Part 1
Garros straightened, composing himself before delivering the dire news. "My Emperor, the situation at Sparklestar River is grim. General Bisera has ordered General Serko to lead the cavalry in a breakout and regroup at Podem. She fears the battle may soon turn into a devastating defeat."
A murmur rippled through the soldiers and nobles, but Simon remained outwardly calm. Though the severity of the report weighed on him, his faith in Bisera's abilities was unshaken. "And Serko?" he asked sharply.
"General Serko broke through as commanded and is heading to Podem with the cavalry," Garros explained. "General Bisera instructed him to inform you immediately. She fears Alexander may either head straight to Podem or recapture the cities we've recently occupied, including Nviom."
Simon's gaze darkened. He had anticipated possible defeat, but knowing Bisera was preparing for it meant the situation was worse than he'd imagined. Still, he couldn't afford to panic; he had to act decisively.
"You've done well to bring this message swiftly," Simon said. "As a reward, you and your men will receive an additional one-time stipend—either three oxen or forty bushels of wheat—upon your return to the capital."
Garros blinked, caught off guard by the generosity. He bowed deeply, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, my Emperor. We are honored."
Simon nodded slightly, then refocused on the pressing matters. Bisera's strategic mind had bought them precious time, but he knew Alexander wouldn't miss an opportunity to press his advantage.
"What are General Serko's recommendations?" Simon asked.
Garros hesitated. "Serko suggests that you head directly to Podem. He believes if Sparklestar turns into a major defeat, Alexander will quickly move to attack the cities we've occupied. Podem is our best chance to regroup and fortify."
The nobles exchanged anxious glances. Lord Karov spoke up, his voice trembling. "Should we not go to Nviom? We need to retrieve the garrison there!"
Simon's mind raced. The occupied cities were vulnerable, and if Alexander moved swiftly, Nviom might be besieged before they could organize a retreat. But abandoning the 1,000 garrison troops to certain death was not an option, nor could he allow Bisera to return to an abandoned city and risk capture.
"We will head directly to Podem," Simon decided. "But you, Captain Garros," he said, turning to him, "you and your men will ride to Nviom."
"To Nviom, my Emperor?" Garros asked, straightening.
"Yes. You will assume command of the garrison there. Inform them to await General Bisera's arrival. When she comes, tell her I order an orderly retreat from Nviom and the other cities we've occupied. If Alexander arrives first, lead the defense until you can no longer hold it. Do not abandon the city unless you have no other choice."
Garros bowed deeply. "It will be done, my Emperor."
Part 2
It didn't take long for the blame to start. The nobles, sensing their political reputations at risk, turned on one another, eager to distance themselves from the strategic failures.
"This wouldn't have happened if Lord Varzik had listened to Bisera's warnings," one snapped, his voice rising above the sounds of the dismantling camp.
"Me?" Lord Varzik retorted, face flushed with anger. "You pushed us to camp by the river! I only agreed because I trusted Bisera to handle the defense!"
Nearby soldiers glanced uneasily at the heated exchange, the dusty winds swirling through half-packed tents adding to the unsettled atmosphere.
"This is not the time for bickering," someone muttered, but the words were ignored as the nobles descended into chaos.
Simon watched silently, jaw clenched. It was always the same—when victory was uncertain, they turned on each other like wolves. His sharp blue eyes surveyed the scene as his mind raced.
Predictably, the blame shifted to Bisera.
"It's her fault," Lord Marnovik declared. "She commanded the army. She should have detected Alexander's night crossing. We were caught completely off guard."
Simon's patience snapped. His regal presence cast a shadow over the squabbling nobles.
"Bisera warned us," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the noise. "She told you repeatedly this could be a trap. She advised against camping with our backs to the river, yet we ignored her counsel."
The nobles fell silent, but not for long.
"Still," one muttered, "she failed to detect Alexander's crossing. How could she not see it coming?"
Simon's gaze hardened. "Alexander didn't cross where we expected. He likely came from far upstream, out of sight, leaving tents and fires to deceive us. No one could have anticipated such a move."
But the nobles weren't satisfied. Fear of losing power ran too deep.
"The other faction at court," Lord Marnovik whispered, "they'll use this defeat to dethrone you, my Emperor. If you don't find someone to blame, they'll target you. You need a scapegoat, or you might lose the throne."
Simon clenched his fists. They didn't grasp the true danger. All they cared about was preserving their influence, not the empire's survival. They couldn't see that Alexander was no ordinary enemy. Without Bisera, they were doomed.
"Leave me," Simon ordered. "I need time to think."
The nobles exchanged glances but obeyed, retreating and leaving him standing alone.
Part 3
Alone in his tent, Simon sat heavily on a makeshift stool. The nobles had no idea of the danger they faced. Alexander was unlike any adversary they'd encountered—outthinking them at every turn. Simon concluded: without Bisera, the empire would fall.
He thought of her. Bisera was more than a skilled commander; she was his most trusted ally. Her tactical mind stood between them and ruin. The nobles blamed her, but Simon knew better. She had seen through Alexander's tricks; her warnings had gone unheeded.
But something else gnawed at him—her future, her loyalty. Bisera's unwavering allegiance had allowed him to use her as a counterweight to the nobility. She empowered his rule while he shielded her from court intrigues. Yet, she had passed the typical age of marriage by eight years, and the noble houses courted her relentlessly. They saw her not as a desirable wife but as a means to control the military.
Bisera was devout, her religious conviction making her loyalty unshakable yet vulnerable. In the faith of the Universal Spirit, a wife's duty to obey her husband was absolute. If Bisera married into one of the great noble houses, her piety might compel her to follow her husband's will—even against Simon's. This would effectively make that noble house the power behind the throne and render Simon a figurehead.
The political implications twisted in his mind. Simon knew that as time passed by, the pressure and temptation faced by Bisera would only grow worse, as the sons of the great noble houses from all factions at court showered her with gifts of wealth and status while rumors of her arrogance spread. Eventually, she might have no choice but to marry one of them—and that would spell disaster.
Emperor Simon had even considered marrying Bisera himself. It would solve many problems, keeping her absolutely loyal to him and neutralizing the threat of her being manipulated by others. But the thought quickly vanished. She was eight years older than him, and the idea of romance between them felt unnatural. Worse, such a move might complicate their relationship and jeopardize the empire's stability at a time when they could least afford it.
No. She had to remain unmarried. But for how long? The pressure from the court was growing, and even Simon was feeling it. He needed to find a way to keep her free from the great houses' grasp, at least until he could fully consolidate his control over the empire.
Simon's heart ached with the weight of it all. Eventually, he needed to find Bisera a husband who could protect her from the court's ambitions and genuinely care for her. Yet this had to be someone who had no political ambitions and whom Simon could control.
Part 4
Simon rose, the weight of his thoughts pressing down. He gazed at the small shrine to the Universal Spirit. Kneeling, he clasped his hands.
"Universal Spirit, hear my plea," he whispered. "Protect our empire from the enemies that surround us. Shield us from the Gillyrians and their cunning strategies."
He hesitated. "Protect Bisera. She is essential to our survival. Keep her safe from those who would use her. Guide her... and guide me."
Shame clung to him. He had to control Bisera's future, even if it meant interfering in her personal life.
"Forgive me for what I must do," he whispered. "I must protect Bisera from a political marriage. Her devotion binds her to duty, but if she marries into a noble house, she'll be forced to follow her husband's will. I cannot let that happen."
He needed to find her a husband without political ambition—someone he could control, yet who genuinely cared for her.
"Help me find a way, Spirit," Simon pleaded. "Let me find a companion for her who respects her independence and keeps her safe. Someone I can control."
But how would he find such a man? Simon's heart grew heavy with the thought. The court was full of schemers, each noble vying for power and influence. Could he truly find someone free of such ambitions, someone who would cherish Bisera as more than a tool?
He doubted it.
His chest tightened with the weight of his responsibility, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting on clasped hands. "Grant me the strength to do what must be done and please return Bisera safely to me."
Simon sat back on his heels, the echoes of his prayer still ringing in his ears. Slowly, he rose, feeling the familiar burden settle on his shoulders once more. He returned to the stool, sinking into it with a deep sigh. Outside his tent, the camp stirred with life—soldiers and civilians preparing for the days ahead. But inside his heart, Simon knew the decisions he faced had far greater consequences than any battle.
Soon, Simon's thoughts drifted to the Cadramirum family, the noble house he had decided to sacrifice as scapegoats. The decision gnawed at him, but he saw no other way to divert the court's wrath. With the disastrous defeat at Sparklestar River, the nobles would need someone to blame, and Simon could not allow Bisera to be that person.
Framing the Cadramirum family for treason was a necessary evil. They had already dabbled in illegal trading with the Gillyrians, making it easy to plant additional evidence linking them to the campaign's failure. Moreover, their influence in the court had grown too bold, spreading rumors of Simon's incompetence. Now they would pay for those whispers. In Simon's mind, a plan to stealthily foment the rumors of the Cadramirums' betrayal among the populace back in Vakeria was slowly forming.
"Forgive me, Universal Spirit," Simon whispered, his guilt weighing on him. "For what I am about to do... for the lives I will ruin to save the empire."
But it wasn't only the Cadramirums who troubled him. Guilt kept circling back to Bisera. She had been his most steadfast ally, loyal beyond question. And yet here he was, plotting to control her future, to manipulate her love life in a way that served the empire rather than her own happiness.
As Simon got out of the tent, his face grew darker. The Cadramirums would soon be destroyed, their influence wiped from the empire, but he knew the cost of these actions would be heavy. Every lie he told, every morally questionable decision he made chipped away at his soul. He only hoped the Universal Spirit could forgive him for the path he had chosen.
Walking slowly to join the rest of the nobles, Simon inhaled the fresh morning air deeply. It was the first time he had truly noted the freshness of the air. After the moment of respite, the weight of his decisions loomed large once more. He knew that the battle for the empire's survival would be fought not just on the battlefield but also in the heart of the court, where power and loyalty could shift in an instant.
Part 5
As the SUV jolted and bounced along the uneven path, it kicked up clouds of dust that billowed behind them. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the rolling hills of the landscape. The terrain around them was a mosaic of olive groves, vineyards, and scattered patches of wild shrubs. The road was little more than a dirt track, worn by the passage of merchants and soldiers over centuries. They were approaching Nviom, but with the fading light and the endless stretch of rugged countryside ahead, James knew they'd have to stop soon.
He glanced at the passenger seat where Bisera, clad in her reddish-brown, intricately engraved armor, sat fast asleep. Her sword rested beside her, the hilt nudging against the plates of her waist armor. Despite the constant shaking of the SUV, Bisera slept soundly, her chest rising and falling with each soft breath. Her long blonde hair, loose and wild, framed her sharp, noble features, softened by sleep.
It struck him how peaceful she looked now, different from the hardened warrior he had come to know. She had been vulnerable when he treated her wounds in the cave, but now she seemed... serene, even sweet—a glimpse of the woman beneath the armor. The golden light from the sun made her appear almost ethereal, like something out of a painting. James shook his head, reminding himself to focus on the road. There was no room for those kinds of thoughts now. They were still in danger.
The path grew rougher as they began to ascend a gentle slope, the SUV's tires crunching over loose stones. Bisera stirred awake, blinking as her sharp blue eyes adjusted to the fading light.
"We must stop," she said, her voice thick from sleep.
"Right now? How come?" James asked, curiosity piqued.
Much to James's surprise, Bisera's face turned red. "I need to relieve myself."
After a few seconds of processing, James blushed, realizing what Bisera meant. He nodded. "Yeah, I could use a break too," he admitted, trying to defuse the awkwardness. He pulled the SUV off the path near a cluster of cypress trees that offered a bit of cover in the otherwise open terrain. As they stepped out, the cool evening breeze swept over them, carrying the earthy scent of the surrounding fields.
He scratched the back of his head. "I guess I'll go over there," he said, pointing to a thicket of bushes a short distance away.
Bisera shook her head, scanning the landscape warily. "We should stay close to each other for safety," she advised. "This is enemy territory, and we can't afford to be separated."
"So what do you propose?" James asked.
Bisera replied, "I can stand guard, facing the opposite direction while you relieve yourself, and then we switch."
"You mean like... I do my business right beside you? Wouldn't you be... affected by the smell?" James asked incredulously.
Bisera raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "I am not telling you to do your business right beside me. But rather, we will keep a few meters of distance—close enough so that if something happens, I can come to your aid immediately." She smirked slightly. "You've clearly not been on many campaigns. Sometimes, efficiency must trump comfort."
James chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But the proximity is still awkward..."
Bisera sighed and said, "We have no room for peculiarities in times of war. It's much better to be awkward than caught with your pants down by the enemy."
James nodded, unable to suppress a smile at his own absurdity.
Out of courtesy, James insisted Bisera go first. It was much to her surprise. He mentioned that she needed to relieve herself and that he was not in such an urgent state as she. After thanking James, Bisera handed her sword over to him so he could defend them in case of an attack while she was attending to her needs.
Suddenly, the voice—Seraphina, as he'd started calling it—asked James, "Would you like to purchase toilet paper for $5?"
James let out a small chuckle, almost amused. The timing was impeccable. He didn't believe the voice was actually Seraphina the Archangel, as Bisera firmly did, but after hearing her refer to it as such repeatedly, he had slipped up once and called it that by accident. The voice had processed the transaction without question, and when James asked if it was really Seraphina, the voice stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying it.
He had almost forgotten about toilet paper. He shook his head, musing to himself about how far he'd let his hygiene slip in the chaos of this world. Back home, he wouldn't have been this unclean—he hadn't brushed his teeth the previous night nor this morning, hadn't even done his hair properly since arriving. The version of himself from before would have been horrified at the state he was in now.
"What is it?" Bisera asked, noticing the change in his expression just as she was about to tell James to turn his head.
James cleared his throat, half-grinning. "Seraphina offered us toilet paper."
"Toilet... paper?" Bisera echoed, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion as she took the soft roll from James. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting it with the same intensity she might use to examine an unfamiliar weapon. "What is this? And... what purpose does it serve?"
James hesitated, realizing how awkward this conversation was going to be. Clearing his throat, he tried to find the least embarrassing way to explain. "Uh... it's for, you know, after you... relieve yourself. You use it to clean up."
Bisera blinked, still not fully understanding. "To clean myself after passing stool?" she asked with complete sincerity, still holding the roll as though it were some sort of enchanted object.
"Exactly," James said, feeling a strange mix of relief and discomfort. "And after you're done, you tear off a piece of this," he pointed to the roll in her hands, "and you wipe, front to back, clean with it and then discard it." James gestured a simple wiping motion.
There was a pause as Bisera processed what he was saying, her eyes slowly widening as realization hit. "Wait..." she began, her voice rising in disbelief. "Are you telling me you thought we don't clean ourselves after... going?!"
James flushed, suddenly feeling very awkward. "I—I didn't know! I wasn't sure what people do in this world..." He scratched the back of his head, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.
Bisera looked at him, exasperated. "James! Of course we clean ourselves! What kind of barbarians do you think we are?" She huffed, clearly a mix of embarrassment and indignation. "On campaigns, we use leaves or sometimes scraps of cloth. And back home, on our estates, we use soft cloth or linen, which is cleaned by servants and reused!" She stared at him with incredulity. "But you thought we just... left it? Don't tell me it's because of my scent that led you to these wild assumptions!"
James couldn't help but laugh nervously, realizing how absurd his assumption must have seemed to her. "I mean, it's not like I learned about ancient... I mean, this world's habits!"
Bisera sighed, half-laughing now, though still visibly flustered. She held the roll up again, inspecting it as though it were the strangest thing she had ever encountered. "This is so soft, though," she muttered, running her fingers along the paper. "And you just... throw it away after one use? That seems wasteful."
"Yeah," James admitted, grinning. "You use it once, then toss it."
Bisera shook her head in disbelief. "This is absurd," she said, still turning the roll over in her hands. "In Vakeria, we reuse what we can. But you just tear off a piece of this and discard it?"
"Yep," James replied with a chuckle, happy the conversation had lightened the mood. "It's pretty convenient."
Bisera raised an eyebrow, still trying to wrap her head around the concept. "Your world truly is full of strange wonders," she said, exasperated but amused. "This 'toilet paper' may be the most wasteful yet wondrous thing I have seen so far."
They both laughed, the tension easing as Bisera continued to examine the roll with a blend of curiosity, disbelief, and lingering amusement.
They exchanged a quick laugh, and Bisera took the toilet paper with her, still bemused.
Bisera took longer than James had anticipated, adjusting her armor straps as she returned.
After James finished his business, he walked in to the front of the SUV. He stood beside Bisera admiring the expansive plains bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and distant olive groves. He took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting the perils of this unfamiliar world.
Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the air. Before he could react, Bisera moved like lightning. With a swift motion, she raised her sword and deflected an arrow hurtling straight toward him. The arrow ricocheted off her blade, embedding itself harmlessly in the ground nearby.
"Get down!" Bisera commanded, her voice tense.