he had warned his troops before. He'd be ready.

His fists clenched. His feet tightened in the stirrup. A crow cawed in the distance, no one paid any mind. Fratricide was in the atmosphere on this tumultuous day. Peter was about to learn the real meaning of the flag.

Fritz's gunners opened fire on Dieter's men. That coward Dieter had already struck! But wait, his men were bearing down into Arnold's troops. It couldn't be true. Fritz? Could Fritz have killed Siegfried? It all made sense. Peter told Fritz about his intentions to attack Lothar, and Fritz recommissions Peter's army to Lothar. Ansehelm picked Peter as his heir, not Fritz, the older son. A minor chord was struck in Peter's consciousness as he realized the truth.

Like a man possessed, the last Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire charged. The Republicans would later describe his final charge as that of a Viking berserker, yet somehow holy. Peter was never a religious man, yet he was a god as he smashed through the crossbowmen and the Gothic Knights.

There were too many. The crossbowmen were utterly annhilated, but the heavily armored Gothic Knights were too many. Peter watched as Jonas, his longtime friend and veteran warrior, was brutally killed. Lars fell and Ulrich stood defending his body until he too was engulfed. Schwarz was hacked from under Peter, and if it wasn't for Sven Peter would have died then as well. Sven heroically chopped away at the assailants, as consumed with the lust for battle as Peter was. Where was Tancred? He should be by my side, to die with me as friends and brothers should.

Then Arnold came. Bane and Grom charged first. Sven fell defending his liegelord from the terrors. Arnold, the veiled nemesis of Peter, had won. He thrust his spear into Peter's heart - a void of the soul yet remaining a weakness of the flesh.

Thus ended Peter von Kastilien, Kaiser, Herzog der Wahrheit, former Duke of Franconia, Count of Breslau, Commander of the Prussian Army, and the First and Second Army of the Immortals.

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Undisclosed apartment

After Max had noticed someone following them, he had recommended that they lose their "tail" and hole up. Alfgarda hated the waiting. Not sure how the Battle of Trent went. Not sure who won. Not sure who died.

Max, Jan's old Teutonic Knight returned to the apartment in a dirty brown cloak to maintain secrecy. He had just returned from meeting with a contact he had known from the Teutonic Order who now worked for the IMS.

"Did you find anything out?" Alfgarda looked up as Max arrived.

A look of great pain crossed Max's face. "My lady, Dieter is dead. He died charging Arnold. The whole Imperialist army is wiped out. Fritz turned on his allies but he was killed for his treachery by..."

A loud wail from Alfgarda interrupts Max's report. Her two children rush in to see what is the matter.

Holding their distraught mother, they don't know what to do.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Alfgarda composes herself. She looks up at Max with a fury in her eyes Max has never seen. "I need you to arrange a meeting with Duke Arnold. I have something I need to say to him. In person..."

Max bows, draws his hood, and leaves to fulfill his task.

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