Rogal stepped into the shipmistresses' well-decorated quarters. They were expansive for any of Inwit's hivers, but shockingly small for the home of a shipmaster, so high above the jockeying of the clans, such as her. There was enough space for any human, and only somewhat cramped for his own size, but that was in part because of the sheer, lavish decoration plastered across the room. Massive sculptures, ostentatious furniture, and busts encompassed the room, all clearly arrayed to impress any visitor. Except, he noted, a few small pieces, arranged as if hidden by the gold and glamour of the rest of the artwork, peeking out from their gaps. Something about them drew his eye, and though he couldn't be certain of their function, his gaze picked out the weathering from meticulous cleaning and the slightest fading of age that meant they were very, very old.
Moving his attention away from them, he saw the shipmistress herself. Elderly, on the very edge of senescence, her eyes were nevertheless alight with intelligence, a smile that many people would call gentle, but he would call deadly, on her lips. Strangely, despite the grand furniture she surrounded herself with, the seat she'd chosen was shockingly understated, plain silver and white, but it was set quite comfortably in the centre of the room, gazing out the viewport into the stars. Beside her were two of her descendants, a girl and a boy. From what he'd heard, the best great-grandchildren she had, adopted into the family line. They were unremarkable, with none of the shipmistresses' shining intelligence.
Waving his bodyguards to stand guard at the doors, he moved to face her, and bowed in a picture-perfect greeting, as a Clan Lord to a Shipmaster, and he frowned as she barked with laughter.
"Good etiquette, darling, but perhaps a bit unfitting for one of your stature. 'The Uniter', they call you? It was quite a bloody uniting."
"No more so than the work of the clans." Rogal replied, still maintaining the pose. "I have discarded, and will discard, many of their things, but I will not abandon due respect."
"Of course you wouldn't, dear. You need me." She began to smirk, then paused, gaze staring into his own. "Though that's not entirely the reason, is it?"
Rogal didn't flinch. He stood up from his bow, towering over her. "You don't believe in the clans." He began. "You're using them for your own glory and riches."
"No more so than the other Shipmasters," She waved a hand, dismissing the insult easily, "You'd know it well, wouldn't you?"
He knew it painfully well. Though only Clan Dorn had outright rebelled against his demand of fealty, none of the worlds outside Inwit itself had outright bent the knee, either. They were all waiting for something to break, and given the civil strife Inwit itself had gone through to try and shuck his regime, they'd likely been waiting for his empire to break. As a result, the rest of the fleets of Inwit were reluctant to work with him, much less speak with him, apparently fearing his retaliation should they refuse face-to-face. Foolish. As if he wasn't planning to take his due with or without their evasions.
For some reason, this was the only shipmaster willing to speak with him outright, and he was willing to take the time to try to come to an agreement rather than spend the effort taking his own ships from an earthbound position. "The other Shipmasters would see enough sense to bow down, if needs must."
She scoffed. "'Bow down'. It's always easy to forget how few rules are truly backed by blades, and how many you can shirk while the offenders mutter amongst themselves. The shipmasters could always just stop serving a world, you know. Inwit has enough supplies to just barely keep its population alive, but perhaps half of the foreign systems have enough industry to maintain Clan control for more than a few decades." One finger tapped twice against the armrest of her chair, lighting up some strange symbol. From across the room, utterly silent to all but his own augmented hearing, electromagnetic motors slid a hidden compartment up, revealing a sleek, polymer-clad automaton on a stand that seemingly frictionlessly glided across the floor. Rather than any apparent weapons, it carried a cup of tea upon one hand, steaming hot, and smoothly handed it to her before it vanished back out of sight. "Unfortunately, Clan Dorn happens to be on one of the other worlds. You'd need quite a bit of manpower to push them out, and for that, you need lift."
"So let's cut to the chase, as you wish to so dearly. I'm willing to grant you the support of my whole fleet for the duration of this assault, and conditionally for the transport of the forces necessary to ensure compliance of the rest of the worlds within the Clan envelope." Her smile widened as his eyes widened the slightest fraction. "I'm not one to believe in half-measures, dear."
She was acting wrong, Rogal decided. He couldn't detect one instant of dishonesty in her gaze, but she wasn't acting like she should be. She was the leader of a primarily mercantile fleet, filled with ships with dysfunctional weapons systems and cargo-heavy hulls, of no notable achievement; the only reason he'd taken note of her was that she had opened talks with him.
He paused. Of no notable achievement? How? She was old, very old, and what history he could find of her fleet told him she'd been operating practically since the clans had begun expanding. She was clever, quick of wit, and extravagantly rich, yet had no records to her name?
…Rich? The furniture was extravagant, the artwork dominating the space, but what she used, what was sequestered away, yet seemingly so meticulously cared for, was nothing like what a shipmaster would hoard. Her seat was understated, the devices hidden within the artwork so small any normal human would have missed them, what was dismissed as trinkets were treated well, yet what were displays of power accumulated dust.
He couldn't hide his surprise this time, a frisson of shock racing down his spine, and for the very first time in his life, he hesitated.
She smiled widely. "It's been centuries since someone's seen me, dear."
A few moments passed as Rogal stared at her, listening to the steady thump-thump of her heart, of the weathered skin hiding fresh, vital muscles, and seeing the brilliance she hid as simple cunning. Then, quietly, he sat down on the seat opposite her, his presence no longer as imposing. "You aren't bending the knee to me then - this is an alignment of interests. You want the clans gone as much as I do." He thought for a moment, the shipmistress taking a sip of tea as he did. "But not so much as to fight a rebellion alone. You still desire your own comfort. So why risk yourself now?"
She laughed, honestly this time, deep and confident. "You think this is a risk? I might not be much of a commander, but anyone with eyes can see how much of a chance Clan Dorn has against you in the long term. Hell," She muttered, some unfamiliar word he hadn't heard before, "If all the planets in the Clan envelope tried to take you down, I don't think you'd lose a single hive."
Rogal considered that for a moment, calculating his odds against such overwhelming manpower, and the resources they'd be equipped with. "I might need to reinforce my outer fortifications for that."
She laughed again. "There's that spark! See, you need me, sure, but all that means is without me, you'd be delayed. Nobody wants to consider their way of life being crushed underfoot, but they're trying very hard not to think about what you'll do to them for trying to stop you. I, meanwhile, have thought about it quite a bit, and I think I'd quite like being the family line who made it all happen."
"With some privileges, of course."
"Of course. I want to be able to sell any of my wares, in any way I want, as long as it doesn't actively work against your empire. With such privileges extended to any of my family that inherits the title, of course."
He glanced at her two children again, standing by her side. They shuffled uncomfortably under the full focus of his gaze, but eventually, he dismissed them again, turning back to her. "Rather nepotistic. I will warn you now, I won't allow incompetence or corruption to leech into the operation of my empire."
She heaved out a sigh. "Yes, well, my children might not be as gifted as me, but I can assure you that these two will prove up to the task. I had to dig quite a lot for these two, I can tell you that much."
"Then that will be acceptable," he said, as he stood up. If it was anyone else, he may have been distrustful, but he felt he saw something of a kindred spirit in her. "My army will be ready to move out within the year."
"Thank goodness you're so quick about this, dear. I only have a decade and a half left, and I'd like to see real change before I kick the bucket."
He paused for a long moment, looking thoughtfully at her. "What was it like, before the clans?"
"Not as good as you're hoping," she replied. "This little slice of the galaxy hasn't been calm since the age of strife. Before the clans, there were the Lehiti Pirates, before them, the Sanguine Warlords. Before them…" Her gaze went soft, as she looked past him into the stars. "Before them, there were my people." She looked at her cup, and drank the rest before handing it off to her grandson. "I won't pretend we were heroes, Rogal Themis, but we were better than what came after us."
"I see." He looked around at the ship they stood in, considering what she had said. "This ship isn't nearly as defenceless as you say it is, is it?"
She smiled. "It's no weapon of war, if that's what you're asking." Though they both knew he wasn't. "Not like you, at least. I wasn't sure until I heard you had bonded with the Knight," this word was familiar, but it shouldn't have been, "Of House Themis, but looking at you… I can't say I'd have expected anyone else, even crafted with so many gifts, to have been accepted by a Themis throne." She cocked her head in thought. "Have you started writing poetry yet?"
He froze. Not at the thought of being crafted, he'd long been certain that his creation could have only come through artifice, but at how much she knew. A Knight, was it? The more he thought about it, the more the alien word felt right at home, like it had always been in the back of his mind. How did she know about its influence? "No." He replied, and after a moment, begrudgingly continued, "But there have been some changes in my speech when we're linked."
"Ah, of course, a mind like yours is probably too strong to change with just a throne. Well, with the pleasantries out of the way, let's discuss how you'll transport your armies…"
—-
Clan Dorn was many things, but they weren't incompetents. The fleet's scouting wings had confirmed the rumours; Clan Dorn was ruling through fear and gunpoint, the civilians close to rebellion. Given a few decades, perhaps they would have been overthrown anyway by civil strife and disunity, but their destruction now was vital. They might be the only world in open rebellion, but the other worlds had been watching this past decade, waiting for the barest sign of weakness in his empire. Destroying the last remnants of true resistance would allow him to force the rest into line. And Clan Dorn knew this.
The one concession Rogal made to honour was broadcasting his army's identity over the merchant fleet's comms as they warped into the Aogantu system, putting Clan Dorn on high alert as their fears came to reality. By the time the fleet was in orbit, placing themselves ominously over the single continent of the world, Clan Dorn had already activated what anti-air defences they could, encompassing every city and fortress of the world in a heavy envelope of flak and anti-air missiles, every sensor they had pointed at the carriers of the fleet. When the first of the landers came down, settling across a section of coast, they were already rushing mobile defences into place, racing their armoured columns and transports across any routes they could take. Clan Dorn knew Rogal's specialty, and they knew giving him time to establish defences would guarantee their eventual defeat.
Themis' forces had selected a city near the edge of the continent as their first target, chaff and decoys raining down around it in advance of the waves of landers, sacrificing surprise for greater safety. A trade that seemed to avail them not when a fluke shot saw the heaviest of the landers' portside engine explode, sending it into a barely controlled landing upon the shore. A few minutes of confusion and uncertainty saw one man make a mistake on vox discipline, revealing it had indeed been the personal craft of Rogal himself. Better still, Rogal was pinned on the far side of a mountain range with only a few passes into the rest of the mainland, and his true beachhead on the wrong side of them.
Clan Dorn acted, their commander seeing a chance for a swift and complete victory. Themis would not survive the death of their lord, they would see the tyrant slain even at the cost of all they would live on either as victorious conquerors or as the legendary heroes who had given their lives to preserve the Clans. Every true son and daughter of Inwit strode forth, born upon wings of fire and steeds of steel to take advantage of this one perfect moment.
–
Merrick's column paused as echoing crashes rang out through the forest. They'd been the fastest spearhead so far, their scouts telling them they would be breaking through the treeline into the landing zone within a bare few minutes, and the knowledge they were marching into what could only be a killing zone had put them on high alert. Their tanks scanned through the forest, their walkers carefully investigating their auspexes as the noise began to grow louder and louder. Slowly, it clarified into the sound of… footfalls, almost. Some strange, superheavy walker that was toppling trees like saplings. Slowly, they all triangulated its direction, enough firepower to level a fortress wall readied for its entrance.
Merrick only put together the events that followed far later. One soldier yelled out in shock, seeing the flare of missile thrusters high up in the sky. An instant later, their first and last tank were struck from above, lighting the land up in a flare of blinding light as their ammo stores went up in a storm of fire and shrapnel. Before his vision could return, there was another series of thunderous booms, two sentinels cored out by some sort of cannon fire, collapsing to the ground as some archaeotech walker, towering over every last one of their forces, strode out of the tree line. For a moment, his vision swimming from the glare and shock, he thought it was some absurd gun carrier, bearing a heavy cannon and obvious missile banks, but it moved too fluidly for that, almost agile despite its size, swiftly weaving away from the return fire of the surviving battle tanks. Once, twice, its cannon roared, reducing a tank to twisted scrap with each shot, and then it was close enough for him to see the flickering pilot lights on its bulky wrists.
It was only Merrick's instincts that saved him then, leaping behind the cover of an IFV as thick flames engulfed its side of the column. Those too close didn't even scream, dead before they could feel the pain as the flamethrowers turned them into charred corpses. The rest howled in pain and shock, the thick, sticky incendiary material clinging to them, crippling even those who were splashed by proximity. The rest, far enough away to be unharmed or fast enough to find cover, started to fire back, the heaviest calibre weapons they could find to harm the tyrant, recoiling with each shot hard enough to rattle their shoulders, merely bouncing off the thick armour plating of the war machine. The only firepower it seemed to recognise was the tanks themselves, moving to outmanoeuvre their line of fire, freely disregarding even the rapid-fire lasers on the IFV to more effectively stymie the cannon's aim.
It took only a handful of seconds for Merrick to recognise how useless their weapons were, and a handful of seconds for it to destroy all but one of the tanks. The driver of the IFV seemed to agree with him, the vehicle leaping into motion and leaving him defenceless, charging forward into the path of the machine. It reacted as quickly as ever, trying to spin out of its way, but could only brace itself for the impact, as close as it was. Despite the multi-ton vehicle impacting it full force, it only briefly halted the walker, digging furrows in the earth as it dug its metal feet in, a brief moment that the last surviving tank used well, sighting in on the glowering, skull-like sensor array on the top of the machine. There was one more bone-rattling report as it fired, blinding Merrick as he stared helplessly on. For a brief moment, there was only the sound of burning flames and cooking ammunition.
Then, with a horrendous screech of metal, the machine punched one massive fist through the vehicle pinning it, filling its insides with a burning conflagration, and throwing it to the side. His vision clearing, he saw what he had thought was some simple ornamented pauldron on the machine shifting forward, gears and motors pulling it in front of the walker's face to absorb the cannon fire. Despite the power of the cannon itself, the metal of the shield itself was completely unmarred, the paint on its surface scoured off to reveal a silvery-white surface. One last round from its own cannon, and the offending tank was destroyed.
There was an ear-splitting noise from the machine, and it took Merrick a second to recognise it as speech. "LEAVE NOW," It said, "LEAVE NOW AND I WILL NOT PURSUE. TELL YOUR MASTERS OF WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN HERE, AND BEHOLD HONOUR RESURRECT."
Merrick ran.
—-
Commander Imnek considered the reports of his scouts. The Tyrant had torn through his probe, and had let himself be seen. They had reports of him working on some sort of super heavy walker, it seems it was indeed aerotech, and dangerous beyond anything they had expected. While this was worrying, that the Tyrant had shown his hand was quite revealing. It was a stall, giving them a clear reason to pause and assemble a counterforce. He was expending surprise for time. He had something planned, a way to reinforce the undermanned pocket he found himself in. It would take precious hours to rally a kill force, but if he kept the pressure on without a proper kill team the losses he'd take would be staggering, maybe even enough that he would not be able to pin down the Tyrant's other beachhead.
Instead, Imnek chose a third option. Clan Dorn had spent their time well, modifying the majority of their surface-to-orbit launchers for mobility, so he moved them forward. Hiding them in the mountain range the Tyrant was pinned behind. A laf dozen hours later his gamble paid off, when a pair of transports came in low, hiding in the mountains shadow only to be sent tumbling into the sea. The oppressor's card played, Imnek sent in his kill team, the Tyrant's toy would burn.
—-
Rogal strained against the limits of his singular self, pushing against the truth that he could be in but one place at a time. Through the Throne he guided a dozen missiles into the enemy, calculated a firing solution and commanded a dozen battles across the front. Yet, it was not enough, he remained singular. The last of the enemy air power fell burning from the sky, their super heavy gun crawler erupted into flame as his shell finds its beating heart, and a dozen clashes are won without losing a man, Yet in dozens more his people bleed.Good men die because Rogal can not be everywhere. His weapons complain loudly, he has few shells and no missiles left, even his flamers are down to half. It is enough for one more engagement, he moves forward looping through the largest hostile push.
He hits the armored spearhead from the right flank, he has no time for a slow approach. So he obliterates the need for stealth with an artillery barrage. They are still reeling from the rain of death when he begins to drown them in liquid fire.His cannon expends the last of his shells upon the foes swift enough to try and bring their guns to bear upon him, forcing him to slay the forces commander with a brutal stomp through the roof of his tank. He vanishes in the smoke and chaos, his weapons all but spent and his soldiers already closing in to finish the job.
For the fourth time since he landed upon this world, he fall back to his fastness, issuing orders even as his attendants tended to his machine. His weapons are fed even as the enemy presses their attack. They have figured out how long it takes him to reload and return to the front, they will take murderous advantage of his absence from the line. He sends dozens of his men to their deaths to both stall clan dorn. His heart rebels even as his mind can see the necessity of it, necessary or not each death that he could have stopped had he been there feels like a failure. He can be in only one place at a time, and his foe is willing to spend the blood to win around him if they must. Rogal muses this would be so much simpler, where his foe just a hair more cowardly.
—-
Imnek stared as his command plinth within the forward command center. That damn monstrosity was tearing through everything he'd thrown at it, and behind it the Tyrants men fought like demons. Honorless and faithless he may be, but neither the Tyrant nor those he led astray were weak. Still, their lord could only do so much, and with only the contents of a single lander his men must be at their breaking point. He'd bleed them of too many men and munitions, he did not know the contents of the lander exactly, but either their final reserves had been committed or their guns were about to run dry. Either way, he was hours from breaking them, and then he would wear down the Tyrant himself. Stripped of his shelter that Blizard forsaken walker would run dry on ammunition, or fuel or space to manoeuvre. No matter the cost, the tyrant's mad ambition died here, clan dorn would slay the demon it had raised.
His thoughts were interrupted by a single high priority ping, just as a pathfinder team went dark. A single image that had cost the lives of a dozen of his clans very best. Blurry as though it had been captured while moving, and distorted from the jamming, it nevertheless showed a pair of massive barges docked at the heart of the Tyrants fortifications, still unloading supplies. Without a second's hesitation, Imnek called for a full retreat.
—-
A Single massive flare hung over Rogal encampment, ancient tecno arcana-burning in a dozen spectrums screaming out to all who could hear that now was the time. Amongst the mountain ranges, a hidden army emerged. The insignia of the shiplord who had brought Dorn to this world upon their backs. Few in number, yet armoured with relics predating the clans themselves they set to work. Charges detonated burning launch sites, weapons flashed melting targeting asupx, metal clad marines overran outposts guarded by a dozen times their number. Great pillars of smoke rose from caves, as the bombardment of the nearest hive commenced, giving the Hive ruler a reason to turn the void shields to full, silencing its guns and blinding its sensors, for what cause did he have to care which outsider won this day?
With the guns silenced or burning, the landers came settling down their deadly cargo upon the mountain pass that stood between clan Dorns forces and the rest of the world. Behind them the previously contained beach head surged, revealing its role as a supply dump for the forces that now landed, the token force that buried its path barely the true assaults forces efforts to link up. Within an hour, the only force of note loyl to Dorn was pinned with his army on one side, and the primarch himself on the other. Without a moment's hesitation, they once more reversed course, forsaking any thought of their clans survival, all that was left was the hope of writing their clans final legend in the blood of the tyrant.
—-
Half a day later, Honor resurrect limped out of the mountain pass that would come to be known as Dorns grave. Already the people of this world where broadcasting their intent to bend the knee, rebellions from the native soldiers class seeing to the last few bastions of clan Dorn. It was over, clan dorn was dead. Rogal Themis paused for the first time since he set foot upon this world. Some impulse urged him to speak, to mark the occasion, so he spoke to his men of the end of his foes.
"In their final hours, they fought well."
And thought of Clan Dorn no more.
—-
Wrapping up the remaining loose ends of the campaign took several more weeks as a transitional administration was set up, and order was restored to the planet but soon enough Rogal was boarding a transport back to Inwit.
There was still much work left to be done but the hard part was at last over with the conclusion of open hostilities allowing Rogal to relax at least in relative terms and focus on planning the campaign's victory parade.
After all with the defeat of Clan Dorn, and the opening of negotiations by the remaining worlds of Clan Space there was much to celebrate as for the first time in history, all the clans would be united under one banner.
The future was looking bright for the New Inwit Empire and it was only uphill from here.
—-
Rogal had never regretted anything more in his life than those words now as he sat at his desk staring at the reports of the Empire's present financial situation provided to him by the Treasury. He'd fully expected the war with Clan Dorn to be expensive of course he hadn't been naive but this was beyond anything he could have imagined.
The sheer logistics of transporting five percent of Inwit's population, and continuously supplying them at the rates he'd demanded had already wiped out the entire war chest he'd built up during the first decade of his rule of Inwit. As cracks had begun to spread throughout the economy instantly upon the campaign's launch due to a quarter of the entire economy's purchasing power being sheered from it in the form of the soldier's wages which were normally funneled back into the economy.
And, from there things had only gotten worse as the military's logistic chain was quickly proven inadequate for meeting the additional burdens placed upon it by a full planetary invasion and occupation configured as it was for the inter-planet combat and raiding of clan warfare. This caused the military to begin pouring exponential amounts of capital into bids for civilian logistical capacity to meet his directives pricing out the civilian economy further worsening the economic crash.
Within less than a month of his departure martial law had been enacted by the planetary regent, rationing had been implemented, and direct government intervention had been required to prevent total collapse of the economy. To say this was a disaster would be an understatement, if any clan were to attack Inwit at present he would be unable to mount any significant resistance.
Placing the report down all Rogal could do was rest his head in his hand, and lean against his desk as he felt a pounding headache begin to form. As he took a slow deep breath in, and let it out the only warning he received of his coming downfall was a soft creak before his desk shattered under the pressure of his arm.
From his new position splayed out on the ground, Rogal could only release a sigh.
—-
If Rogal was going to fix this he was going to need to start by stemming the bleeding which meant wrapping up the occupation of Clan Dorn's former territories as quickly as possible so that the normal stunted economy could be restarted.
To that effect, he was going to need to abandon his original vision for the direct occupation and integration of the newly conquered world into his holdings. The only way to reduce costs quickly enough to not self-destruct Inwit's entire economy would be to begin immediately re-establishing the native government alongside its military.
It would still take a few months but there would be a steady drawdown of military forces on the planet during that period allowing for the economy on Inwit to begin slowly recovering, and the government to only end up buried in large amounts of debt rather than needing to declare bankruptcy.
This would leave the Empire severely weakened but it was survivable, and the ignorance of the clans about centralized economic powers would most likely allow them to complete negotiations for reunification before they could deduce that anything was amiss. From there the hard part would begin as he would need to slowly draw down the military and build a civilian economy from the ground up as at present ninety percent of all economic activity was focused around the military.
It was an unsustainable amount in the long term if he wanted anything other than a series of isolated planetary defense forces on each planet that could not even come to one another's aid lest they risk crashing the local economy. And, unlike the clans before him, he could not even conquer his way out of the issue as his much more capable military demanded not the raw resources that the clans did but industry which had all been put to the torch within a thousand light years of Inwit by clan raids.
The only solace to be had in all this was that at least the early stages of constructing a new civilian economy from the ground up would require little direct management from him, and could instead be reliably delegated with the correct directives. As it took little competence to funnel those discharged from the military, and out of the job from the drawdown of the military-industrial complex into the construction sector, and its supporting industry so that the capacity required to construct a new civilian economy could be created.
This would provide him with the time necessary to devise as well as implement the educational reforms required to rebuild a functioning economy as the present apprenticeship system utilized simply would not be able to educate enough people quickly enough to prevent economic collapse. From there he could begin putting the new construction sector to work on building up the industry required for a functional civilian economy to be staffed by those being retrained in the new public school system established by his reforms allowing for the draw down of the military to begin accelerating rapidly.
Ideally, within twenty years, this would leave the Empire with a functioning civilian economy capable of supporting a much smaller military which was the focus of only twenty percent of the economy rather being the economy. Combined with his envisioned military reforms of retooling the military to focus on knights like the Honor Resurrect and the Empire should be left with a flexible military force able to deploy anywhere inside or outside its border it can reach with minimal economic or logistical impact on the economy.
As a negligible amount of the population would be employed by the military itself preventing a repeat of the present economic meltdown with the vast majority of the military's resources instead being centralized in the industry required to support such an army of grand machines. And, utilizing an entirely parallel logistical network at that which would be adapted to service the sheer size of the material required to keep such an army running rather than being compatible with the civilian network which could risk another freeze of the civilian economy.
The Empire would be left exposed compared to its present state during this period of great reform but by the end of it, it would be stronger than ever he would see to that.
—-
It was only several years later that Rogal found time to finally breathe again as reviewed the final report of the decade on the state of the economy. All was not going well but he was satisfied to find that what problems had cropped up since the last report were well within the capabilities of his subordinate to handle.
He had been so busy since the conclusion of the occupation of Clan Dorn's holdings rebuilding the economy of Inwit from the ground up just as he had its society and military that he hadn't even found time to attend any of the negotiations around the integration of the other clans himself. Instead leaving that job in the hands of his Secretary of Foreign Affairs, and her ministry the results of which were satisfactory as the clans had agreed to a twenty-year timeline for integration into the Empire a better result than he'd feared considering they'd been forced to be less aggressive in their negotiating due to their concealed status as a paper tiger at present.
So, far the fruits of that agreement had seen the clans cede all rights to foreign affairs to him which had allowed him to quickly put a stop to the inter-clan warfare happening across clan space even as raids outside it continued. And, he'd already begun to integrate several of the more compliant clans into the Empire's burgeoning economy which was helping to take some of the edge off of the economic aftershocks from the invasion Inwit was experiencing even now.
Unfortunately, the remaining clans were being less than cooperative as the deadline for them to hand over economic control to the Empire approached as the excuses, and delays from these clans constantly crossing his desk as well as those of his subordinates showed. It almost could not have come at a worse time as well with how fragile the progress he'd made on Inwit's was as if he were forced to mobilize the military now he'd almost have to restart his economic reforms from the beginning.
And, well he was sure of his victory at this point over any attempted rebellion between the development of his logistics skills since the invasion of Clan Dorn, the more robust nature of the economy, and the significantly smaller military it would still be an unnecessary set back that he was loathe to tolerate.
As he leaned back in his chair with a frown Rogal's thoughts were interrupted by a frantic pounding on the door of his office. Straightening his posture Rogal rumbled "Enter" shooting the young aid who swiftly did so a quizzical look as their journey appeared to have winded them quite considerably to the point they appeared to be unable to communicate what presumably key information they'd so frantically wished to make him aware of.
"Take a deep breath lad, you're no use to anyone in your present state," he told him. Nodding quickly presumably in agreement with your words the young aide takes a deep breath in, and then slowly lets it out before beginning to speak.
"My Lord, I bring a maximum priority report from the Secretary of Foreign Affairs." a slight frown cresting your lips at his words. It appears that his efforts had been too little and too late as such a report could only mean one thing. War. Either the disloyal clans were rebelling or worse yet some outside force was intruding upon Clan Space for the first time in centuries.
Motioning for the aid to begin his report he prepared for the worst "One hour ago the Secretary of Foreign Affairs concluded her meeting with representatives of the clans that have yet to begin economic integration into the Empire. Contained within this folder is the summary report of the contents of that meeting my Lord". The aid then placed the folder down on his desk which he collected to peruse well the aid finished his report.
"The Secretary sent me to deliver the key part of those discussions to you directly as quickly my Lord" Rogal nodded along as he opened the report. "The clans during discussions declared insolvency and are officially requesting a bailout from the Empire in exchange for their full cooperation with the remainder of the integration".
Snapping the folder he was holding closed Rogal nodded at this news "Excellent, inform the Secretary to come to my office for a meeting in half an hour, and inform the Secretary of the Treasury to come as well with a summary of the Empire's finances" dismissing the aid. As he watched the aid leave Rogal reopened the folder to scan its contents in detail before the meeting.
It appears due to his policies against raiding one another that the clans that had not begun to make an economic transition had instead sought the necessary goods to maintain their way of life from sources outside of clan space which had quickly dried up forcing them to rely on those that had begun doing so causing them to accrue quite the trade deficit in the process.
Eventually, their economies unable to handle such a burden in combination with maintaining such a large idle standing military had collapsed leaving them only one option. To crawl back to him a realization that left what one could charitably interpret as the barest hint of a smile on Rogal's face.
