One of the crucial lessons Ryan had learned from Malcador was that for a large nation (emphasizing sufficient scale), there is no such thing as a "perfectly reasonable" or "completely sustainable" policy. For such a nation, policies can only be evaluated based on their short-term and long-term pros and cons. Malcador's wisdom taught Ryan that after weighing immediate needs, future benefits, and pressing issues, any policy that provided more advantages than disadvantages was worth attempting.
The human cost—whether at the bureaucratic level or among commoners—was secondary. Sacrifices made by the populace mattered little as long as the policy benefited the nation as a whole.
This was the essence of Malcador's thinking.
In many ways, Malcador the Sigillite, steward of the Imperium and architect of its bureaucratic systems, embodied this philosophy. To him, maintaining stability in governance and ensuring the smooth operation of bureaucracy—while controlling, managing, and balancing all factions to ensure absolute loyalty to the Emperor—was the Imperium's ultimate purpose.
His philosophy could be summarized as:
"If the system and its creator exist simultaneously, people will attempt to rebel against both. But if the creator is absent or unknown, people will willingly comply, utilizing and depending on the system to engage in their own struggles, becoming its defenders and enforcers."
"This is the nature of institutions. Initially, you resist them, curse them, and despise them. Gradually, you adapt to them, rely on them, and eventually, you find yourself unable to live without them."
These were the words of Malcador the Sigillite: First Lord of Terra, High Chancellor of the Imperium, the Emperor's trusted confidant, and architect of humanity's survival.
It was this mindset that inevitably placed the Primarchs at odds with Malcador. Like the clash between feudal decentralization and centralized governance, their differences were irreconcilable. None of the Primarchs were willing—or able—to become mere cogs or levers within a bureaucratic machine. Meanwhile, from Malcador's perspective, the Primarchs' lack of submission justified extreme measures, including the use of spies and psychic probes to uncover their innermost thoughts and secrets. Malcador even inserted himself into their interpersonal relationships and interactions with the Emperor. Unsurprisingly, most Primarchs loathed the Sigillite. Even the more tolerant ones, like Guilliman or Vulkan, harbored little affection for him.
Yet history has proven the efficacy of Malcador's methods. Ten thousand years after the Emperor's entombment on the Golden Throne, two of Malcador's most significant legacies—the Inquisition and the Grey Knights—remain vital pillars of the Imperium.
Now, as the Grey Knight Primarch, Ryan often felt the weight of Malcador's teachings resonate in his mind. Faced with a decision about Kislev's request, he pondered the consequences carefully.
In the short term, taking in Kislev's remaining forces would bring numerous disadvantages:
- Diplomatic tensions
- The logistical burden of supplies, salaries, and housing
- Cultural and religious differences
- Uncertainty about whether Kislev's soldiers would pledge loyalty to Bretonnia
But in the long term, the benefits were undeniable. The soldiers represented Kislev's industrial expertise and its most battle-hardened forces—arguably the last vestiges of its national strength.
"The Ice Queen still has the audacity to ask us for help?" Morgiana exclaimed after skimming the letter. Her good mood evaporated instantly. "To rescue the Erengrad forces, we lost over 3,000 men. Karad was gravely injured, and we paid for everything from our own coffers. And now she dares to make demands of us?"
Ryan merely smiled, saying nothing as he gently smoothed Morgiana's golden eyebrows with his hand.
The Lake Witch's tense expression softened under Ryan's touch. Caught off guard by his gaze, she felt her body react oddly—both flustered and anticipatory. Embarrassed yet eager, she murmured, "What? Do you think Katarin's demands are reasonable?"
"They aren't reasonable," Ryan admitted, withdrawing his hand as decorum demanded, given their public surroundings. With a sigh, he continued, "But they are legally justified. This matter isn't simple—it could lead to disputes and damage Bretonnia's reputation in the Old World if mishandled."
Morgiana nodded reluctantly. Like it or not, Katarin still held the title of Tsarina, which Bretonnia officially recognized. The Erengrad and Selyak forces had declared autonomy, but not outright secession from Kislev. At the time, they lacked the means to do so.
"That's why this is so revolting," Ryan said with a sneer, holding the letter. "Our dear Ice Queen knows she's out of options and is now relying entirely on external support. She has no shame left."
"So, what do we do? Ignore her? Refuse?" Morgiana pulled Ryan aside, her heels clicking against the stone floor of the castle corridor. After a moment's thought, she rejected both options: "Ignoring her won't work—the entire Old World knows about this. Refusing her outright would make us seem selfish and short-sighted, especially now, with Chaos threatening us all. How could we justify preventing Kislev's forces from defending their homeland?"
Ryan burst into laughter. "Exactly. This is an open scheme—a gambit where she doesn't care about her reputation. It's truly disgusting."
"So what's the plan?" Morgiana pressed, visibly concerned.
Ryan chuckled, amused by her uncharacteristic anxiety. Normally, the Lake Witch, with her centuries of inherited wisdom and experience in political and religious matters, handled such issues with ease. Yet when it came to him, she lost her composure—a testament to how love could blind even the strongest. Talleyrand had shrewdly exploited this vulnerability to earn her favor with flattery.
"The plan?" Ryan said. "We'll write back to Katarin, politely informing her that she's approached the wrong person. I'm busy dealing with the Chaos invasion, and the matter of Kislev's army is outside my jurisdiction. She'll need to take it up with Sulia instead."
"And Sulia?" Morgiana asked.
"She has Olica, who's perfect for this sort of thing, not to mention Belial, who knows Kislev well."
"The Dark Elf… she truly excels at these tasks," Morgiana muttered, glancing around before suggesting shyly, "It's getting late. Shall we return to our chambers?"
"Chambers? So early?" Ryan's expression tensed as he quickly changed the subject. "Too early for that, Morgiana. Let's take a stroll instead."
"Stroll? The town is packed—there's no quiet place to be found," Morgiana grumbled. After a moment's hesitation, she leaned in to whisper, "I've been thinking… I could wear a dress and stockings of your choice. Would that please you?"
Ryan sighed inwardly, thinking, And the room would be anything but quiet afterward… Shaking his head, he declined, much to Morgiana's displeasure. Resigned, she followed him back to the banquet hall.
"Darling, where have you been?" Veronica approached, holding a glass of wine and flanked by her elegantly dressed Garland Sorceresses. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"What do you need, my dear?" Ryan asked, raising his own glass to toast her.
"To take you back to our chambers, of course," Veronica said, her charming smile dripping with mischief. "After such a grand victory, don't you think it's time to celebrate properly? I can't wait any longer."
Ryan: "…"
"Ryan, there you are." Teresa appeared next, her black hair styled in an elegant updo and her magical glasses shimmering. "This hall is far too noisy. Why don't we find a quiet place to play cards or do something else together?"
Ryan: "???"
Sensing the impending danger, Ryan tried to retreat, but Morgiana grabbed his sleeve. "It seems we're all in agreement. Let's take action now."
The Lake Witch, the Garland Sorceress, and the Ice Sorceress had achieved perfect synchronization.
The Knight King was promptly whisked away from the banquet, half-willingly.
### Meanwhile at the Banquet
Most attendees noticed Ryan and Morgiana's departure but attributed it to urgent matters concerning the letter. Few gave it further thought.
Arriving late, the Kingdom's Regent, Lauen, grabbed a bite and some drinks, joining the festivities. Spotting Sir Baldwin surrounded by a group of young knights, Lauen approached.
"Sir Baldwin?" Lauen greeted with a hearty laugh. "You again?"
"Your Grace!" Baldwin and the knights saluted. The young yet battle-worn Bretonnian knight stood to attention.
"What are your accomplishments this time?" Lauen inquired, clinking glasses with Baldwin as the others tactfully withdrew.
"None, really. I didn't even manage to kill a goblin," Baldwin replied with a wry smile. Despite his noble demeanor, his weathered face and scars spoke of a seasoned warrior.
Lauen knew Baldwin's background well. A son of Count Clement of Le-Angouleme, Baldwin had joined the Arabian Crusade to save his family's noble title. Many had doubted the pampered noble would last three months in the harsh desert campaigns. Yet Baldwin defied expectations,
earning distinction in battles like the Siege of Monjisa and the Battle of Oasis Valley.
"What makes them revere you, then?" Lauen asked, motioning to the young knights.
"I taught them survival skills—how not to die on their first battlefield," Baldwin explained.
"Practical advice for fledglings," Lauen remarked with a chuckle.
The Regent pondered Baldwin's transformation. Here was an old noble turned staunch supporter of Ryan, proof of the Knight King's ability to inspire loyalty even among those who initially resisted him.
And if even old nobles were changing, what of the rising class of new nobles?
Glancing across the hall, Lauen noticed Bertrand, Davout, and Raymond—leaders of the Old Guard—celebrating with their men. These were commoners who had risen through merit, earning respect from peasants and knights alike.
This was Ryan's brilliance: ensuring no faction could entirely oppose him. Even as tensions simmered between old and new nobles, his leadership united them under a common cause.
For the first time, Lauen stepped forward to greet the Old Guard leaders.
"Congratulations, Baron of Nottingham, Bertrand!"
Thus, in the aftermath of the Three Kings' Battle, representatives of Bretonnia's old and new nobility sat down for their first equitable dialogue.
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