"Doomed?" Liron asked, smiling. "That sounds lovely to me."
"I thought so," Adenius said, putting down his fork. His pillars were finished. "Care for me to explain?"
"Please."
"The Empire is being held up by Harras and the war. But even with both standing, the Empire will fail. The cracks are too deep. Infested wounds collected over the centuries are adding up. Not long, and they will reach the heart. Ironic. What kept the Empire functioning is what dooms it."
"The competition thing?" Liron asked. "Angin said that everything and everybody is competin' against one another."
Adenius nodded. "The Institutions and the Sacred Houses are powerful tools, but they threaten the Emperor and the Empire itself. Should only one of them grow too strong, they would conquer the rest, ending their conflict. Imagine an Inquisition without hurdles. How long before my colleagues and I have eradicated the ones standing in our way? Imagine Military. They would tear the Empire apart. The strong arm could come back to strangle the host.
"There are dozens of Institutions, Liron. And they all have at least one mortal enemy in the others. For the Inquisition, it is Military and the Society of the Dragon. Same goes for the Sacred Houses. The Lockrams and the Urachs carry a blood feud older than the Empire. Do you know why?"
Liron drummed his fingers on the table. "Has something to do with Nag Lockram, I take it."
"Exactly. Long before the Silver Moon devoured the sun, the Empire was nothing but a dream. Without Harras guiding us, the Fathers of the Sacred Houses all took their land. But each believed themselves to be superior. It didn't take long for a civil war to break out. The War of Ascension was a bloody one. The Urachs used their talent for assassination to deal blow after blow to the Lockrams until Nag succeeded in penetrating their land."
Adenius drank from his wine, swirling around the rest left in his glass. "He raided and raped to his heart's content. They were true creations of the Dreadraven. But Relia Ashburn put an end to his brutality. She punished, humiliated, and broke him and buried his men alive. The remaining Lockrams paid dearly for Nag's crimes, but even three centuries later, the Urachs haven't forgotten how their land and people were violated. And the Lockrams despise nothing more than being reminded of their inheritance.
"They all hate each other. The Sacred Houses, I mean. And they all hate the Emperor and the Arist family. The only thing that unites them besides Harras' blood is their pride. They all regard themselves as Harras' true chosen. Why should anyone rule over them if they are of divine lineage? None of them are loyal. The same goes for the institutions. None truly care for the Emperor as they might claim. They all follow the expectations set for them by the greater system. The only ones you could argue truly serve the Emperor are the Michons, and even they don't care for him and the Arist family but what they represent. Their only way to achieve true purity and union with Harras."
Adenius sighed. "It is sad if you think about it. Loyalty is only for oneself or the group you belong to and not the Empire. It is nothing but theater. There is no sense of belonging to something greater. The Empire separates its people into all these groups and sows division to ensure they will never unite against them. But how are they supposed to unite against the Qilesh then?
"How, if they live in different nations, speak different languages, have different cultures, and have a different perception of Harras and how to pray to Him? We are only united by hate, Liron. Against the Qilesh, Drom's servants, and the Resistance. But the bad blood runs deep and has become an essential part of the Empire's true nature. The Sacred Houses and Institutions have a mind of their own. No matter who leads them or is part of them. They remember all the hostility and hate toward the other. It is passed down, a fire growing with each new pair of hands holding it. The Empire will burn. Perhaps it will be you who unleashes the flames."
Interesting but not enough. To bring down his enemy, Liron needed to know it. "But is this truly enough?" Liron asked. "The Empire can keep its people in check. It controls the Silvered Gold and offers the Bliss."
"Indeed. The Silvered Gold is a problem all these groups could solve, but the Bliss is an obstacle none of them can solve on their own. What do you replace it with?"
"What is it? What's the Bliss? It's like alcohol, right? It makes… you feel great or makes you more obedient."
"Close. The word is drug, Liron. But it does more than just give you an ecstatic high. Drugs cause addiction. Without it, the plebs couldn't live like they do. You know why? It's simple. The Empire is a sick beast, but it works as intended. The people are miserable, but this isn't its intent. It doesn't care about the happiness of the people but to keep the war alive.
"And it has accomplished this. Don't forget, Liron, that the Empire performed a miracle. We should have lost against the Qilesh when they attacked. Only thanks to Casar did we survive. Even with Magic, Alchemy, the Knights Dracon, and the Gifts, we can barely hold our own against the Qilesh. Their Fleshdancing is too powerful. With each fallen warrior, we strengthen them. We should have lost a long time ago, yet we stand. The Bliss does its part in our survival. It makes the pleb have some ray of light. It eases their mind as they do their part."
"And what is that?"
"To work, breed, and die. They are little but slaves that create all the resources we need to continue the war. Weapons, food, soldiers. You should know. All your life, did you ever feel free? Did you ever feel you were in control?"
Liron said nothing, and Adenius leaned in. The eyes of his mask matched the black of his hair. "Isn't that abhorrent? What are you but an insect at the mercy of things you don't fathom? What purpose can you get with so little? In Eisenrahm, you didn't even create fully functional weapons. You created an aspect of it, but the rest was done by neighboring towns. All to keep you isolated, less powerful, and in constant competition. It makes you easier to control, yes, but also desperate for something to numb yourself. To feel good for once in your worthless life.
"You were fighting with each other in your forge, and your forge was fighting with the ones from different towns, and the regions these towns belonged to fought against the others. From the bottom all the way up to the top. It is all the same."
Running his finger along the edge of his glass, Adenius stared into his reflection in his wine. One wrong move, and he would cut his fingers on the glass. "The worst of it is that the ones higher on the ladder never have to fear. They can blame someone else below them, forcing them to take the hit. They punish the few that dare to look up, trying to ascend and shoot them down. All the competition for no chance to rise. It all stays the same.
"That's the core problem of the Empire. It can never change. In our own hubris, we believed we had created the perfect paradise, but all we have done is forge our own cage. The Empire is too dogmatic. Every little break with the rules is one deserving to be punished. Yet bad actors never receive the justice they deserve, poisoning their field with their incompetence. Alchemists are not allowed to progress our Alchemy and thus the Empire beyond the strict regulations set by us.
"We are obsessed with the past, Liron. Like it was a miracle that allowed our ancestors to enjoy prosperity and everlasting peace of mind. It's a lie. The Sacred Houses, the highborns, and even the Emperor himself model their appearance after people long dead to emulate them and the time they lived in. But it is an illusion to think that there was one single period of time when humanity was free of all the hardships and horrors we endure. There is no safe harbor to sail towards. We have always been trapped on a stormy sea. And without the war, mutiny would tear apart our ship, dooming us all to drown."
Silence ruled, but Liron had learned to bear its weight. "So… what comes after?"
Adenius snorted, his mask turning it into the dying breath of an animal. "That's the question, isn't it? What are we without the Qilesh? Harras' chosen people? Perhaps, but what do we do with that? Our soldiers, and all our oh-so-great heroes, would lose their purpose. One thing I've always admired about the Empire was its mercy. It doesn't allow the men and women fighting our war to survive it. What a cruel thing this would be. Their bodies might return to their loved ones, but their souls would stay broken in Sannara, buried by all who they have lost. Years of bloodshed forged their hands into weapons. How could they ever hold a child without cutting it? How could they find peaceful sleep without nightmares haunting them? How many would kill their spouses in an accident as the ghosts of the war possessed them?
"No, we do them a mercy by not letting them return. Let most of them die there and do their part for the Empire. The few that are strong enough to endure can become our heroes, luring the next generation into the Qilesh's arms. You know, Liron, I don't mind what you think of me, but you have to admit I can be honest. Let it be known that I do not consider myself something I'm not. I'm not noble. For me, the Empire is nothing but my personal playground, but at least I can admit that. I have found a way to endure."
Adenius picked up his knife, piercing the pillars he had built of fish. He twisted the blade, smooshing the fish until nothing but pulp remained. It reminded Liron of the liquified guts a Sinner would vomit as they turned. Adenius raised his knife, aiming it at Liron's face.
"My dear Liron. Should you survive and beat me, you are doomed to be shackled to the Empire and its war. You will breathe and live nothing but death. How long until you reach a point where you can't be mended anymore? Where your mind and soul have become a blade meant to sever and kill. Whatever dream you had of living a normal life, of a wife and children, is gone. This war needs no saints but heroes, Liron.
"And what would heroes be without a proper war? Can you even become one without soaking Ekon in blood? How can you ascend to the heights of figures like The Promised Dawn or The Mad Berserker without killing hundreds? How many have to die for you to rise? And how many more will you pull into the abyss with you as you continue? War is the only place for people like you. Only there can a pleb reach the level of a highborn or even higher. The chance is unlikely but still there.
"I see a dark future for you, Liron. I see dark days ahead. Go on. Fight against me and win. Become stronger. Defeat the Empire's heroes and eradicate the Qilesh. Cut off the Emperor's wings and demolish all he has safeguarded. Start new wars and conquer all of Ekon. Accomplish all you ever wanted and more, and yet feel nothing."
Adenius emptied his wine, playing around with the empty glass in his hand. "I don't fear many things. Death isn't one of them. What I fear is missing out. And there is one question I ask myself whenever I picture myself falling to your sword. Once my bones are nothing more than dust, and your bloody reign has ended, what will they call you? Do you ever wonder, Ravenson? What will you be remembered for? Will they sing your name as a praised prayer or a wicked curse? What will your legacy be? Who will you become, and who will they remember? The man or the myth?"