The posting was smaller than the maps suggested.
A town in name, a fortified waystation in practice—timber buildings clustered around a rail spur that had been meant to grow into something more. The station itself squatted at the center like an afterthought, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. Beyond it, the land stretched wide and empty, broken only by frozen fields and a river already choked with ice.
This was the edge of relevance.
The column slowed as they approached. Men along the palisade straightened, hands moving to rifles. The local garrison—perhaps eighty strong—watched the road with suspicion rather than welcome.
He raised a hand.
The column halted.
"Signal intent," he ordered.
A white flag was raised. Proper. Correct. Unnecessary, but it established tone.
The gates opened only partway.
A lieutenant stepped forward, bundled in a heavy coat, rifle slung but not lowered.
"Halt," the officer called. "State your business."
He dismounted and walked forward alone, stopping well outside effective rifle range.
"I am your new commanding authority," he said evenly. "You have been informed of my arrival."
The lieutenant hesitated.
"We received notice," he admitted. "But no confirmation. The governor—"
"—is irrelevant to your immediate duty," he cut in calmly. "Lower your weapons."
The garrison did not move.
Men shifted. Fingers tightened on triggers. Fear, not rebellion—but fear could become rebellion if mishandled.
They've been primed to resist, he thought. But not to die.
He nodded once.
"Non-lethal," he said quietly.
The system responded without fanfare.
From behind him, his troops advanced—not charging, not shouting. Moving at a brisk walk, rifles lowered, batons and rifle stocks in hand. Engineers fanned out to the flanks, cutting off lines of retreat.
The local troops reacted late.
A few fired warning shots into the air.
That was the last thing they did freely.
System infantry closed the distance with disciplined speed. Rifle butts struck wrists. Men were shoved into the snow, pinned, disarmed. Anyone who resisted was overwhelmed by numbers and technique, taken down with practiced efficiency.
No bayonets. No gunfire.
Within minutes, the garrison was on its knees, hands bound, weapons stacked neatly nearby.
He watched the entire action without comment.
When it was finished, he turned to the lieutenant—now kneeling, breathing hard, eyes wide with shock.
"You failed to verify orders," he said. "That is forgivable."
The lieutenant swallowed.
"You allowed yourself to be used as a barrier," he continued. "That is not."
He paused, then added, "You are relieved. Temporarily."
Relief flooded the man's face. He nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir."
The gates were opened fully.
The town did not cheer.
It watched.
That was better.
The governor received him under protest.
Governor Petrov was a broad man with thinning hair and the permanent scowl of someone accustomed to ignoring directives from far away. His office was warm, overfurnished, and faintly smelled of stale tobacco.
"This is highly irregular," Petrov snapped the moment the door closed. "You arrive with an unauthorized force, disarm my garrison, and—"
He raised a hand.
Petrov stopped mid-sentence.
"I survived an assassination attempt authorized through General Staff channels," he said evenly. "I have executed traitors, pacified my escort, and secured this post without bloodshed."
He leaned forward slightly.
"You will lower your voice."
Petrov's face reddened. "You don't have the authority—"
He placed a folded document on the desk.
Imperial seal. Fresh.
Petrov stared at it.
"I have provisional authority pending review," he continued. "Which means I am in command until someone higher than you says otherwise."
Petrov opened his mouth.
He did not let him speak.
"You have three options," he said calmly. "You cooperate. You obstruct quietly and are removed later. Or you obstruct loudly and are removed now."
Silence filled the room.
Petrov sank back into his chair.
"What do you want?" the governor asked finally.
He straightened.
"I want order," he said. "Accurate reports. No skimming. No private militias. No 'misplaced' supplies."
Petrov's jaw tightened.
"And in return?" he asked.
"In return," he replied, "this town will matter again."
The governor studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Very well," Petrov said. "I will cooperate."
He inclined his head slightly. "Wise."
Outside, his men were already reorganizing the garrison—separating competent from corrupt, restoring weapons under new supervision, posting guards who answered only to him.
The system presence stirred.
QUEST UPDATE: OBJECTIVE 2 COMPLETE
UNCONTESTED AUTHORITY ESTABLISHED
MP GAINED: 1,500
He acknowledged it mentally.
One objective remained.
Neutralize local armed threats.
He looked out over the frozen town—over the rail spur, the warehouses, the roads that led outward into poorly governed land.
This place had been neglected.
Neglect bred opportunity.
And opportunity, properly managed, became control.
He turned to his company commander.
"Prepare reconnaissance," he said. "I want to know who carries weapons within fifty kilometers—and why."
"Yes, sir."
As night settled in, lanterns flickered to life across the town.
For the first time in years, they burned under supervision.