Gaotsunbao, Heisen-Draumer Provinz
Max Herminstaat.
Fifty-three years old, he should be looking to securing his retirement. He should be with his family in Upper Altreich, at the summit of Yueshan Mountain, in his home village. And yet here he was, waiting in a concealed underground storm shelter, large enough for a four-person family. The only decorations were the concrete walls and the Librarius altar in the corner, its crimson candle flickering. His loyal men, the soldiers who stood waiting by the door and hatches were hardly better off. They weren't idling, though; most were pacing around nervously, one even obsessively cleaning his rifle, despite it being in pristine condition.
He shouldn't have used the term "Southern Territories" in the message, he thought. He'd known it was offensive, and yet still used it. Sinsics weren't known by dragonaii to be reasonable. They were full of hate, just like the Imperial dragonaii. Bleeding wings, they even wanted to launch a war to "liberate" the Imperial Republic. Their communique was full of doubt and their news blotted with bitterness and abuse, much like the dragoni message. He realized that he might as well talk to a bunker wall instead.
Max understood the threats of this meeting. Sinsu was a delicate subject in the Electorate. They were seen as more than a rogue state, an enemy really. Should he be found out, should a loyalist overhear - he'd be dead. Not figuratively, either. They'd bring him to Wangjianshan and shoot him for treason. Or behead him. Or drown him. They might even exile him to Sinsu, and that worried him the most. He was a dragonaii, an Imperial dragonaii at that. To be banished from the Nestland was unthinkable. The soldiers were aware of this too, and they only paced faster, their hearts racing.
He leaned back in the chair, wetting his lips, eyes anxiously darting around from one pointless subject to another. A bag on a soldiers uniform, a horn on the altar Klaniau's head, the handle of the hatch to the outside. He hoped the Sinsic president would hurry.
Either he would walk out of this with a proposal for the Electorate, or he would wind up with seven bullets in his body.
The only alternatives were all variants of capital punishment.