Pronoia, Elysium
April 8th, 1805
King Pavlos Galantinus smirked. His work had paid off. Handsomely.
It had cost him some, of course. But what deal with the devil did not?
He laughed. Long.
Turning to the side, he winked at nothing and nodded. Hades was pleased. The rascal.
The revolt, hiding behind the peasants – he was appalled by the rebel dishonesty – had taken almost all his industry. Of almost 20 million pound was now only 3.7 million under his control.
And he had at the beginning of the rebellion controlled only 15 military cohords against the rebel’s 36.
It had seemed dire. But he was better than them all. He would, he knew, win.
Still sitting in his capital, with rebels all over the states around. With only the most recent colonies on his side.
And yet, he had already won.
He had given up some financial freedom for victory. Tied his regime to the Holy Roman Empire. A customs union was a small ask for over 300 cohorts – on
his side!
He took a huge gulp of his wine. This tasted weirder than usual. He should order a new batch.
Thinking of it, he had felt ill recently. But he had no time for being sick. He had a country to run, a war to win.
The Holy Roman Empire had offered to take on the national debt just an hour ago. Elysium was almost bankrupt, so he had accepted, even though it meant being deeper in the pocket of the French. He didn’t care, what had to be done
had to be done. Had been done.
He cursed.
Drakos. President Nikolaos Drakos, the traitor. His letter, offering to let Pavlos go in exile if he only gave up, in front of him. Darn traitor.
Pavlos hit the desk in front of him. Ouch, that hurt. Some more wine, to dull the pain.
Then, it would begin. Begin in earnest. The rise of Elysium. Under his leadership, Elysium would rise. He was sure of it. The voices had promised him.
