And so it begins.

The first barrage stops, the smoke clearing before Avalel’s eyes. The masses of enemy troops, formerly so numerous on the battlefield, are all but gone. Perhaps in the distance, there are a few heavily battered vehicles struggling to remove themselves from their inevitable grave, but as for the wasteland itself in general, it is all but leveled once more, the craters earlier flattened by an intensive attack the New Rule can barely even afford.

There are no remains of any infantry soldiers, whether friendly or part of the enemy. All the recruits he had sent earlier, if they didn’t fall back fast enough… are disposed of. In the distance, there are still many survivors beyond his range, but compared to the concentrated Confederation threat so eager to take Thille earlier? They are maggots, reserves unprepared for such a situation.

The barrage, costing nearly half of the New Rule’s supply of bombs and almost all of its ranged forces, is more successful than he even imagined. Sure, a few stray shrapnel may have shot down some aircraft, but the losses are minimal. He has, in effect, saved Thille… or at least those who are still alive.

Still, he mustn't be careless. The victory is not assured. Not yet.

“Melee units from hangars One to Eight, advance straight and clean up any remaining enemy forces in the bombardment range,” he commands. “As for the others, with the exception of long ranged forces, guard the flanks before circling around the enemy. The air force shall prevent any enemy aircraft from firing even a single shot on the ground units.” The pieces are revealed. On a flat battlefield, there is, ironically, not many spaces to maneuver. Numbers are key, numbers the New Rule now has over the Confederation. The enemy’s elite unit is extinguished. Their organization is in disarray. Whatever tricks they might have had has completely disappeared in their overconfidence.

Avalel smiles. The only mistake the Confederation committed was a lack of proper intelligence. And it has cost them.

How many soldiers have the New Rule lost already? Perhaps ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Even fifty thousand? He doesn’t care. The Anapadeia raised in triumph, he now only needs to see the battle unfold, to witness the tide turning in their favor.

It has served him well. The power he once feared has played an essential role in saving Thille, the people finally seeing it in combat. He is the New Rule’s savior, after all.

Slowly, he descends his makeshift pedestal, his shoes making contact with the muddy ground. A light drizzle begins to fall, the sky already gray for quite a while. He enjoys it, the coolness of the raindrops and winds soothing his skin. He had enough of the hot, exposed light from the Elyfesta. The blood on his sword can finally be washed, cleansing whatever mess it had stained itself with.

“All artillery batteries advance to the Third Ring,” he orders. “As our locations have been exposed, there is little point to remain in our positions.”

He walks forward, the ground rumbling beneath his feet. Just moments before, this area was occupied by one of the stupid Confederation soldiers, advancing so close to Thille itself. So close, yet so far. He smiles. They are all dead now. He casually kicks a burnt metal shard away before stabbing it with the Anapadeia. In an instant, the shard explodes, becoming nothing but dust.

He scoffs. The Confederation army, so proud and powerful then, only to become blinded by their successes. Not unlike the primitive empires of the past, so reliant and complacent in their strength they had forgotten the strategic prowess that truly brings them power.

They have simply failed to protect their own precious soldiers. Avalel has only lost disposable pawns. The result most benefitting to the overall goal is practically achieved. The maximum value of personnel has been preserved.

And when he returns to Thille victorious, there will be no need for an Assembly. They are all under his control, anyway.

“My leader,” a soldier gasps, intruding into his comms without his permission.

“What is it?” Avalel questions. In his short command over the New Rule’s forces, he has never encountered such a rude gesture. Unless… it is something extremely urgent to the situation at hand.

“The arsenals in Thille… Ordinary civilians are being distributed rifles, pikes, and other weapons.”

“What?” This is certainly unexpected for Avalel. What is Ipela even thinking? “Inform the President there is no need for reinforcements, especially from civilians untrained for combat.”

“There is a problem…” the soldier’s voice reduces to barely a hushed whisper. “At least half the city is already armed.”

“So fast?”

“They are now being ordered to march outside. The President herself is at the front.”

Ipela… “I shall personally meet her,” Avalel decides. “Tell me which hangar she is heading to.”

“From their current direction, I guess they are heading to Hangar Eight.”

Eight. Only a number, but for some reason, Avalel feels a minor headache from hearing the word itself. “... Thank you for your report.”

“N-No problem at all, my leader,” the soldier stutters, surprised at receiving such a compliment before the comms are promptly cut off.

Avalel sighs. They have no need to involve the lives of citizens, no matter how insignificant they may be. The old woman, still so influential… What gain does she stand by giving the weak civilians weapons? If it is some sort of tactic, it is simply unheard of. In all of Avalel’s knowledge, there has never been a battle where the inclusion of civilians has ended in victory for the side utilizing them. They were always a last resort, and by that time, the nation using them was already on their last legs. There is simply no incentive for Ipela to suddenly strengthen the civilian population, giving them undeserved power, especially not when the military is already near victory.

“Companies 1-2-2-1 and 1-2-2-4, fall back and follow me back to Thille,” he reluctantly commands.

“May I ask why, my leader?” a company leader asks.

“We have some negotiating needed with our President.”

Avalel begins to wonder how a mere soldier was able to contact him through his comms without his permission.

“Has he responded to your call?” Ipela asks.

“Y-Yes,” the nervous soldier replies. “He will head to Hangar Eight soon.”

Ipela faces the crowd behind her. Although armed with only weak rifles or shorter pikes, the extremely hastily formed civilian militia is enough to send a message. A message that, if Avalel still retains half of his intelligence, will understand. It’s a risky move, to say the least, but at this development, when the tides can change with a whiff of wind, she has little left to maneuver with.

“March to Hangar Eight!” she shouts. “From there we shall assist Avalel with our strength!” To the people’s knowledge, the armies of the New Rule are still in dire straits, struggling against the enemy. They are quite reckless and stupid, willing to throw their lives away because of a few words Ipela had said, but that is the nature of the average civilian. They are weak, easy to control, their mindsets wired to follow each other in hordes. The military will not dare to shoot against their own people, especially not when victory is still not assured.

They are simply the best puppets, overwhelming all with their collective strength.

Ipela retracts her knife from the terrified soldier, hiding it under her clothing. The few left to garrison the city have no choice but to follow her. They are, in essence, tied under her strings as well. She may be a feeble old woman long past her prime, but under her control is the New Rule itself. No matter how much the people may idolize Avalel, no matter how powerful he is, he is but a boy, a young boy inexperienced in the ways to manipulate, to rule. And if things go awry, there is still his identity.

They arrive at the hangar, emptied of anyone save for some technicians and soldiers. Their footsteps are like a deafening storm, echoing throughout the space. As Ipela looks around, none of the garrisoned soldiers dare to raise their weapons at the armed civilians. Even if they weren’t notified of the opened arsenals earlier, it is all within her expectations.

“Open the entrance,” Ipela commands, her voice projected with an aura of stern authority.

“President,” a soldier guarding the entrance replies. “The battlefield outside is still a dangerous place—”

“Do you mean you are not allowing our patriotic citizens to assist the troops in battle?” Her voice is firm and steady, her commanding tone unwavering.

The soldier hesitates, but without a word, he soon motions for the entrance to open. Gradually, the gray sky appears before their eyes, the light rain rattling the grass. The metal ceiling is raised up, designed for larger vehicles to pass, but now acts as their shelter against the elements. At the edge of the entrance slope, Ipela sees silhouettes of soldiers surrounding the gap. Their soldiers, being numbered perhaps a hundred or so. She smirks. It is simply not enough.

At the center, in a dignified stance, his sword glowing in the rain, is Avalel himself, seemingly barely injured and mighty as he towers over them, his expression hidden under his helmet. Instead of fervently cheering at the sight of their savior, the new “militia” are silent, suppressing their will to call the name of their savior.

“It seems you are expecting me, Avalel,” Ipela says. “With some of our soldiers as well.”

“President, what is the meaning of this?” Avalel asks, refusing to call her name.

“They are the civilian militia organized to assist you in battle,” Ipela answers. Although… She knows Avalel will not believe such a weak lie. The civilians will, however.

“We have no need to endanger our citizens,” Avalel says. “Especially ones unfit for battle. You are only—”

“Do you mean you do not need the support of the city itself?” Ipela interrupts. From her view, Avalel seems to be taken aback a little, not finding the words to respond for a moment. Ideal for her situation.

“Surely you don’t want to sacrifice vital citizens in the name of supporting the battle?” Avalel finally answers. “Victory is nearly ours, the ambush a huge success. Or perhaps—”

“They are willing to lay down their life for the New Rule. And you, the supposed savior, are refusing to give them a chance?” Ipela questions. “Or maybe… You want to claim glory for yourself? That the New Rule may continue to glorify you as the sole hero?”

She looks at the people. They are visibly surprised, but a few accusatory statements and interruptions can only do so much to change their feeble minds. But once she succeeds in collapsing Avalel’s image before them, the tables will completely turn in her favor. Avalel is intelligent, but this will be the reason for his quick demise.

All that she needs is a sprinkle of the truth, spun to her favor.

“What made the ambush so successful?” she continues. “Is it not because you sacrificed much of the new recruits in the first wave, luring the enemy in with extreme casualties, before striking them with soldiers wholly loyal to you?”

It seems to have done the trick. Murmurs begin rising amongst the crowd, shocked at the statement they have heard.

“I fully intend to disclose this information to the people,” Avalel says, still not losing his composure. “In fact, I have notified the Assembly to inform the people of the latest developments of the battle. Yet they seem to be even unaware of the fact we have begun our counterattack?”

A mix of truth and lies. In Ipela’s mind, it is not nearly as effective as her words, but she does appreciate his desperate efforts.

“Will our information bring back the dead?” she says, raising her voice to feign emotion. “Every single one that died had family, and you, without even hesitating, decided to sacrifice them in your selfishness?”

That, unfortunately, is not well-crafted, but it is already too late for Ipela.

“They fought till the last breath. Despite being conscripts, they fought with pride and strength. They knew they were the bait, yet they still fought. Why? It is to protect the thousands more in the city, untrained with the gun and sword, from the rampage of the Confederation. For their deaths, they saved many more. They are heroes. And here, you put the blame on me, the one who has saved all of you from the previous lazy government, the one who has prevented a total collapse at the Pass, the one still now fighting on the front lines with all my strength? Will you only be satisfied when—”

“No—”

“You have interrupted me enough. The people are witnesses to this. You sit in your comfortable office, thinking of ludicrous ways to ‘assist’ me, when in reality you are just putting the lives of more on the line? Do you, do all of you want your soldiers’ sacrifices to be in vain?” He vaguely points at the crowd, his voice powerful and with increasing confidence. “Will all of you only be satisfied when you die a gruesome death on the battlefield you were never meant to be on in the first place? I am here to protect as many people as I possibly can, not send everyone to their deaths!”

He drops the Anapadeia on the floor. “If you believe betraying the dead is a suitable price to see the battlefield, kill me! Kill the obstacle unwilling to allow you to reach the battlefield! Kill me as if I am one who committed treason to the New Rule, not you!”

Ipela is stunned. The words crafted by Avalel, emanating such genuity and power, are not that of a young boy. It is not even that of a politician learned in the ways of speaking and persuading. It is of a king, of one knowing where the hearts of his people lie. No matter how hard she tries to conjure a strong counterargument, she is completely beaten by his passion and overwhelming number of words. She senses it. A storm is befalling her. The people have surrendered, the power given from her hands is now turning against her.

She has failed to turn the people against Avalel.

The people drop their weapons, the metal clanging against the floor. In Ipela’s shock, one of them prostrates himself on the ground, and like a flood, the others follow suit. Avalel descends the slope, his confident steps asserting his authority. As he passes by Ipela, he doesn’t even turn to face her, instead reaching for the first man who had bowed down to the ground.

“Stand,” Avalel says, his voice soft yet audible enough for many to hear. As he supports the man to his feet, the others also rise to their feet. As he finally turns to Ipela, so too did everyone else.

“Every single one of you plays a vital role in this war,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be fighting on the battlefield. The goods you create, the food you provide, the services you offer, they are all important in their way. Do not be convinced that by being given a weapon your worth, your power is increased.”

He motions for a soldier to deliver the Anapadeia to his hands, the former descending the slope with the weapon. “There is no need for a President who only undermines the lives of the faction and the people. She has endangered your lives enough by convincing you to enter the dangerous battle. If not for me who has been notified and thus stood to stop your foolishness, the results could’ve been disastrous.” Pausing, he receives his sword before pointing it at Ipela’s throat. “Let her be an example of all who tries to betray the people of the New Rule.”

It is simply too quick. The puppet she had intended to control has rebelled against her. Or perhaps… Avalel was never her puppet.

She remembers when she had taken Avalel and Kavlina in, healing their wounds and guiding them to Thille. If only she knew what was to happen. All she can blame is her foolishness in her bid for power, collapsing before her very eyes.

All this time, she has only made him more powerful, his rise made possible because of her support. And once she decides to turn against him, all her efforts become destroyed in an instant.

Unknowingly, she has become one of Avalel’s many disposable pieces. The puppeteer herself, being controlled by another being.

“Goodbye, Ms. Ipela,” Avalel whispers as he pierces her throat with the Anapadeia. “Thank you for giving me what I need.”