novelraw Chapter 393: The Great Annexation
Chapter 393: The Great Annexation
The grand staircase of the Capitol became the site of a historic surrender. Standing there, Ethan looked down at a sea of desperate faces. Ten Gold-rank organizations, 129 Silver-rank groups, and over 2,500 Bronze-tier clans—the literal backbone of the East Coast’s economy and defense—were kneeling before him.
"We offer everything, Lord Ethan!" shouted Marcus, leader of the Iron Tide, a Gold-rank maritime militia. "Our docks, our refined ores, our lives! Just grant us the protection of Royal. The Union has abandoned us!"
Ethan looked at them, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Anne Blackwood leaned against a marble pillar, watching the scene with a skeptical brow.
"I have a single condition for all of you," Ethan’s voice cut through the shouting like a guillotine. "I am not interested in ’allies.’ I don’t want ’partners’ who might change their minds when the wind blows south. In this territory, there will be no other banner besides Royal. If you want my protection, you don’t sign a treaty—you dissolve your organizations. You become Royal. You are my people, or you are nothing."
The air grew stagnant. Anne shifted uncomfortably. He’s pushing too hard, she thought. To ask a patriarch to erase his family’s name and foundations... that’s a taboo that usually leads to war, not loyalty.
But the silence lasted only a heartbeat.
"The Steel Wing clan accepts!" a Silver-rank leader cried out, stepping forward. "What use is a name if it’s carved on a tombstone? I’d rather be a soldier of Royal than the ghost of a Wing!"
"The Gulf Predators accept!" another followed. "Make us yours, Lord Ethan! We want to be part of the family!"
The surge was instantaneous. To Anne’s shock, they weren’t just accepting; they were fighting to be the first to swear the oath. To these people, being an "ally" was a liability—it meant Ethan could discard them if things got tough. But to be his people? That meant he was bound by his own prestige to defend them to the last man. In these turbulent times, everyone wanted to embrace the strongest thigh in the room.
"Very well," Ethan said, his voice cold and commanding. "Marcus, you will continue to manage the Savannah ports, but under Royal’s logistics. I will send my instructors and ’overseers’ to each of your bases. If you perform well and show absolute loyalty, I will withdraw my men and grant you administrative freedom within your zones. But for now, you will learn the Royal way."
"We live to serve, My Lord!" Marcus replied, bowing so low his forehead touched the stone.
"I need an army for what’s coming," Ethan continued. "Your men will be retrained. Your resources will be centralized. And most importantly..."
At that moment, every leader’s phone chimed in unison. A dark, pulsating Royal emblem appeared on their screens, followed by a biometric activation sequence.
[Network Integration Complete,] Crul’s voice echoed through their speakers, though only Ethan knew the source. [You are now linked to the Royal Command Grid.]
"That is how I will speak to you," Ethan said, his eyes flashing violet. "Orders will come through that device. Do not ignore them. And know this: I do not forgive betrayal. If any of you are spies for the Union, or if you even think about leaking my logistics to the Scavengers... I will not just kill you. I will hang your head, and the heads of your entire bloodline, on pikes at the border of Massachusetts as a permanent warning to the world."
The leaders shivered, a collective chill running down their spines. The weight of the "Royal Command Grid" felt like a collar around their necks, but also like a shield.
"We understand, Lord Ethan," said a Bronze-rank elder, his voice trembling. "Better to be a dog of a living god than the citizen of a dying empire."
Ethan turned back to the doors of the Capitol, hearing the muffled, impotent fury of the Deacon inside. He had just stolen the Union’s foundation, and he had done it without firing a single shot.
"The East Coast is mine," Ethan whispered to the wind. "Now, let’s see if the Outsiders are ready to meet the new owner."
Inside the hall, the sound of shattering crystal and splintering wood echoed as the Deacon hurled a heavy decanter against the wall. His chest heaved, his face a contorted mask of divine fury. The "Impartial Representative of the Union" had vanished, replaced by a man who had just watched his authority be dismantled by a brat in a tailored suit.
The Obsidian-tier leaders watched him with varying degrees of loathing. None was more incandescent with rage than the Leader of the Desert Oasis. He sat frozen, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the cracked table.
In a single, bloodless afternoon, he had lost twenty percent of his sovereign territory.
"Twenty percent..." the Oasis Leader whispered, his voice a jagged rasp. "My Ancestor spent eighty years carving those borders out of the sand and salt. My grandfather lost three sons to hold the Savannah ports. We waded through rivers of blood to exterminate the local resistance, to break the weak, to subdue the unruly... and I just handed the keys to the front door to a boy who hasn’t even grown a full beard."
The historical weight of the loss was staggering. Millions had died across generations to establish the Desert Oasis’s dominion over the southern coast. It wasn’t just land; it was a legacy of slaughter that had been erased in a ten-minute conversation.
He looked at the Scavenger Ancestor, then at the Celestial Leader. He wanted to scream for a declaration of total war. He wanted to mobilize his desert legions and march on Massachusetts until the ground turned to glass.
But the cold, hard logic of survival held him in his seat.
We are a ’United Front’ only in this room, he thought bitterly. Outside these walls, my war with Celestial is still bleeding my treasuries dry. My skirmishes with the Sea King Army are a meat grinder in the Atlantic. If I open a third front against a monster like Royal—a monster backed by the Blackwood Matriarch—I won’t just lose territory. I’ll lose my head.