I. The Three Minutes of Peace
Vael returned to his Royal Suite, the heavy General's chain now placed precariously on a silver platter. The silence was absolute. For the first time in weeks, the wives were preoccupied—discussing Captain Rylan's new title and the logistics of farm-based surveillance. The cult army was gone.
Vael let out a soundless sigh, collapsed onto his enormous bed, and closed his eyes. A year, he thought, a whole year of nothing but peace, good food, and writing pamphlets on why cushions are better than battlements.
His blissful solitude lasted precisely three minutes and twelve seconds.
The door burst open. It wasn't one of his wives; it was the Royal Herald, his face pale with panic.
"General Vael! General Vael! Disaster! A new enemy force, over ten thousand strong, has broken through the northern pass! They are marching directly toward the capital! The King demands your immediate presence!"
Vael didn't move. He simply stared at the ceiling. Of course.
II. The King's Unwavering Faith
Vael, dragging his feet, stumbled back into the King's solar. The atmosphere was one of total chaos—except for the King, who looked serene.
"Your Majesty! You must understand! I cannot lead the army! I am... I am still recovering from the sheer mental effort of the last strategic move! I need to rest! Let the standing army handle this; I will join you tomorrow!" Vael pleaded, trying to sound like a man prioritizing his health.
The King clapped him loudly on the back. "Nonsense, General! Your divine exhaustion is a sign of your power! Look at our maps! The enemy force is vast, over ten thousand barbarians! Our main army is currently deployed in the South!"
The King pointed a determined finger at Vael. "Only one General remains: You. And only one army has the power to stop them: Your cult! The 550 men you converted! They are the only force ready! Go! Use your divine words to break them! I know you can do this! Do not insult me by pretending to be weak!"
Vael was speechless. "But... but Your Majesty, I cannot simply use the 'divine trick' on ten thousand people! My brain will break! The charm is unstable! It's like trying to move a mountain with a spoon!"
"Do not lecture your King on the nature of genius, General Vael!" the King roared, his eyes shining with faith. "Go to your men! Bring them back! Defeat them! You are the Lord of Pity! You must save the Kingdom!"
Vael, realizing the King's belief was a prison he could not escape, finally surrendered. He was going to die, and he was taking 550 farmers with him.
III. The Edict of Refusal
Vael rushed out of the city and found his army in the nearest farming field. The 550 men were diligently digging trenches, humming their devotional chant, while Arch-Deacon Vorlag supervised, occasionally wiping a tear of joy.
"Arch-Deacon Vorlag! Soldiers! Stop your work immediately! We have a new command!" Vael gasped, completely out of breath.
Vorlag slowly turned, his shovel still firmly in the soil. "My Lord! Bless us with your presence! It is a beautiful day for the Edict of the Earth! We have successfully tilled two hundred acres and discovered a new strain of hardy turnip!"
"Vorlag! Listen to me! War! Ten thousand enemies are coming! We must immediately prepare for battle!"
Vorlag's face fell, etched with genuine sorrow. "My Lord, I am sorry. We cannot."
Vael stared. "What do you mean, cannot? I am the Lord of Pity! I am the General! I command you!"
Vorlag gently put his shovel down and bowed, his voice heavy with bureaucratic devotion. "My Lord, your previous Edict—the Edict of the Earth—clearly stated that the army shall spend one full year cultivating the land to gain 'Strength through Sustenance.' We have only completed one day."
A hundred other voices immediately chimed in, echoing Vorlag. "The Edict must be completed, My Lord!" "We cannot be weak soldiers!" "A second order cannot be given until the first, sacred order is fulfilled!"
Vael felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. I am going to be massacred because my army won't break my own accidental farming rule!
"Vorlag, you imbecile! I am the one who gives the orders! The Lord of Pity is telling you to abandon the turnips! I will be killed! They will kill us all!"
"But My Lord," Vorlag replied, completely sincere. "We are bound by the law of the Edict. We cannot be disobedient children. The Lord of Pity's word is law."
IV. The Great Betrayal and The New Law
Vael knew he had no time for debate. He was trapped by his own previous, brilliant move. To save his life, he had to destroy the peace he had just created.
He grabbed a shovel from a nearby soldier, held it above his head, and screamed.
"Silence! I am the Lord! And I create the law!"
He slammed the shovel point into the earth, just inches from Vorlag's polished boot.
"Hear this, My Arch-Deacon! I issue a new, immediate, and overriding law! The Law of Immediate Obedience!" Vael's voice cracked with panic and authority.
"The Lord's word is final, absolute, and must be followed immediately, even if it appears to contradict the previous sacred Edict! When the Lord speaks, the previous law is instantly canceled! Now, do you understand? Yes or no?"
Vorlag's eyes widened, a tear of understanding rolling down his cheek. He instantly dropped to his knees. "My Lord! You are so wise! You have provided us a path through theological ambiguity! The Law of Immediate Obedience! We accept it!"
The 550 soldiers erupted in unified, tearful agreement. "The Law of Immediate Obedience!"
Vael threw the shovel down. He had won, but at what cost? He had created a rule that meant his army would never question him again, making him permanently responsible for all future insanity.
"Good! Then prepare for battle! Now!" Vael commanded, his voice trembling. "We march against ten thousand enemies! No more farming! We are fighting!"
Vorlag, now beaming with devotion, sprang up. "My Lord! We are ready! We shall fight! Tell us the battle strategy, My Lord! We will execute the Law of Immediate Obedience perfectly!"
Vael looked at his new, perfectly obedient, zealously armed cult and sighed. I just wanted to be a writer.