To the world, you became a maker of borders, a breaker of kingdoms — a living myth told in frightened whispers.

That is why their hatred was so deliberate when it finally arrived. The Western nations and the United States — the ones who had watched you take provinces and fleets like steps on a ladder — at last grew tired of watching. They forged a coalition of six nations, sealed by mutual fear and the kind of bitterness that grows in the shadow of an unstoppable empire. In a single accord, they declared you an outlaw and the illegitimate ruler of Asia.

Not a war against your empire. A war against you.

They struck on the twenty-fifth of August.

The historians would later devise complicated names for that campaign. But those names do not capture the simple truth: on that day, the rain buried the truth and the horizon betrayed your marshals. The coalition invaded through Afghanistan and Rajasthan, driving their axes through the seams of deserts and mountain passes, carried by momentum and the arrogance of overwhelming numbers.

Your six marshals, each forged by hard campaigns and harder winters, rose to the front with three hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. They took their positions in the mud and the smoke. You, their Emperor, remained ten miles away at headquarters with the Imperial Guard Cavalry and the Elite Counselor Women Guard — the living shield that circled your command. Meanwhile, your Old Guard, the veterans of your earliest wars, were a hundred miles away, marching at the limit of their endurance.

The Bormida was swelling with a season’s worth of rain, turning the river into a gray, churning beast. Your marshals could not see beyond it; scouts returned soaked and nearly blind from the downpour. Banners drooped, weighed by water. Armor lost its shine and turned dull as stone. In that weather, sight itself became a treacherous ally.

First came the whispers.A convoy spotted.A skirmish on a hillside.A shadow of movement near the right flank.

Then came the truth — enormous, undeniable, and impossible to ignore. Fifty million coalition soldiers, assembled for one purpose: to crush you. Fifty million, commanded by the most experienced generals each nation possessed.An army shaped not by ambition, but by fear.

At dawn, their assault began.

The sky at dawn was not a sky; it was a lid pressed low over the world. Gray, heavy, threatening to fall. Rain dappled the ground like a thousand tiny spears. Through the mist, the coalition advanced — not in chaos, but in cold, disciplined waves. Artillery rolled like ancient gods clearing their throats. Aircraft circled like carrion birds. The trembling earth itself announced the scale of the force approaching.

Yet your marshals are held. They fought as if the continents rested on their shoulders. Their lines flexed but did not break. They counterattacked where they could. They bled for inches.

Ten miles away, you heard only the distant thunder — a muffled, continuous growl. You did not understand its full significance. Until the reports arrive and reveal the gravity of the situation.

You know it's not a moment to lose. So you wrote an order to your Old Guard, those were 20 miles away. "I had thought to attack the Enemy, they have attacked me. Come, in the name of Empire if you still can." Then you rise to the front with your only reserve 50,000 imperial guard Cavalry and 30,000 the Elite counselor women guard.

When you arrive, your front lines are almost a mile away. You noticed the main threat on the right where they want to turn the flank. You send your imperial Guard Cavalry to draw off troops but that still leaves 400,000 strong battalions.