Rikaner Kingdom, New Royal Capital.
One morning in mid-September, a troop of cavalry charged from the poor shacks on the outskirts onto the Outer City's main road, shouting heartening news: "Our brave warriors have crushed the Ratfolk at the border! The Old Land will soon be ours again!"
Lately, reports of victory had poured in from the Kingdom's borders to the "New Royal Capital That Will Never Fall"—as the people of the Kingdom liked to call it, pinning their hopes for the future on the name.
The news lifted their spirits. They believed everything would get better once the Ratfolk were driven from the Northern Frontier.
The cavalry crossed the Outer City and reached the Inner City. They carried their battle report halfway around the New Royal Capital before entering the Royal City.
Hooves clattered over the flagstone road outside the Council Hall. Inside, gloom hung heavy.
"Another fake victory..." one Councilor murmured.
Battle reports could lie; the front line could not. The Rikaner Kingdom, having fled to the West Coast, had already lost nearly a third of its land. At first, they had claimed that with the Autumn Harvest over, defending their territory would waste strength, so they might as well reclaim it after Deepwinter. But as the front line kept shrinking, that excuse had given way to meaningless false reports.
"Watch what you say..." the Councilor beside him warned.
Free City's declaration of war had sent the Royal City into a rage. Several officials had reportedly been executed for colluding with the Free City People. Whether they had actually done so was anyone's guess, but careless talk really could be treated as treason.
Dozens of Councilors waited for tens of minutes before the Kingdom's Council Chairman, Irwin Augusta, finally appeared in the Council Hall.
The Councilors rose and