Imperial Calendar 2512, late January. The private office of Emperor Karl Franz in the Imperial Palace of Altdorf.
The Emperor sat behind his desk, reviewing financial reports while snowflakes gently blanketed the world outside the palace. The warmth inside came from the crackling fireplace, while the rich purple and red carpets emblazoned with golden griffons and double-headed eagles adorned the room. The griffon symbolized his legitimacy as the successor to the savior Ludwig, and the eagle represented the empire founded by Charlemagne.
Altdorf was thriving despite the snow. Even within the palace walls, the Emperor could hear the footsteps of the Reiksguard knights patrolling the grounds. Only forty elite knights were permitted in the inner circle, forming the core force that would protect and ride alongside the Emperor in battle.
Watching the snow fall outside, Karl Franz rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of his responsibilities. He pushed the financial documents away and leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh. It had been over a decade since he ascended the throne, and in that time, he had fought countless battles, exhausting every resource in his treasury to hold the fractured empire together. Yet, every time he sat in the palace, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely the lord of Altdorf, not the emperor of the entire realm.
Looking at the golden griffon on the carpet, Franz couldn't help but smirk. He understood why his family adorned everything with griffons—it was their way of asserting their claim as the true heirs of Ludwig, the savior. Boris Todbringer, on the other hand, never had to deal with such insecurities. His family crest stood as it was because his lineage traced directly to Ludwig's brother, Heinz. Boris never needed to prove himself.
Perhaps it was a sign of his own doubts. The emperor's mind wandered as he sipped coffee made from fine beans imported from Lustria, far superior to the coffee from Araby or Tilea.
General Weidenfeller's campaign to expand in the New World hadn't been going smoothly, the Emperor mused. Reikland had dispatched three regiments, totaling ten thousand troops, to establish a new colony along the Vampire Coast of Lustria. Initial reports from Weidenfeller indicated success, with the native Lizardmen retreating from their forces, but recent news spoke of attacks from Skaven and vampire pirates.
The Emperor could no longer afford to send more troops. Lustria was months away by ship, and forming another expeditionary force was out of the question. His only solace was that, due to his relationship with Ryan, there was hope that Thorgan, the Ashen Legion commander, might lend assistance. He'd heard rumors of Thorgan considering the emperor's offer of a noble title, but only time would tell if Thorgan would intervene.
Franz let out a weary sigh and forced himself to focus on the empire's current issues. Troop shortages made it impossible to organize another expedition. Meanwhile, beastmen raids from Drakwald Forest had become increasingly bold. While the treaty with Bretonnia had freed some troops from border patrols, those troops were quickly dispatched to reinforce the southern and northern defenses. Middenland needed more forces to protect its forest border, the Blood Pine Forest near Altdorf required clearing, and Solland was still in disarray after the invasion by Tamurkhan and later raids by Night Goblins.
Rebuilding Solland had drained Reikland's resources. Wealth and soldiers had been funneled there to restore order, and now the empire's finances were strained, and military numbers were thin.
Karl Franz had once sought aid from Emmanuelle von Leibwitz, the Countess of Nuln, but she had refused. Even his personal request, invoking his role as godfather to her son Frederick, had been denied. Her response was curt: "Where was your Reiksguard when we faced Tamurkhan? Nuln needs time to rebuild. Perhaps next time, Karl."
In truth, Nuln had recovered quickly. Refugees had flocked to the city, eager to join its army. The vast orders from across the empire, Bretonnia, and even the Ashen Legion had fueled Nuln's war industry. Instead of weakening, Nuln had grown stronger—a city built for war, one that had always been close to Ludwig's heart. Though he made Altdorf the capital, Ludwig had spent most of his life in Nuln.
Franz suspected that his plans to rebuild Solland had angered Nuln's nobles, prompting Emmanuelle's refusal. There was little he could do. Middenheim and Talabheim's armies were even less likely to cooperate. His spies reported that Nuln's foundries were producing a new war machine, apparently on order from King Ryan.
Out of respect for his ally, the Emperor hadn't sent agents to investigate. Instead, he had inquired directly, and Emmanuelle had explained that Ryan needed a "reinforced version" of a landship.
"At least I don't have the funds to build a landship," Franz muttered to himself, trying to push these worries aside. Hearing the distinct clicking of high heels approaching, he recognized it as someone other than the Reiksguard.
There was a knock at the door. "May I come in, Your Majesty?" asked a refined woman's voice.
"Please enter," the Emperor replied, rising from his desk.
In walked Frau Hawkswald, Lotte Hawkswald, Baroness of Stimwald, and Imperial Treasurer. Dressed in a fur coat and a silk gown paired with black stockings and ankle boots, she appeared to be in her forties, her face bearing sharp features, narrow eyebrows, and deep lines. Behind her, several Reiksguard knights carried large chests into the room.
"My Emperor, I bring good news," Frau Hawkswald said with a bow. "The payment from Bretonnia has arrived."
"Excellent," Karl Franz breathed a sigh of relief. He watched as the Reiksguard placed the chests on the floor. He personally opened one of them, revealing a glittering pile of gold crowns. The sight of the bright yellow coins filled the Emperor with comfort. "How much?"
"Twenty-one thousand gold crowns," Frau Hawkswald said sternly. Known for her legendary frugality, she was both a personal miser and the perfect fit for managing the empire's strained treasury.
"Very good." The Emperor picked up one of the coins, inspecting it. One side featured the profile of Arthur, the first king of Bretonnia, and the other side displayed the newly designed crest of Mousillon, combining a sword, a grail, and the city's fleur-de-lis—Ryan's own heraldry.
"Freshly minted. It seems Ryan's expedition is paying off," Franz remarked, placing the coin back into the chest. He gestured for Frau Hawkswald to sit. As she adjusted her gown and took a seat, a servant brought them warm coffee. "He is truly impressive."
"No, Your Majesty, the true mastermind here is you," Frau Hawkswald replied, her tone sincere. "Your skillful negotiations and the excellent contract you secured ensured that all of the Knight King's spoils now flow to us. This gold, freshly minted from the front lines, is a testament to your brilliance."
Franz merely smiled. He had ruled the empire long enough to know how to tune out flattery. After a moment, he asked, "Will this sum be enough to solve our current financial problems? Can we now form the new regiments I've requested? And what about Gelt's needs?"
"If we're careful, yes, it should suffice," Frau Hawkswald replied after a moment of mental calculation.
"Very good." Franz felt a slight weight lift from his shoulders. For now, the war-weary empire would have the funds to rebuild its destroyed walls, replant its fields, and recover. At least, it would be prepared when the next Chaos incursion came.
"I wonder, could we issue war bonds like Ryan did?" the Emperor mused, raising a new possibility. "Perhaps we could—"
"No, we cannot!" Frau Hawkswald interrupted sharply. "We've unanimously agreed that the general populace is not ready to learn about the empire's financial difficulties. As we rebuild, the people must believe it is the strength of our nation alone that is restoring us. We mustn't show weakness, especially not to our allies like the knights across the mountains or even our ancient dwarven friends. This would make us appear vulnerable, and that is not in line with our country's character."
"Perhaps you're right," Franz conceded. "Ryan has Eight Peaks—a treasure trove to loot. He and his knights can sweep across the Badlands, while we struggle to deal with bandits within our own borders. I still wonder how he manages to keep the greenskins and beastmen at bay in the northern forests and mountains."
(At that moment, in the forest, Angron sneezed, puzzled, and pulled his bear-skin cloak tighter.)
"We don't fully understand. The lands beyond the mountains are strange. The Grail Knights possess powers we can hardly fathom," Frau Hawkswald acknowledged. "But that does not mean Charlemagne is any lesser than the Lady of the Lake. We must tread carefully, especially with Grand Theogonist Volkmar, who has his own concerns."
Franz's expression shifted at the mention of Volkmar. A memory surfaced—an uncomfortable one.
After attending Ryan's coronation, Franz had followed his suggestion and invited Volkmar to a meeting. The Grand Theogonist had reluctantly agreed, and over drinks, they had begun to discuss policies and strategies. The conversation had been going well until Franz suggested they wrestle—a tradition in the Church of Sigmar.
Volkmar
had eagerly accepted. Ten minutes later, Franz had been KO'd ten times, left bruised and battered, and carried away by his attendants. The meeting ended in failure, and the planned bathhouse session never happened.
At least Ryan's advice wasn't always perfect, Franz thought, rubbing his sore shoulder at the memory.
But how did Ryan win over Morgiana?
Frau Hawkswald waited patiently for the Emperor's response, and he quickly refocused. "Tell me everything you know about the Eight Peaks War Bond."
"The first issue of the bond raised 50,000 gold crowns, with a one-year maturity and a 10% annual interest rate. Initially, the bond didn't sell well for reasons you're aware of," Frau Hawkswald reported. "But after Ryan's series of victories and the return of spoils to Bretonnia, demand surged. By the time the first bond issue closed, they had raised at least 80,000 gold crowns."
"A 10% interest rate?" Franz furrowed his brow. In the Old World, banks typically offered no interest on deposits and even charged a 1.5% deposit tax—1% went to the bank, and 0.5% to the Emperor's treasury. If depositors requested credit certificates, the tax tripled.
"Now, the second issue of the Eight Peaks War Bond is about to be released, with a similar one-year term but at an 8% interest rate. The target is between 100,000 and 150,000 gold crowns," Frau Hawkswald continued. "There's a buying frenzy, and what's most intriguing is—"
"What?" Franz asked, sensing where this was going. "A supply shortage? Or perhaps a sense of participation and speculation?"
"Exactly. Citizens who bought bonds are eagerly following every report from the front lines, celebrating every victory as if it were their own," Frau Hawkswald said with concern. "Your Majesty, could this be seen as a way to sway public opinion and infiltrate the empire's will? Should we ban it?"
"There's no need," Franz said calmly, shaking his head. "They're just bonds. We've issued them before. When the savior gathered the Old World's armies to march north against Chaos, he also issued war bonds. Back then, it was an honor for every citizen to buy one."
Frau Hawkswald seemed ready to argue further but stopped at the Emperor's stern gaze. That same gaze had subdued the princes and electors and held the fractured empire together through years of conflict and war.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Frau Hawkswald finally relented. "My only desire is to serve you."
"You've done well, Baroness," Franz nodded. "Ryan's actions are within the law. We are allies, and their victories against the greenskins benefit us too. There's no harm in the Eight Peaks War Bond."
"True strength comes from within, not from hollow praise or suppressing dissent."
"Our mission is to make the empire great again."
"For the Empire!" Frau Hawkswald said earnestly, bowing before taking her leave.
Once she had gone, Franz's thoughts drifted to another matter. "Send this letter to the queen of Bretonnia, Lady Surya," he commanded.
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
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