The air inside the Imperial Palace's grand banquet hall grew heavier as the hours bled away.
The glasses atop the long table were refilled with water countless times, and the meeting minutes transformed from a few loose sheets into thick, bound stacks of paper.
In the beginning, the word 'principle' echoed frequently through the hall. As time passed, however, that word vanished entirely.
Now, only numbers, coordinates, and titles of ownership remained.
And then, upon the table, the truly contentious term finally emerged.
Mobile Cities.
The Victorian representative was the first to broach the subject.
"The core of Gaul's war-making capacity was its specialized mobile city network. Therefore, to fundamentally eliminate the possibility of postwar rearmament, a 'transfer of administrative jurisdiction' over certain military-industrial mobile cities is necessary."
'We're going to strip away the scabbard so you can never draw a sword again. But since saying "seizure" sounds crude, we'll call it "administration."'
The Gaulish representative's lips tightened into a hard line.
The phrase 'transfer of jurisdiction' was nothing more than a euphemism for occupation.
Nevertheless, the Gaulish representative did not rush to counter.
To react too violently or too quickly would make it appear as if he were attempting to exercise a veto.
In its current state, Gaul possessed no such right.
The Leithanian representative took up the thread from Victoria.
"Leithanien prioritizes border stability and civilian safety above all else. Several of Gaul's mobile cities functioned as direct military threats along our frontier. We demand the 'permanent demilitarization' and 'transfer of control' regarding those specific cities."
'Having a giant with a knife wandering next to our house was damn unpleasant. So, we'll take the giant for our own use—though we'll be generous enough to remove his weapons first.'
The UTSSR representative listened to both men until they finished, then turned a page in his dossier.
With surgical precision, he swapped out the core premise.
"The Union opposes the 'unauthorized annexation' of mobile cities. However, for the sake of designing a postwar security architecture, we are open to discussing an 'International Administration System' for these cities. The prerequisite, of course, is the consent of the Gaulish People's Front government."
'If you two just walk off with them, the legitimacy of the new government will be shattered. That ruins the board we've invested in. If you want them, the sentence "The Gaulish government agreed to this" must be present.'
With those words, the atmosphere shifted perceptibly.
Victoria did not care for the word 'annexation,' while Leithanien suppressed a smirk at the mention of 'International Administration.'
In an international administration, the most important factor was how 'international' was defined.
Who exactly would be placing their hands upon the controls under that name?
That was the reality of the situation.
The Gaulish representative finally spoke.
"The Gaulish government defines the mobile city system as the core infrastructure for national survival. Therefore, we cannot accept permanent deprivation. However, we can review a 'temporary trust management' and 'demilitarization' to alleviate the concerns of the Allied Powers."
'We don't want to lose them. But if we don't hand them over, we'll be torn apart by Victoria and Leithanien right now. By labeling it "temporary," we can at least sell our people the dream of getting them back one day.'
The Victorian representative smiled as if he had been waiting for this exact opening.
"Temporary... very well. Let us clearly define the 'trust period' and the 'scope of facility usage.' Victoria requires industrial and residential facilities for our own reconstruction. We have every right to restore what was destroyed by Gaul's aggression."
'Fine, write "temporary." But during that period, we're going to strip it clean. The factories, the railways, the ports—all of it.'
Leithanien pushed even more overtly.
"If it is not a full transfer, then at least the 'ownership' of the mobile cities must be finalized. For the sake of postwar security guarantees and considering Leithanien's burden in border defense, a set number of mobile cities must be incorporated under Leithanian jurisdiction."
'Temporary? Do you think I'd believe you after being backstabbed? Even if I did, the nobility back home wouldn't. Let's just call it ours. Incorporating them into Imperial Territory is an act of mercy, is it not?'
The Gaulish representative's hand twitched.
The tip of his pen nearly gouged the meeting minutes.
Yet, he forced himself to stop.
Beside him, the Gaulish delegation's secretary gave a minuscule shake of the head.
If emotions were laid bare now, the price of the negotiations would only climb higher.
It was then that the Union representative intervened.
He deftly folded the issue of ownership into the context of reparations.
"Then it is only rational to include the 'mobile city ownership' issue within the 'Reparations Package.' Let us consolidate the total reparations Gaul is to bear—whether in the form of currency, equipment, or mobile cities—into a single, unified treaty."
'Stop bickering and finish this in one document. All you really want is the spoils of war anyway. You've already divided up the lands of the dead nobles well enough; stop hiding behind flowery talk of revenge.'
With this single sentence, the meeting devolved into a battle of numbers.
The total amount of reparations was absurd from the start.
Victoria presented their reconstruction costs, and Leithanien tacked on additional fees under the guise of "security assurance expenses."
The Victorian representative threw out a figure.
"Reparations must be at least 2 billion Roubles."
'This is the price for what you broke. Can't pay? Then pay with your land.'
The Gaulish representative countered immediately.
"Two billion Roubles will cause the Gaulish government's administrative functions to collapse. If the administration fails, it creates a security vacuum, leading to political chaos that will ultimately become a burden for all the Allied Powers."
'If we fall, you'll have refugees, riots, looting, and guerrillas on your hands. Are you confident you can handle that? I didn't think so.'
The Leithanian representative drummed his fingers on the table.
"Then we can simply adjust the balance toward 'assets' rather than 'cash.' Give us mobile cities, mining rights for certain sectors, and railway operation rights."
'If you lack coin, pay with your flesh. Give us the cities, the mines, and the roads.'
Victoria agreed.
"Agreed. Victoria is willing to lower the cash proportion in exchange for the transfer of industrial equipment. Military-industrial facilities, in particular, must be dismantled, while civilian facilities must be utilized for reconstruction."
'Destroy the weapon factories. We'll take the machinery and package it as being for "civilian reconstruction."'
The Union representative stepped in to provide the 'conclusion.'
"Let us settle on a total reparations amount of 1.5 billion Roubles. This is not 1.5 billion in cash, but a 'total value basis.' Portions of this can be substituted with equipment transfers, transport assets, and the transfer of mobile city ownership. This allows the Gaulish government to maintain state functions while fulfilling its debt, and ensures the Allied Powers secure tangible compensation."
'Everyone, let's find a middle ground. Set it at 1.5 billion, take the cities, and tear out the equipment to your heart's content. We've saved most of Gaul, so isn't that enough? That way the new government can function, and we can all declare victory at the negotiating table.'
The Victorian representative ran the numbers in his head.
The Leithanian representative did the same.
The Gaulish representative sought the absolute minimum threshold for survival.
And finally, that minimum was stamped onto the parchment.
"Total reparations: 1.5 billion Roubles."
Next was the number of mobile cities. This was effectively a way of quantifying who had fought harder during the war.
Leithanien was the first to show their greed.
"Leithanien demands ownership of four mobile cities."
'We're taking four. Why? Because we played the lead role in capturing Corsica I and crushing the Gaulish Grand Army.'
Victoria immediately followed suit.
"Victoria requires three."
'We were the first to be invaded; we need to save face. And we have a country to rebuild, you understand?'
The Gaulish representative swallowed hard.
Seven in total.
It was a number that essentially ripped out the spine of the Gaulish mobile city network.
Rather than a 'rejection,' the Gaulish representative offered a 'condition.'
"If ownership is to be finalized, it must include a 'guarantee of full sovereignty for the remaining mobile cities' and a 'future renegotiation clause.' Furthermore, the ceded mobile cities must be prohibited from any military utilization."
'Fine, take them. But if you touch our remaining cities, we'll take it as a declaration of war. And since we don't want you using our own cities to launch a war of revenge against us, no military use allowed.'
The Leithanian representative laughed. It was the sort of bright, cheerful laugh that was deeply irritating.
"We can accept the prohibition of military use. 'Demilitarization' and 'monitoring' are only natural inclusions."
'Don't worry. We won't use them for overt military purposes. We'll just turn them into industrial subcontracting hubs.'
Victoria also nodded.
"Victoria agrees as well. Our purpose is 'reconstruction.'"
'It's less than we wanted, but if we don't take this, the whole nation might collapse. We'll take the deal.'
The Union representative finalized the "format."
"The ownership clause must explicitly state that 'the Gaulish People's Front government signs this as the sole legal government.' Furthermore, an 'Allied Reparations Oversight Committee' shall be established to monitor compliance, with the Gaulish government serving as a formal member."
'You have to recognize the new government for this treaty to be valid. And that Oversight Committee is the leash that binds Gaul to our wrist.'
Thus, the sentences were settled.
Four mobile cities ceded to Leithanien.
Three mobile cities ceded to Victoria.
Total reparations of 1.5 billion Roubles.
Establishment of the Allied Reparations Oversight Committee.
Demilitarization of ceded cities.
Guarantee of Gaulish sovereignty over remaining mobile cities.
Once the numbers were etched into the minutes, everyone finally breathed. Only the signing remained.
At the far end of the long banquet table, the Gaulish representative picked up the pen.
The moment the nib touched the paper, his hand trembled for a brief second.
But by signing this, Gaul's survival could be guaranteed.
He signed.
The Victorian representative signed next, wearing a practiced smile.
It was not a smile for the treaty itself, but one destined for the front page of his home nation's newspapers.
The Leithanian representative signed without a smile.
He was less concerned with the news and more focused on the new fiefdoms he would secure as a reward for these negotiations.
The Union representative was the last to sign.
When it was done, the Union representative set the pen down and spoke softly.
"Now, we shall move to the next agenda item. The matter of the war crimes trials."
**********************
The courtroom was smaller than the banquet hall, yet it felt far more oppressive. It was not the height of the ceiling, but the fact that the sentences delivered here would directly shatter the "fates of men."
The bench was a joint tribunal.
The panel of judges appointed by the Gaulish People's Front government sat in the center, flanked on either side by judges from the Union, Victoria, and Leithanien.
Though labeled the International War Crimes Tribunal, the reality was simpler.
The victors sat in judgment; the losers were dragged in.
The Victorian judge reviewed his documents, pressing a red wax seal onto the edges of the scrolls.
The Leithanian judge pushed his glasses up his nose as he scanned the gallery.
The Union judge was still. He barely moved, but his eyes never stopped their constant vigil.
The Gaulish judges were the most disciplined of all in controlling their expressions. This had to be their court, after all.
Then, the doors swung open once more.
Gendarmes split into two lines to clear a path, and between them, a man bound in iron chains was led in.
There was no uniform.
No medals.
And certainly no crown.
Corsica I.
Or, as the documents now stated, Citizen Corsica.
The moment that name was called, the air in the courtroom sank once more.
Some felt a surge of triumph at the sound, others a sense of hollow vanity, and still others felt only terror.
He did not alter his pace. He walked from start to finish at the exact same rhythm.
Corsica stopped before the dock, and the court police signaled for him to sit.
The clerk began to read the proceedings.
"The defendant is legally defined as a 'citizen,' and all military command and sovereign authority have been fully revoked. This tribunal shall hear charges of war crimes, crimes of aggression, and state crimes. These are open proceedings, and access to all evidence is guaranteed for the entirety of the joint tribunal."
The prosecution was led by an appointee of the Gaulish People's Front.
This, too, was by design.
It was for the optic that the masses themselves were judging the Empire.
The prosecutor stood and delivered the opening line.
"The defendant, Citizen Corsica, privatized state power to initiate a war of aggression. He oversaw organized violence and forced mobilization in occupied territories, and either ordered or condoned widespread massacres and executions of civilians and prisoners of war."
The prosecutor turned a page.
"First. Crimes of aggression. Entering Leithanian territory without a declaration of war, the occupation of Londinium and the establishment of a military government, and the systematic looting of civilian infrastructure."
"Second. War crimes. The execution of hostages in occupied territories, arbitrary arrests and torture, forced relocation, and collective punishment carried out under the guise of counter-insurgency."
"Third. State crimes. The construction of an exploitative system utilizing the nobility and bureaucracy to fuel the war effort, the suppression of anti-war sentiment, and the operation of camps for political dissidents."
Finally, the prosecutor dropped the heaviest charge of the trial.
"Fourth. Originium-related crimes. The forceful incorporation of mines and refineries into the military apparatus, mandating excessive extraction and labor that resulted in massive casualties. These facilities were integrated with military production to serve as the bedrock for exploiting the people of the occupied territories."
One of the judges on the bench stopped writing.
The Victorian judge's eyelid flickered infinitesimally; the Leithanian judge pressed his lips together even more tightly.
Still, Corsica remained motionless in the dock.
The prosecutor stared directly at the defendant.
"The defendant was the face of the state, the sword of the state, and the command of the state. Therefore, the defendant represents not an individual, but the crimes of an entire system."
The moment that sentence was uttered, a tiny gasp escaped from the Gaulish judge panel.
To use the word 'represent' was dangerous.
If he was the representative, the entire system could be dragged down with him, causing unforeseen damage later.
The system was finished; the crimes were to be pinned to the individual.
The Leithanian judge was the first to address this.
"Prosecutor, amend your phrasing. This tribunal does not seek collective punishment. Crimes must be defined by individual responsibility."
The prosecutor bowed his head and rephrased.
"The defendant was at the apex of state power and played the decisive role in the systematic execution of these crimes."
The Union judge added a comment.
"Let it also be recorded that the legal continuity and administrative function of the new Gaulish government must be maintained."
The Victorian judge spoke as if he had been waiting for the chance.
"For those very reasons, a most stringent punishment is necessary. The 'execution of war criminals' will serve as a powerful signal to prevent any recurrence."
That word echoed through the court.
Execution.
When that word enters the room, every other word begins to orbit it.
It felt as though the judgment was inevitably converging on that single outcome.
However, the Chief Judge of the Gaulish panel spoke up.
"Execution runs the risk of appearing as a mere act of vengeance. We are not conducting a drama of revenge; we are establishing the rule of law."
The Union judge gave a very slight nod.
The Victorian judge's expression hardened, and the Leithanian judge scanned the Gaulish panel again.
At that moment, Corsica lifted his head for the first time.
He did not look at the bench; he looked at the gallery.
Seated at the very end of the spectator rows was his beloved Empress, Friliv.
She was sitting near the witness stand.
She was dressed in black.
Not the mourning weeds of a Queen, but the plain black garments of a citizen.
She likely did not yet fully grasp the weight of that distinction.
Corsica did not look at her for long. If he did, he feared his resolve might waver.
He opened his mouth.
"I have been defeated. But I am no criminal. I waged war for the sake of the nation."
A stir rose from the gallery.
Someone went to spit out a curse but swallowed it instead.
The Gaulish prosecutor rebutted immediately.
"Are you suggesting that killing civilians is acceptable so long as it is 'for the nation'?"
Corsica's eyes narrowed.
"That is the nature of war. It is only natural that the victor becomes justice, and the loser becomes the sinner."
The Victorian judge shot back almost instantly.
"Then, since you are the loser, you admit you are the sinner."
The courtroom buzzed.
The Chief Judge rapped his gavel lightly once.
"The defendant will refrain from emotional outbursts. This court is not a platform for political speeches."
Those words were addressed to Corsica, but also to the gallery.
The examination of evidence continued.
Victoria's primary witness took the stand—a person who had lost their entire family on the outskirts of Londinium.
Leithanien's witness was a man who had been forcibly relocated from a border village.
The Union submitted prisoner-of-war camp records and transcripts of intercepted communications.
The Gaulish government produced documents from the Imperial Intelligence Agency, execution orders from the military governorship, and casualty reports from the Originium mines.
Numbers, signatures, and seals stripped the flesh from the men involved.
When the hearings were over, the draft of the verdict began to circulate.
Victoria pushed for the death penalty until the very end.
Leithanien sought a compromise between death or life imprisonment.
Gaul wished to avoid execution but wanted an irreversible punishment.
The Union applied an even colder standard.
He must be kept alive.
Keep him alive, but ensure he can never again become a symbol.
That conclusion was solidified into text.
On the day the sentencing arrived, the tension in the courtroom was palpable.
The people were not waiting for the verdict itself, but for the 'sentence.'
That sentence would serve as the final period to the war.
The Chief Judge stood up.
The verdict was placed before him.
The paper was thin, but the words upon it were tectonic.
"The defendant, Citizen Corsica, is found guilty as a primary party responsible for crimes of aggression, war crimes, and state crimes."
Corsica's face did not change.
However, his finger twitched almost imperceptibly.
The iron chains checked the movement.
"This tribunal sentences the defendant to the following."
The courtroom fell into an absolute, deathly silence.
"First. Confiscation of all assets. All hidden assets held under the name of the defendant or his immediate family, all private property under the name of the Imperial Household, and all illicit wealth accumulated through the conduct of the war shall be confiscated in full, to be incorporated into reparations for victim nations and Gaul's postwar reconstruction fund."
A ripple of minor satisfaction flowed from the Victorian section of the gallery.
It was not death, but it was the moment blood turned back into gold.
"Second. Disenfranchisement. The defendant shall henceforth be barred from holding any public office, exercising any political rights, or approaching any military or administrative domains."
"Third. Indefinite Correctional Labor."
When this was read, the air itself seemed to shudder.
People waited for the next words—'where?'
The Chief Judge continued.
"The defendant shall carry out this sentence of indefinite correctional labor in the Originium mines and associated facilities. This sentence shall be considered for the duration of his natural life, and external contact shall be permitted only within the scope authorized by the tribunal."
The Victorian judge's lips pressed together in a firm line. His face was one of dissatisfaction.
However, the Leithanian judge gave a tiny nod.
This was enough to achieve the goal of removing the symbol.
The Union judge remained still.
Instead of moving, he observed the courtroom, gauging the reaction of the crowd.
That reaction was also part of the verdict.
It was only then that Corsica looked up.
His gaze swept across the bench. In his eyes, there was less anger than there was understanding.
Execution is easy.
But execution is remembered forever; it creates a martyr and a symbol.
Correctional labor is different.
It is a slow erasure. A gradual forgetting.
Slowly, one becomes a 'person who never was.'
To an Emperor, that might be a sentence far more cruel than death.
The Chief Judge added one final clause.
"The defendant may no longer use the title 'Corsica I.' In all records, save for those of a historical or academic nature, the title shall be deleted or replaced with 'Citizen Corsica.'"
The judgment was finished.
In that moment, the gallery did not explode. Instead, it was as if everyone exhaled at once.
Breaths of relief, breaths of anger, breaths of discontent, and breaths that remained unsatisfied.
The Victorian representative rose and spoke to the Chief Judge.
"Victoria respects the verdict. However, from the perspective of the sentiment of the victimized citizenry and the realization of justice, we demand strictness in the execution of the sentence."
The Leithanian representative added his piece.
"A surveillance system and permanent preservation of the evidentiary records are required."
The Union representative spoke even more succinctly.
"The fact that the process was followed is what matters. See that the execution is carried out without hesitation."
The Chief Judge of the Gaulish panel nodded. It was not a nod of victory.
It was the relief of a government that had managed to survive.
He was a man who knew better than anyone that today's verdict was as much 'politics' as it was 'justice.'
Corsica did not stand up immediately. The gendarmes had to lift him.
The iron chains scraped across the floor again.
Just before he was led out of the courtroom, Empress Friliv made a slight movement.
She looked at her husband.
The Empress's gaze caught Corsica, and Corsica's gaze brushed against her own.
Neither said a word.
They shared a glance filled only with a shared longing, and then they were parted.
Corsica turned his head and vanished beyond the doors.
The trials did not end with Corsica I.
Starting the very next day, Gaul's generals were dragged in one after another.
Some insisted until the end that they were only 'following orders.' Some wept and begged for their lives.
Some remained stoic in silence, while others sold out their comrades to save themselves.
But the results were similar for almost all, except for a few who had directly commanded massacres and were sentenced to hang.
Confiscation of assets.
Disenfranchisement.
Indefinite correctional labor.
One general was sent to an Originium mine, another to a dismantling facility, and yet another to the reconstruction sites of ruined railways.
Though the specifics of their labor differed, the core result was the same.
They would never again be symbols.