“Perhaps it would,” Timona said. “But it would be a far safer alternative to Your Majesty coming to the front lines. If you were a more foolhardy sovereign, or one who sought the glory of standing on the battlefield, I would understand. But Your Majesty is neither. Yet nevertheless, you seem harried, as though great haste is demanded of you.”
Harried, huh? That was a sharp observation. “I can’t help but feel as if I’m being admonished,” I mused.
“Not at all. I simply wish to understand what Your Majesty is thinking.”
He just wanted to understand? I supposed I could tell him, then. “Timona,” I said. “Do you believe that a single country is capable of conquering the world?”
There was a brief pause before he asked, “Is that your objective?”
“No. Personally, I believe it’s impossible.” At least, it was impossible with this world’s current level of technology. Although even back on Earth, many had tried and failed. Perhaps it would have been possible here, if I had been the only transmigrator, but that wasn’t the case. Even if I made the attempt, the others would surely seek to obstruct me. “However, even if a nation ever does manage to accomplish such a grand feat, it will not be long before its unity begins to collapse.”
It wasn’t just a matter of unity either. I was of the opinion that, fundamentally, there was a hard limit to the amount of land and people that a country could successfully govern—a governance capacity, if you will. And if countries exceeded those capacities, that excess would inevitably come back to bite them in the ass. However, I believed there was another reason superpowers collapsed even before that point.
I continued. “As for why, it is because I believe that a nation that loses its potential rivals—any entity that could serve as a potential threat—is a nation that will perish to its own corruption and internal strife.”
The ancient Roman Empire, the Islamic Caliphates, the Mongol Empire—any hegemonic power, once its neighbors ceased to pose a threat, immediately fractured due to enemies within. Put another way, as long as an outside threat existed, it was difficult for a power to fracture completely. The best example of this was perhaps my own existence.
“I was allowed to live on as a puppet because the Imperium—a superpower on the same scale as the Empire—exists across the Heavensreach,” I explained. “The threat it represented prevented the Chancellor and Minister of Ceremony from resorting to all-out war. Instead, they fought their conflict behind closed doors, with my survival a product of their compromise.”
That was no more than conjecture on my part, to be fair, but I did remember hearing supporting evidence for it during one of the few actually decent tutoring lessons I’d had. “The Teiwa Imperium underwent a dynasty change around the same time the Rotahl Empire fell—or the Bundarte Empire was founded, however you want to put it,” I explained. “In other words, doesn’t it seem as though when the threat represented by one of our nations is lessened, the other experiences civil conflict?”
The idea was simple: If the Imperium was no longer a threat, we’d find ourselves occupied with internal strife. However, if it was a threat, we would have better things to do than fight among ourselves. And the same went for them.
A look of realization dawned on Timona’s face. “His Divinity Helmut II’s Ordination Feud...” he murmured.
“Yes. We discussed it with Fabio once, if I recall. One could attribute that debacle to the Empire weakening. However, now I’ve seized control, and by my will the fractured Empire will be reforged. Our status as a threat is on the rise once more.”
Ordinarily, when a major power weakened, it would be invaded by another powerful player and overthrown, like how the Yuan Dynasty had conquered the Song Dynasty. However, due to the Heavensreach Mountains providing a natural bulwark, it was difficult for either us or the Imperium to send troops into the other. That was why our two countries had repeatedly fractured and reformed throughout history, rather than invade and overthrow one another.
“So Your Majesty expects the Imperium to make a move?” Timona asked.
“It’s likely,” I said. “But at least from what I’ve heard about him, it doesn’t seem as if Helmut II will be undergoing a dramatic personality shift like I did. So it will either be his child at the reins, or a talented usurper.”
There was also the possibility that the Imperium’s smaller neighbors would band together to take it over. If I remembered right, the Imperium had gone to great pains to bring its neighbors under its rule as dukedoms or counties. Its geopolitical situation differed from the Empire’s in that regard.
“Either way, the Imperium’s sure to undergo major change,” I concluded.
“So Your Majesty wishes to achieve a certain degree of unity in the Empire before the Imperium once again becomes a threat.” Timona summarized. “And you are in such a hurry because you wish to achieve that unity as a consequence of your rule, rather than it happening as a compromise to the Imperium’s ascendancy. Is that correct?”
“That’s part of it. But much depends on what becomes of the Imperium.”
My sights weren’t set on a few scant decades of prosperity. No, I wanted to build a foundation strong enough to give the Empire the chance to prosper for centuries. The Imperium collapsing would only worsen those odds; likewise if the Imperium became too strong or too weak. It needed to remain somewhere in between—at least until civilization developed to the point where the Empire could start seeing countries across the ocean as potential threats.
If the situation in the Imperium developed to suit my needs, all the better. But if it didn’t, I’d have no choice but to give it a little...outside stimulus.
“To ensure the best options remain available to us, the Empire must anticipate the Imperium,” I said. “So if I seem to be in a hurry, perhaps that is why.”
Whether what I considered to be the best options were the right answer or not was a different question. Still, I at least knew what the wrong answers were. My knowledge of Earth’s history—and the many failures throughout it—ensured that.
“You see, Timona, I have very little trust in whoever will reign after me,” I said. “Whether it’s my child, my grandchild, or an unrelated usurper, it’s all the same—at the end of the day, they’re all other people. Which is why I won’t be ‘entrusting the next era’ to them or anything of the sort. I’m going to do everything I can for the Empire in my era.”
I meant every word of what I’d said. I couldn’t do anything about the actions of others after I died, so that wasn’t where I’d put my hopes and expectations. I’d do this myself.
“So perhaps that is why I’m in a hurry,” I finished. “The life of a single person is short, all told.”
For over a decade, I had been a powerless puppet, unable to do anything but watch as my country fell to pieces around me. That was over a decade gone with nothing to show for it. I wouldn’t let another day go to waste.
I slipped back into the mantle of an emperor asking a question of his attendant. “Do you understand our thoughts now, Timona?”
“I believe so,” he said, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My deepest apologies for my impertinence.”