Space Empire

The infiltrator scans the pages in near silence, the faint rustle of paper barely audible even in the empty library. The text and images stream across my screen, rapidly assembling into something useful—

A world map.

I lean forward.

The Vareshi Empire sits dead center. Not just metaphorically—the roads, train tracks, and trade routes all converge within its borders. Air corridors crisscross overhead, with nearly every major stop flowing through Vareshi-controlled territory.

It's the beating heart of this world's civilization.

I skim through the accompanying analysis. Empires in human history rarely last long in such a position—either they crumble under their own weight or get picked apart by ambitious neighbors, unable to defend every border at once. The sheer economic power should've made the Vareshi a prime target for raiders, internal corruption, or outright invasion.

And yet… they're still here. Stronger than ever.

How?

The book doesn't provide a simple answer, but a few things stand out.

First, the Vareshi martial culture. While their society is deeply rooted in trade and infrastructure, there's a constant undertone of military readiness. The empire doesn't just accumulate wealth—it spends it. Factories churn out not just consumer goods, but weapons. Roads don't just connect cities—they ensure fast troop movements. Even their new spaceports double as strategic assets.

Second, biology and psychology. I can't assume their history unfolded like humanity's. Maybe their cultural norms prevent the kind of greed and complacency that rotted past human empires. Maybe their instincts push them to safeguard their dominance more aggressively.

Whatever the reason, the result is clear—

The Vareshi Empire is the world's sole superpower. The unchallenged hegemon. The final stop before true planetary unification.

Only a handful of nations remain outside its influence, and even they aren't truly independent—just waiting for the inevitable.

I exhale slowly. That's… concerning.

The map updates again, shifting as new information comes in.

First, expansion. More islands appear around the only known continent, each labeled as either Vareshi territory or independent states—though how "independent" they truly are is debatable. Most seem locked in unequal trade agreements with the empire, their economies likely dependent on Vareshi goodwill.

Then, a more interesting change.

A single nation, standing apart from the rest.

Kovask—simultaneously ranked second and fifth in global power.

That contradiction alone is enough to make me pause.

Most countries follow a predictable power structure—either they're strong economically, militarily, or politically, or they aren't. But this nation? It defies easy classification. The only thing the world agrees on is that it exists.

Beyond that? Nothing.

Even its ruling system is a mystery. There are no confirmed reports of a king, president, council, or dictator. No known elections, no public speeches, no ambassadors shaking hands at international summits. It simply operates.

And despite its isolationism, it somehow matches the Vareshi Empire in technology.

That should be impossible. The Vareshi control the world's largest research institutions, the biggest corporations, the most advanced universities. They export knowledge just as aggressively as they expand trade routes. And yet—this nation keeps up, developing at the same pace, without alliances, without an obvious scientific community to credit.

But then there's the real reason the Vareshi haven't assimilated them yet.

Their defenses.

Every single invasion attempt, espionage mission, and sabotage effort has ended in complete failure.

The reports are strangely consistent—overwhelming firepower, seemingly endless ammunition, and fortifications that never stop growing.

Every battle, the walls are taller. Every siege, the trenches are deeper. Every skirmish, the defenses are more advanced. The Vareshi war machine, unstoppable everywhere else, crashes against their borders and breaks.

How?

A few theories stand out:

Mass production & automation. They could've already perfected fully autonomous factories, churning out weapons and fortifications without human—or rather, avarin—limitations. A hidden population boom. Maybe their census data is fake. Maybe they're hiding far more soldiers and workers than the world realizes. Something else. A secret resource, an unknown technology, a defensive doctrine so advanced it makes conventional warfare pointless.

Whatever the case, one thing is clear—

The Vareshi can conquer the world.

But they can't conquer this place.

And that really bothers them.

The map shifts again, subtly but significantly. The Vareshi Empire's influence, once stretching across nearly the entire continent, now appears more constrained. A note on the side reads:

"Reevaluation of international relations and linguistic patterns suggests certain nations hold more independence than previously recorded."

My eyes drift to the southeastern region, where a patchwork of Vareshi-aligned satellite states and collaboration governments once stood. In their place, the map now highlights a new entity: The Senere Alliance.

Individually, its member states are weak—utterly pathetic compared to the Vareshi military juggernaut. But together? They're still outmatched in raw firepower, but they control access to the southern ocean, a vital artery for trade and naval movement. More importantly, they hold sway over a large portion of the Empire's own propaganda machine. Their rich culture, breathtaking landscapes, and centuries-old artistic traditions make them indispensable to the Vareshi entertainment industry and global soft power.

Even more interesting is their economic structure. While none of the Alliance nations are self-sufficient, they are deeply interwoven with one another, creating a network of interdependence. The Vareshi may officially claim them as vassals, but in reality, the Empire's grip is fragile. It rules in name only, tolerated rather than obeyed.

Khánh Linh provides an analysis of global rankings. Unofficially, the Alliance is the third most powerful entity in the world. The official records, of course, make no mention of it—the Vareshi have thoroughly censored the idea of a united front against their dominance.

I shift my focus back to the Vareshi Empire itself. The imperial heartland—what I assume to be its core territory—remains unchanged, but thin division lines run through the rest of its territory. Another note appears:

"The young empire faces the greatest challenge of great empires: overextension. To maintain control, the empire established vassal states ruled by imperial kings. Young adults from the heartland were sent to the vassal states, particularly in the borderlands, to encourage assimilation and minimize complacency. This leadership structure has endured to the present day."

I see. So those lines mark the borders of the vassal states. That explains why the empire hasn't collapsed under its own weight—at least, not yet. Instead of attempting total centralization, it relies on a decentralized system of control, granting its vassals some degree of autonomy. The question is: how much power do the imperial kings actually hold? And, more importantly, how much does the emperor still control?

The empire remains a superpower, so the system must be working—though whether it's a well-oiled machine or a barely held-together mess remains to be seen. If the vassals grow too independent, the empire could fracture. But if they remain too reliant on the emperor, then their power is likely just ceremonial. Either way, this structure hints at a delicate balance between authority and autonomy. One that, if pushed too far in either direction, could bring the whole empire crashing down.

As for the rest of the world—the independent nations and the empire's so-called satellite states—imperial authority only extends so far. While these nations officially acknowledge the empire's influence, they still resist its control.

According to the book I'm reading (which, by the way, was written, published, and most likely censored by the empire), resistance is ultimately futile. It claims that while these nations could put up a fight through asymmetrical warfare and stretch the empire thin across a vast front, the empire's unity and determination would secure victory in the end.

Khánh Linh, ever the voice of reason, interjects: "Even if they win, they wouldn't be able to properly rule the newly occupied territories."

She's right. Occupation is a different beast from conquest. The book conveniently glosses over the logistical nightmare that would follow. Even if the empire overran these nations militarily, ruling them would be another matter entirely. Centuries of anti-imperial sentiment and strong nationalist identities would make governance impossible without constant suppression.

And then there's the terrain itself. The empire's supply chains wouldn't just face insurgents and rebels—they'd be battered by snow, mountains, storms, forests, jungles, diseases, and every other environmental disaster nature can throw at them. Keeping a war machine running is hard enough without supply lines breaking down because of a monsoon or an outbreak of something nasty.

So while the empire can boast about its inevitable victories, the real question is: would it survive winning?

Even with its limitations, the empire clearly hasn't abandoned its ambitions.

Khánh Linh, ever efficient, marks every active conflict on the world map. It's a lot of markers. I pick one at random, northwest of the empire's borders.

Ah, this war. The infiltrator had already read about it in a newspaper earlier. Now, I get to see the empire's official version of events, conveniently laid out in this book.

The unfortunate nation doesn't even get named. Every sentence is written from the empire's perspective, turning what should be a complex war into a heroic liberation campaign.

According to the book, it all started three years ago when a large protest broke out on the other side of the border. The protesters, so the story goes, weren't denouncing the empire but begging to be let in. The local border guards—presumably from the unnamed nation—responded by ruthlessly beating them down.

Then came the empire's noble response. The Vareshi border guards, compelled by morality, leapt into action to protect the protesters. A brawl broke out. People were injured. In the chaos, the protesters managed to cross into the empire.

That was the spark.

From there, tensions escalated. The empire rallied the international community—or at least whatever part of it was willing to listen—calling for intervention to "save the people from oppression."

The years in between were marked by an endless string of unfortunate events.

Border markers "mysteriously" moved.Small villages "called for help," triggering minor skirmishes.Tariffs were raised on both sides.Several key resources became restricted exports.And then, the final straw: a border guard was killed.

With that, war was declared.

According to this book, the empire practically steamrolled the small nation, effortlessly securing victory. The nation's elites, cowards that they were, fled with as much wealth as they could carry, abandoning their people.

That's how the book tells it, anyway.

With the book scanned, the infiltrator turns its attention back to the night guard—who, unfortunately for him, has just regained consciousness.

It shocks him again.

And again.

I don't even need to say anything. Khánh Linh cuts in, voice as dry as ever.

"It's collecting more data on pain tolerance and neural recovery times. Very important research."

Uh-huh.

Leaving the now thoroughly researched night guard slumped on the floor, the infiltrator moves on, this time casually strolling through the library. Clearly, it's confident that no other security exists.

Its next target: history.

Finding the most comprehensive record of the empire is surprisingly easy. It's the largest book in the section and conveniently placed on display, practically screaming "I contain centuries of national glorification!"

The introduction alone sets the tone. The story begins with a struggling village, clawing its way up to a city-state. It barely survives the equivalent of the Bronze Age Collapse, only to face a new set of disasters as it evolves into a kingdom—this time weathering its own version of the Dark Ages.

Then, against all odds, it rises again, expanding into the empire that now dominates the world.

The book is dense. Detailed to a degree that would make historians weep. This is going to take a while.

--------------------------------------

Seyth Vareshin, the third Imperial Prince, somewhere in the Imperial Palace:

Translated to English for future readers' conveniences.

"Your Imperial Highness, the parliament will convene in an hour. Please be prepared."

"Yes, yes, I know." I wave a hand dismissively.

My butler bows and leaves, walking away with that same regal, practiced elegance he always has. Only when he's completely out of sight do I let out a sigh of relief. I set down the political science book in my hands… then pull out the real prize—my novel, safely tucked behind it. Swiftly, I slip it into the hidden drawer in my desk.

If he ever found out I was reading fiction instead of self-studying, he'd go straight to my grandfather again. And while the worst grandfather would do is give me a stern lecture, that would still mean a few hours of my life wasted.

As I slide the political science book back onto the shelf, I can't help but wonder—why do they even need me there?

If this were three centuries ago, being the third prince would have meant something. A real position of power, maybe even a shot at the throne if fate was particularly kind. But with modern medicine, improved organization, and a disturbing amount of safety precautions, my older brothers' chances of dropping dead are lower than ever. The imperial dynasty is also large enough to find a decent replacement if something did happen. I think there's something about less inbreeding, too, but I haven't studied that yet.

Still, a job is a job—even if I'm just a glorified, not-even-that-useful celebrity.

I change into something more appropriate—or rather, the only thing available. My entire wardrobe consists of a single type of formal attire. Fortunately, unlike the overly elaborate outfits in some vestige empires and "great" kingdoms, our imperial attire is designed so a prince can put it on himself.

Grabbing the briefing documents on my way out, I resist the urge to sigh. I was supposed to read these an hour ago, but I've never once been asked to speak. And if, by some miracle, I am needed, my butler will remind me of what to say anyway.

I walk casually to the throne room, just barely refined enough to pass as elegant. My butler gives me a silent nod and falls into step beside me.

By the time I arrive, the parliament hasn't convened yet. My grandfather is already here, seated near the throne. As Grand Adviser, he needs to be close to the emperor. I bow; he nods in return. No words are exchanged.

I take my seat and glance around. The nobles and representatives are still busy—preparing their arguments, securing alliances, reinforcing their networks. As for me… well, these briefing documents seem really comfortable to sleep on right now.

A light tap on my shoulder.

Still half-asleep, I raise a hand to wave it off.

Then my butler's voice cuts through the haze. "Your Imperial Highness, His Imperial Majesty has just entered the room."

I jolt upright and stand just in time as the speaker begins. His voice is sharp, powerful, and entirely too loud for my current state.

"His Imperial Majesty has graciously blessed us with his presence on this great day. May his reign be long and prosperous. Therefore, we shall now convene the 51st session of the Parliament, consisting of both the House of the People and the House of the Lords. This session takes place in the throne room of His Greatness, countless gratitude for his generosity…"

So sleepy.

"This session takes place on the 25th day of the 5th month, in the year 4837 of the Imperial Calendar. May only the most important matters be addressed on this day, so as not to waste our invaluable time, and most of all, the time of—"

I stifle a yawn. This is going to take a while…

The speaker finally wraps up the opening statement, and the room shifts. Some representatives and nobles sit a little straighter, others subtly glance at their notes or exchange brief, knowing looks. Here it comes—the real reason we're all here.

"The first matter on today's agenda," the speaker announces, "is the recently concluded conflict in the northwest."

A wave of murmurs rolls through the assembly, though no one seems particularly surprised. Of course, this would be the first issue. It's been the talk of the empire for months now—how tragic it was that an innocent border dispute spiraled into war, how noble our intervention was, and how swiftly our forces restored order. The official reports practically glow with praise.

One of the senior military officials stands, expression neutral, posture rigid. "The campaign has been successfully concluded. Imperial forces have secured all major population centers, and the enemy's governing structure has effectively collapsed. The remaining resistance is scattered and poses no significant threat."

The speaker nods. "Then we may consider this a victory for the Empire. However, the question remains—what shall be done with the newly acquired territory?"

Ah. Here's where things get interesting.

There's a pause, and then, right on cue, the first wave of arguments erupts.

"It should be fully annexed, of course. We have already told the citizens that the there people have already welcomed our rule—"

"Preposterous. We've already stretched our resources thin. A vassal state would be far more practical—"

"And allow them autonomy? Need I remind you of what happened in the southern states—"

I glance at my grandfather. He remains impassive, observing the chaos like one would watch the waves from a safe, dry balcony. The emperor, my father, meanwhile, is unreadable as ever, sitting upon his throne, listening.

I suppress a sigh. I already know how this will go. The representatives will bicker, alliances will shift, favors will be called in. In the end, the emperor will make his decision, and the rest will pretend it was a collective agreement all along.

I glance down at my briefing documents. The words blur together. This would be a good time for a nap…

I force myself awake. The journalists are watching.

Even though I sit in a relatively obscure corner of the chamber, it wouldn't look good if someone caught me sleeping. I need something interesting—something to keep me engaged.

I tune out the endless back-and-forth of the representatives and nobles, their voices droning on about tax adjustments, logistical concerns, and the empire's ever-important "duty to civilize." Instead, I slide a stack of papers from beneath my desk. From the outside, it looks like I'm reviewing official documents—very responsible of me. In reality? I'm just reading whatever intelligence reports I managed to grab the last time I walked into the Imperial Intelligence Service.

That's one perk of being the Third Prince. I have unrestricted access to all sorts of classified information, yet no one actually expects me to be able to do anything with it.

I scan through the pages and pick a report at random.

"Operational Report – Ongoing Resistance Activities in the Occupied Northwest."

Ooh. Now this is interesting.

Most of the resistance in the recently annexed territory is scattered and uncoordinated—hardly a real threat. Small groups hiding in the forests, occasional sabotage, ambushes on supply lines. The usual. But then my eyes catch a particular passage:

"The unexpected survival of several high-ranking members of the former government has led to the rapid consolidation of a structured resistance movement. They are currently organizing under the name 'Free State Army.' Their ability to gather support is still limited, but intelligence suggests significant foreign backing. If left unchecked, they may pose a long-term issue."

I frown. Foreign backing? That part wasn't in the official reports. If other nations are secretly supplying them, this war might not be as finished as everyone in this room thinks.

I glance up at the throne just in time to see the emperor shift slightly. The room falls silent. Every noble, every representative, every official turns their full attention to him.

He speaks.

"The northwest shall be placed under direct imperial administration."

The decision lands like a hammer.

I keep my expression neutral, but my mind races. Direct rule means we're going all in—no puppet government, no convenient middlemen to take the blame when things go wrong. It means we'll be responsible for everything—law, order, infrastructure, stability, and, oh yes, stamping out this so-called Free State Army.

I glance at the room's reaction.

The representatives shift uneasily. The military officials remain expressionless. Some nobles look pleased—particularly those who argued for complete annexation. Meanwhile, those who favored turning the region into a vassal state look resigned.

Only one man speaks.

Grandfather. The Grand Adviser.

"A bold choice, Your Majesty."

A polite way of saying, Are you absolutely sure about this?

The emperor gives a slow nod. "It is necessary."

And that's it. No debate. No further discussion. The decision has been made.

I lower my gaze back to the report in my hands.

The Free State Army is about to have a very bad time.

But so are we.

Almost immediately after the emperor's declaration, my eldest brother—the First Imperial Prince, Alric Vareshin—stands.

He places his right hand over his chest, bows deeply, and speaks in a strong, clear voice.

"If I may, the new territory will need a governor to maintain peace and ensure the prosperity of Your Majesty's subjects. I volunteer to take on this responsibility, as I believe I have the necessary qualifications to bring the land fully into the fold of the empire."

A bold move. Expected, but bold nonetheless.

I don't react outwardly. Instead, I quietly spread out my stack of intelligence reports, casually flipping through them as if I'm reviewing official documents—rather than just amusing myself with state secrets. Ah, here we go. A summary of his latest actions.

I already know the gist of it, but a refresher never hurts.

The tests confirm what everyone already assumes: he does have the qualifications to govern. He's been thoroughly educated, holding several degrees in administration, economics, and military logistics. His experience is even more impressive—he's already served as the administrator of multiple large cities and even a province, gaining both connections and practical experience.

Ahh, the benefits of being born first.

I glance up from my reports. The room is watching carefully.

Father doesn't react immediately. He remains seated on the throne, studying my brother with that unreadable imperial gaze.

Then—finally—he speaks.

"You believe yourself capable of handling such a task?"

It's not a rejection, nor is it an approval. Just a single sentence, yet its weight hangs in the air.

My brother bows once again. "Yes, Your Majesty. I am prepared to prove myself worthy of this responsibility."

Silence.

And then—movement.

From my isolated seat, I see Grandfather shift ever so slightly. His aged, calculating gaze flickers toward the emperor, then toward my brother. The pause is brief, but it's enough to tell me that he expected this move. No doubt, he's already considering what comes next.

Across the room, the nobles and representatives react in subtle ways. Some exchange glances. A few whisper to their aides. Others—particularly those aligned with my brother—look pleased.

The emperor leans back slightly.

"Then let us hear from the chamber. What do the representatives and the lords think of this proposal?"

A murmur spreads through the room.

Here we go. The real discussion begins.

The moment my eldest brother makes his bid, I already know someone will challenge him. And, sure enough, just as the murmurs begin to settle, the Minister of War rises to his feet.

I don't even need to look up. Of course it would be him.

The Minister is well-known for his covert support of my second brother—despite supposedly being neutral, as required by his position. But in this empire, rules are more like… polite suggestions.

He places a fist over his chest in salute, bows deeply, and speaks in a firm, steady tone.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I do not believe that the First Imperial Prince is suited for this position, as the land is still in chaos from the reactionaries and terrorists—"

I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.

Ah, what an interesting way to say 'enemy patriots'. Granted, some of them are just that—fanatics who'd rather burn their own land than submit. And a not insignificant number of them have the same charming tendencies as terrorists. But still, it's a very convenient way to frame the narrative.

The Minister continues, his voice unwavering.

"So it will be unsafe to position His Imperial Highness in such a place. After all, he is not known for his martial skills or expertise in military matters. May I suggest the Second Imperial Prince instead? As Your Majesty is well aware, he is far more suited to such a volatile situation."

At that moment, my second brother, Kierath Vareshin, stands. He salutes our father with crisp, disciplined precision.

I glance at my reports again.

My second brother—now he's a different beast entirely.

At fifteen, he crushed the freshmen of the Imperial Officer University in a war game, despite being younger than most of them. Since then, he's won numerous military exercises with innovative strategies and an uncanny ability to predict his opponent's overall strategy.

And this war? He was one of the key minds behind the grand strategy, influencing multiple campaigns.

If this were purely about military skill, there wouldn't even be a debate.

But this is politics.

I raise my head slightly, scanning the room. Nobles, generals, and ministers exchange glances—some with interest, others with thinly veiled concern.

And Father? He remains silent, watching. Waiting.

A decision will come soon, but not before more voices weigh in.

The question is… who else is about to make a move?

The discussion is just about to erupt into a debate when father raises his hand.

Silence falls over the throne room instantly. Even the most arrogant nobles and the most ambitious ministers hold their tongues.

"I have made my decision," he declares, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.

Everyone waits with bated breath. I do the same, not because I'm particularly invested, but because I know when to act lazy and when to pay attention—even if I feel lazy all the time.

"The territory will not be assigned a governor yet," Father continues, "but will remain under military administration until all organized resistance is eradicated. Resources, public relations personnel, and civilian administrative staff will be provided to assist the military in its objectives. A governor will be appointed once stability is assured. But," he pauses, sweeping his gaze across the room, "I am pleased by your enthusiasm."

I barely have time to process his words before his gaze flickers to me. A subtle glance. Then he sits back down.

My brothers immediately rise, bowing in unison. "Your wisdom is unparalleled, father," they say, voices steady, practiced.

The nobles and representatives follow suit, applauding the decision—at least externally. Some are clearly less thrilled than others, but appearances must be maintained. Even grandfather, usually unreadable, seems a touch puzzled.

I suppress a yawn and flip through my stack of papers, looking for something—anything—that might explain what just happened. Then I find it.

A thin document titled: "Emperor's Goals for the IASC".

Oh, this should not have been this easy to grab.

Skimming through it, I quickly realize the scope of Father's plans. Expansion of the satellite network. Spy satellites peering into Kavask territory. A navigation system, a global communications network...

And then I see it.

"Centralize and consolidate imperial authority. Dismantle the Imperial Kings."

I blink.

Damn.

I really should not have been allowed to take these papers so easily.