The easiest way to break an empire isn't to kill its soldiers; it’s to make them too expensive to keep.
Three weeks after Kaelen declared the Dragon Sovereignty, the royal merchant guilds in the capital began to bleed. By eliminating all imperial tariffs, gate fees, and noble kickbacks at the Sky-Crest Citadel, Kaelen had effectively opened a massive, tax-free trade vein right through the throat of the continent. Raw iron from the Iron-Grip Foundry, exotic mountain herbs, and western silks were flowing down the canyon pathways at half the capital's prices.
The merchant barons of the empire weren't loyal to the throne; they were loyal to their ledgers. Within twenty days, nearly forty percent of the western trade caravans simply rerouted away from the imperial checkpoints and headed straight into the Wastes.
"The capital's gold treasury dropped by twelve million crowns this quarter alone," Jax laughed maniacally, slamming a heavy roll of stolen parchment onto Kaelen's desk in the newly established Citadel command tower. "Prince Kian is throwing a absolute fit. He had to freeze the wages of the city guard just to keep the palace kitchens running."
Kaelen sat with his boots kicked up on the grand oak table, tossing a small, glowing chunk of fire-stone from hand to hand. His dark hair was tied back, his open linen shirt revealing the pulsing, golden-azure elemental lines woven into his skin.
"Kian likes numbers," Kaelen said, his signature smirk cutting through the dim room. "Let's see how he calculates an empty vault. What about Kenneth?"
Sylvia materialized from the shadows near the balcony, her expression grim. "The First Prince isn't counting gold, Captain. He’s counting spears. The First Legion has broken camp from the northern borders. Ten thousand heavy vanguard infantry, two thousand imperial cavalry, and a detachment of Royal Circle mages. They are marching straight for our red clay border."
Jax’s laughter instantly died. He choked on his tongue, his face turning pale. "Ten... ten thousand? Kai, we have barely eight hundred armored men and a handful of wind-riders. Even with the dragons, that's a professional imperial legion. They'll form a defensive testudo line and grind us into paste!"
"Then we won't let them form a line," Kaelen said smoothly, dropping his boots to the floor and standing up. He caught the fire-stone in his palm, the heat instantly grounding out into his skin without a mark.
He walked out onto the grand balcony, looking up at the sky. Kuro and the Ignis Tyrant were resting on the lower peaks, their massive forms looking like jagged extensions of the mountain itself. Beside them, fifty griffin riders were conducting synchronized dive maneuvers through the canyon fog.
"Kenneth thinks this is a standard border rebellion," Kaelen murmured, his blue eyes flashing with a dangerous, multi-colored light as he gripped the hilt of his obsidian blade. "He thinks he’s going to march his neat little rows of shields across my clay, plant his banner, and go home for supper."
He turned back to his companions, his cocky, rebellious confidence radiating through the room like a physical pressure.
"Sylvia, tell the wind-riders to pack oil flasks. Goran, tell the men to grease their armor. We're going to meet my big brother at the border—and we're going to introduce him to a brand of warfare they don't teach in the military academies."