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Her Majesty’s Swarm - Volume 2 - Chapter 13




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The Shock of Schtraut 

News of the Dukedom’s defeat by the Arachnea rapidly reached all corners of the continent. Saania, the capital of the Popedom of Frantz, was no exception. 

“So, the Dukedom has fallen... Everything must have gone according to plan, then,” Pope Benedictus III said weakly. 

“They were bound to taste God’s judgment sooner or later,” replied Cardinal Paris Pamphilj, his second-in-command. “The only thing those fools believed in was profit. God has delivered their punishment and shown the world that faith is truly important. Now their nation has been purified.” 

It had been Paris’ choice to abandon the Dukedom. He’d purposefully ordered the allied army to hold its position at the border rather than advance, damning Schtraut to its fate. With the army’s aid, the forces in Doris might have been able to fend off the Arachnea’s invasion, but instead, they had been left to die. 

But what had driven him to this decision? 

“You call it God’s judgment, but the people of Schtraut were simply overrun by monsters. Those creatures are an affront to the God of Light. They are no instruments of divine retribution, but an influx of evil...” 

“No, no, Your Holiness. They are the Lord’s instruments, you see. As you know, the God of Light guides anything and everything in this world. Even this army of insects was brought about by His will. At least, so long as they judge the infidels.” 

Contrary to Paris’ words, the Dukedom of Schtraut had not experienced some holy cleansing, some righteous purge. It had simply been invaded by the Arachnea and destroyed. To call it God’s will was an insult to both the Arachnea and the very God of Light he was so quick to invoke. 

“You are right in that the Dukedom cared little for spirituality; anyone could tell they had more faith in economy. Despite that, I think the people of other nations will care less about this and more about the fact that the Dukedom’s bankers will no longer have a grip on their coffers.” 

“Interpret it as you will, Your Holiness. The fact remains that retribution has been delivered. Everything works according to the Lord’s will, and the God of Light never errs.” 

Benedictus himself had received considerable loans from the Dukedom of Schtraut in order to fund his election—and this was money he had yet to return. Even the Empire of Nyrnal and the Eastern Trade Union owed large debts to the Dukedom’s bankers. 

For those indebted to the Dukedom, news of the nation’s fall could not have been better. The money-hungry bankers no longer existed, and so these funds no longer need be collected. This was precisely why Paris had chosen to abandon the Dukedom. 

Paris himself owed massive debts to Schtraut which had weighed heavily upon his shoulders ever since he’d become a cardinal. As time went on, he felt that repayment might be impossible. While being a cardinal came with considerable income, and he had plenty of dealings going on under the table, he was a frivolous spender with no penchant for saving. 

But now the bankers had all been slaughtered by the Arachnea. Paris would finally be able to sleep at night, and he could even acquire more funds from the Eastern Trade Union—funds he would use to become the next pope. 

Everything Paris did was in the name of his own interests. All his talk of divine retribution was simply a convenient way of describing the situation. Paris only wanted to free himself of his debt to Schtraut and pave his own path to the papacy. 

“Even if this was divine retribution, our enemies are devils all the same. The elves, dwarves, and other demi-humans still worship a legion of demons. If those fiends plan to attack the Popedom of Frantz, the God of Light will show them his radiant majesty in a flash of fire and brimstone. In the name of God, the allied army will slay those monsters. Every last man on this continent will know that He is the only deity worthy of worship.” 

“Hmm... The enemy has leveled both the Kingdom of Maluk and the Dukedom of Schtraut in quick succession. Will the alliance truly be able to stand up to them without the Empire of Nyrnal? Not only that, but when the army is occupied with fending off the monsters, the Nyrnals themselves may try to intervene.” 

The rift between the alliance and the Empire of Nyrnal was still ongoing. Despite repeated appeals from the allied side, the Empire made it clear they had no intentions of joining forces. Hence, the alliance had to proceed without aid from the greatest power on the continent. 

Worse yet, the Empire’s refusal to participate meant that the alliance couldn’t depend on its power if the situation got out of hand. It also meant that the Empire was poised to stab Frantz in the back while the alliance was occupied with the Arachnea. 

“May the God of Light grant us his protection... although our victory is certain. We need not fear the legion of monsters or the Empire of Nyrnal.” Paris smirked. “Besides, if worse comes to worst, we have the heritage of Marianne given to us by the God of Light. Should we call upon the Seraph Metatron, we will easily reduce the infidels to ashes.” 

“I only pray things need not come to that.” Benedictus III met Paris’ sardonic smile with a bitter expression. “There can be no telling what the Seraph might do. A heritage of the past is not something we should trust so easily.” 

Metatron was an angel spoken of only in myths and legends. But if this exchange were to be believed, could that mean it actually existed in the Popedom of Frantz? 

 

Off the coast of Frantz, there was an archipelago. While many of its isles were rather small, there was one central island much larger than the rest. Its name was Atlantica, and it was a haven for pirates. 

From there, pirates staged assaults on trade cogs from all over, raided port cities, and hauled in their plundered booty. Rumor had it that if any of this bloodstained treasure were to leave Atlantica’s shores, whoever came to possess it would be haunted by evil spirits. 

“The Dukedom got sacked?!” 

Achille Alessandri, the leader of Atlantica’s pirates, was a man with an eyepatch over his right eye. Contrary to his savage appearance, he was quite civil and had a knack for politics; he’d been promoted to his position by the previous leader thanks to his negotiation skills. 

The one-eyed pirate had promised the old man a sizable sum of gold in exchange for his retirement, as well as a safe hideaway and a pension to boot. Once they’d shaken hands on the deal, Achille had taken control of the pirate colony. 

His promises had gone unfulfilled, however; Achille had leaked the hideaway’s location to governmental authorities, and the former head of the pirates had been hanged for all his misdeeds. Yes, Achille truly knew how to negotiate... to get what he wanted, that is. 

“Apparently, a massive army of bugs popped up on the mainland and has been running amok. First they sacked Maluk, and now they got Schtraut, too. People have been bettin’ on which country’ll be next on the chopping block.” 

“Who d’ya think’ll win?” asked his companion. 

“The Popedom of Frantz.” 

The man Achille was speaking to bore a deep scar across his right cheek. He was Blasco Bartoli, Achille’s right hand and a man known for his ferocious disposition. He’d fed many disobedient subordinates and hostages whose families didn’t pay up to his shiver of sharks. Atlantica had an inlet where Blasco bred the sharks, and this location doubled as an execution ground. The seafloor was littered with bleached bones, and the sharks were always circling the waters in anticipation of new victims. 

“Then we should probably hold off on attackin’ Schtraut for a while, eh? Can’t see anythin’ good comin’ outta that. I figure a horde o’ monsters that knocked two countries outta existence won’t have much worth takin’. Gotta keep the risk ’n’ return in mind, savvy?” 

Pirates may have seemed like savages, but they were actually rather methodical people. If they were to provoke a strong country too much, that nation could dispatch a force to suppress them. With that in mind, they kept their pillaging and murder down just enough to ensure they didn’t come across as too much of a threat. Anyone who disobeyed Atlantica’s rules was mercilessly executed, which maintained peace in the pirates’ haven. 

“Well, if you ask me, I think now’s exactly the right time to attack Schtraut,” said a woman sitting opposite Achille. 

She had a tall, voluptuous frame and, in contrast to Achille, an eyepatch over her left eye. The fact she was expressing outright objection to Achille’s opinion was proof of her bravado. 

“And why should we do that, Isabelle?” 

“Because if the country is wrecked, it means there’s no navy to crack down on us pirates. Raiding a port town means we can take anything we want and dip out no problem. What reason do we have not to raid the Dukedom?” 

She was Isabelle Ismael, a pirate who had recently distinguished herself from the rest of the bunch. 

“That’s a decent point. Those creatures can’t go out to sea, after all.” 

“Nah, turns out they can. Y’know Doris, the capital? It’s on an island floating in the sea off the coast of Schtraut. Apparently, the damn buggers used ships to attack it.” 

Somehow, the Arachnea’s use of ships to ferry tens of thousands of insects to Doris’ shores and destroy the capital from the inside had already become common knowledge. 

“True, but still, they’re just bugs. They ain’t meant to live out in the sea. It’s not like we’re dealing with Sirens or Sea Serpents here, ya know? I ain’t scared of them. If you’re too afraid of the big bad bugs, I’ll just sail out on my own and get filthy stinkin’ rich. Don’t expect to get a cut, though.” 

With that, Isabelle rose from her chair and left the room, twirling a knife between her fingers. 

“Can’t say I like the neophyte,” Achille said with displeasure in his voice. “That woman pisses me off. Shows no respect for authority, ya know?” 

“Aye, well, she’ll get herself inta trouble sooner or later,” Blasco replied. “People like her get too full o’ themselves and end up makin’ some kinda huge blunder. She’ll come crawlin’ back to you for help, matey, just you wait. And when that happens, we can take turns ridin’ that sweet body o’ hers.” 

Just as big changes were occurring on the mainland, the tides were turning even on the island of Atlantica. 

 

Nestled between the menacing superpower of the continent, the Empire of Nyrnal, and the religious center that was the Popedom of Frantz, was the Eastern Trade Union. 

“Silence! I said silence!” 

A wooden gavel knocked against the table several times, its echoes traveling through the Pleasure City of Khalkha, hailed as the entertainment center of the continent. It was said that any manner of pleasure could be found in Khalkha. 

As if to punctuate that point, brothels lined Khalkha’s streets. Women wearing nothing but lingerie beckoned to men walking by their establishments, while equally scantily clad men brandished their muscles to draw in female customers. Of course, sometimes these prostitutes lured in members of the same sex; this was just one example of how liberal a city Khalkha truly was. 

Indeed, the Pleasure City of Khalkha permitted fulfillment of virtually any desire. All manners of gambling were allowed, narcotics forbidden throughout the rest of the continent’s countries were exchanged without inhibition, and death matches were held in underground arenas. 

The Popedom of Frantz had declared Khalkha a corrupt hotbed of sin worthy of burning in God’s sacred flames, and the Empire of Nyrnal secretly saw it as an hindrance to its unification efforts. 

True to its name, the Eastern Trade Union was a land of merchants. It had been formed by a number of business and trade guilds from multiple countries. The Adventurers’ Guild and Mercenaries’ Guild formed their military might. 

At present, this merchants’ country was wavering. 

“An army of monsters destroyed an entire country?! That’s absurd!” 

“That’s right! And the so-called allied army is clearly just Frantz’s military!” 

At the heart of Khalkha was the Union Assembly Hall, the operating center of the Eastern Trade Union. Currently, a meeting was being held to discuss the Dukedom’s fate. 

“The fall of the Dukedom is indisputable fact,” said the chairman of the meeting. “Macaulay, our contact from the Informants’ Guild, has confirmed it. It seems their few remaining refugees are currently fleeing to the Popedom. You’re not doubting Macaulay’s report, are you?” 

“Still, we should refuse any offer to join forces with Frantz! Those maniacs have already said thirteen times that they wish to see the beauty of Khalkha burned to the ground by the God of Light’s fire and brimstone! We can’t possibly ally with the likes of them!” 

“No, they said it fifteen times. They recently held another speech where they reminded everyone that God will cast judgment upon our city. Those damnable crooked monks!” 


Angry shouts broke out in the meeting hall. 

“Silence! I will have silence!” The chairman once again banged his gavel. “Withdrawing from the alliance is an option, but it goes without saying it will aggravate our relations with the Popedom. If Frantz were to be conquered by the bugs, however, who will lend us aid? Do we turn to Nyrnal? The possibility is certainly there...” 

The chairman’s idea was met with fervent refusal. 

“Nyrnal is out of the question!” 

“The Adventurers’ Guild will protect you!” cried one guild master from the Adventurers’ Guild. 

“That’s right! Slaying monsters is our duty!” said another. 

“In that case, we must first ascertain what sort of enemy we’re up against. We’ve heard that they’re insects, at least, but that doesn’t help us develop a countermeasure. Do any of you have an adventurer skilled and courageous enough to infiltrate a torched land crawling with monsters?” 

“Yes, we have someone who fits the bill!” called out one particular guild master, raising his hand. 

“Then I’ll leave it to you,” said the chairman with a nod. “Have them observe the enemy and identify a weak point if possible. Additionally, see if there’s any chance of... negotiation.” 

“What...? You intend to negotiate with those hellspawn?!” 

The chairman’s words were met with exasperated criticism by the attendees. None of them yet knew that the Arachnea was composed of sentient, intelligent creatures. They all thought the monsters were no different from griffins or manticores that killed livestock and attacked people. 

“I merely want to see if there’s a chance! We must probe every possible angle if we are to make it through this! Now, this meeting is dismissed!” 

And so the turbulent meeting came to a close. Few people knew what course of action this little merchant nation would take. 

 

Now that both its neutral neighbors were lying in ruins, the Empire of Nyrnal was bristling at the ever-encroaching presence of the Arachnea. On this particular day, the sound of boots clicking against flagstones filled the city of Vejya as countless men marched in a military parade. 

It was the sight of a country preparing for war. 

In addition to all these foot soldiers, one force unique to the Empire showed off its might: the wyverns. Formations of wyverns soared through the sky, breathing flames hither and thither as they went. The sight elicited cheers from spectators, prompting the wyverns to rapidly circle around and draw a trail through the air. 

These bright-red wyverns were the driving force that had made Nyrnal into the vast superpower it was today. Were it not for these wyverns, the Empire would be just one of many unsubstantial countries in this region. The wyverns’ mobility and firepower had shaped and upheld the Empire’s might. 

Wyverns were the aerial annihilators also known as “red reapers.” Some people said they were flying furnaces, ready to cremate anyone unfortunate enough to taste their flames. They were a truly terrible threat. Even some mercenaries would run away in fear at the sound of their wings flapping in the distance. 

These flying devils formed the heart of Nyrnal’s army, and mere arrows could not pierce their hides. Nothing short of a ballista would do against these beasts. However, the wyverns wouldn’t allow enemies to build stationary weapons or fortifications; they would simply burn the construction sites to the ground before they were finished. It was doubtful as to whether it was even possible to beat the wyverns this way, and so they remained the symbol of Nyrnal’s invincibility. 

As the saying went: “Fear the red scales of the wyvern, for they are the harbingers of death.” 

As the Empire’s subjects watched them with reverence, the dragoons riding the wyverns continued their acrobatics, showing off their skill and proficiency. Among the crowd were ambassadors from other countries, and the sight was as intimidating as the citizens found it exciting. That was because this showy display doubled as a threat; it warned these ambassadors that should they turn against Nyrnal, the wyverns would reduce their country to cinders. 

“Your Majesty, a word?” murmured Bertholdt von Bülow, the Empire’s Chief Cabinet Secretary. 

“What is it?” asked Emperor Maximillian, his eyes still on the parade. 

“The Dukedom of Schtraut has fallen. The capital, Doris, lies in ruins. Meanwhile, the allied army shows no signs of moving. Our informants tell me that the Popedom of Frantz is trying to make use of this incident to reorganize their financial prospects and expand their political sphere of influence.” 

“Naturally. Why can’t Frantz’s rotten old monks brew up something nicer once in a while?” Maximillian’s lips curled up in a thin smile. 

Bertholdt’s intelligence network was vast. It extended not only throughout the Nyrnal Empire, but also into the Popedom of Frantz, the Eastern Trade Union, the now-ruined Dukedom of Schtraut, and many of the smaller neutral countries. Even more frightening was that he had spies among the pirates of Atlantica. 

Nothing occurred on the continent that escaped Bertholdt’s attention. This unusual man had sown eyes and ears in every corner of the land. Consequently, Maximillian had chosen to place his trust in the man, and Bertholdt had attained his current position. 

“Still, an alliance without our support is like a man without a spine.” Maximillian paused to politely applaud the dragoons’ performance. “It’s clear they’ll crumble sooner than later. There is no real alliance beyond its name; in truth, the so-called alliance serves only the Popedom. The only question is when they’ll become foolish enough to provoke the monsters and bring about their own demise.” 

“Then the False Mobilization Project will go according to plan?” Bertholdt asked. 

“Yes, as agreed. I leave it in your capable hands.” Maximillian side-eyed his advisor, and added sharply, “You would do well not to fail me. Be meticulous in gathering your intelligence, and proceed with utmost caution.” 

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” 

As the dragoons and their wyverns wowed the crowd with their flips and flames, others began to move in ways that would shape the fate of the world. 

 

“Now then, ladies and gentlemen. We have written a new page into this story, and the blood of our victims has served as the ink. A beautiful, ruthless, and entertaining story, reeking with blood and gore.” 

Samael stood in the dark ruins of a filthy, dilapidated castle, illuminated by a beam of moonlight as though she were center stage. 

“The despicable Arachnea. This vicious empire’s terrible tyranny has already reduced two countries to rubble. The nations that remain are moving solely in pursuit of their own interests, and they have no real means of stopping the insect army. When this vicious faction once again bares its fangs, who will be consumed next?” 

Samael began to twirl about as she chanted in singsong, her red eyes glittering all the while. 

“Aaah, aaah! Tremble in fear and pray for a cure, but the upcoming tempest no one can endure. As the bell tolls and the land blooms with deaths, battlefields bleed and soldiers take their last breaths. Really, more could you want from such a world?” 

She froze in place, letting her black locks sway to and fro. 

“The wyverns of Nyrnal are a horrible sight. Don’t they make the Nyrnals the true masters of might? They will take to the skies and blot out the sun, and their flames will torch everything and everyone! What’ll be left then, huh? They can even burn up the Arachnea’s bugs, after all...” 

Samael smiled viciously. 

“The land of dragons once was lord over all the world with its dragon horde. But after it had long prevailed, fate took a turn, and then it failed. Once hailed as noble and sublime, its strength has now been lost to time. The Empire of Nyrnal is thus the heir to the fearsome beasts that rule the air.” 

Samael continued her small dance, upping the tempo as she spun her tale. 

“But the land of dragons has taken up its old mission; through Nyrnal, its new heart now thrums with ambition. The world will once again tremble in terror as the wyverns take flight for the new dragon-bearer. Will that long-lost dream of world domination come to fruition or end in damnation? Who will rot, and who will stand in dominion—it all rests in the hands of Emperor Maximillian.” 

Wyverns... Those abhorrent, awe-inspiring monsters. 

“Still, they have met their worthy match in the Swarms that sting and bite and scratch. This wicked army thrives on blood, and every victim feeds the flood. The Arachnea moves as a legion, its strength in numbers and cohesion. For every five the wyverns burn, ten more will rise to take their turn.” 

The Arachnea... An empire that prided itself in overwhelming the enemy with its numerous Swarm. 

“Who will emerge victorious? Aaah, a game, a game! A fun, fun game! All work and no play makes me a dull girl.” 

Samael cackled and continued to cavort over a map of the continent. 

“Who will be the next to fall? Will it be the Empire of Nyrnal or the Popedom of Frantz? Maybe the Eastern Trade Union, or perhaps Atlantica’s pirates? Let me fill that dried heart of yours, withered from eons of boredom, with fresh blood. And, in recompense, show me how you spill rivers of blood yourself.” 

After that, Samael tore through the map with the heels of her shoes and vanished into the darkness. The continent remained in tatters. It was not truly her heels which had torn it apart, but hatred, selfishness, and needless pride. 

A hollow-hearted allied army had left its allies to die. The Empire coiled quietly in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Such injustices were all too human; the Arachnea’s appearance had not driven mankind to unite. 

Be it the name of God or the Emperor, each country was only acting in its own best interests, kicking others away or abandoning them entirely as it writhed to protect itself. 

The Popedom of Frantz: a land of fools who prayed with one hand and bribed with another. 

Atlantica: an island of savages who thrived on pillaging. 

The Eastern Trade Union: a utopia for those who desired freedom, pleasure, and money. 

The Empire of Nyrnal: a land that spread its wings not in the name of liberty, but death. 

The Arachnea: a legion of murderous insects only restrained by its queen’s feeble grasp on her own sanity. 

At last, the actors had all gathered. The Kingdom of Maluk had been razed to the ground and the Dukedom of Schtraut had been wiped off the face of the map. Only five factions remained. 

Which would survive? Which would be ruined? Which would emerge victorious? 

Despite their fear of the Arachnea, mankind had not banded together, and the continent was completely divided. With the current state of affairs, would the large empires come out on top, or would it be the much more flexible small countries? 

The Popedom’s soldiers brandished the just banner of the alliance, believing themselves to be the heroes who would save the continent. Atlantica’s pirates sailed their ships, hoping to take advantage of the chaos to wrench more tainted spoils from the hands of the dead. 

Meanwhile, the Eastern Trade Union’s guilds were on the move, trying to come up with a way for their small country to survive the coming crisis. The Empire of Nyrnal’s wyverns flew through the skies, preparing to land a special blow. 

As each country began to steer its course, it was time for the Arachnea’s queen to make a decision. Where would she strike next? The Swarm and the alliance were already glaring at each other from across the border; a fight could break out at any moment. 

But the Arachnea had spread too thin, and the long strip of land extending from Maluk to Schtraut had become something of a vulnerable flank of their territory. The wrong decision could lead to the Arachnea’s hasty retreat, so the queen needed to make the right choice. 

“Right... From here, we will go out to sea.” 



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