As the great blaze of "Manifest "—a fire personally kindled by Arthur Lionheart—raced along the eastern seaboard of the American continent, there was one land that stared at its distant glow with tear-stung eyes and a strange sense of kinship.
That land was the Republic of Texas, a nation barely born and already exhausted.
The so-called Lone Star Republic lived under a sky weighted with uncertainty.
Though they had driven out the Mexicans and seized de facto independence after the glorious Battle of San Jacinto in 1836—led by war heroes such as Houston—their former sovereign, Mexico, had never once acknowledged their legitimacy.
Across the border, Mexico stirred up constant trouble, provocations flaring like brushfires. One spark, and war could erupt again.
Meanwhile, the "adoptive father" the Texans yearned to join—the United States—remained suspiciously hesitant toward their plea for annexation.
The reason was simple, brutally simple.
The Northern states refused to admit another slave-holding territory, unwilling to disrupt the delicate balance between free and slave states in Congress.
Thus the Republic of Texas found itself stranded between two worlds.
Neither accepted by the North nor safe from the South.
They had to defend themselves against Mexican retaliation while flattering their reluctant suitor in Washington. Their treasury was pitiful, their economy surviving only on cotton and cattle.
"Bullied daughters-in-law," Arthur remarked softly as he read the intelligence report.
A paternal, almost benevolent smile curved his lips—so gentle it would have alarmed anyone who knew the man behind the expression.
For Arthur Lionheart never smiled like that unless he had found an opportunity.
An opportunity to "bring warmth," as he liked to call it.
Others would have used a colder word:
Domination.
Temporary Capital of the Republic of Texas — Houston
President Sam Houston—brilliant general, lion of the battlefield—was now bent over the barren ledgers of his government, white hair trembling with dismay.
"Nothing! Not a single damn dollar!" He slammed a fist against the table. "The Mexicans are massing troops again! Our militia can barely afford bullets! At this rate, we'll collapse before they even fire a shot!"
"Mr. President," the Minister of Finance murmured miserably, "we've approached the major European banks. None will lend to a nation they do not recognize. They consider us too great a risk."
Houston's desperation deepened. He even contemplated crawling back to the American Congress to beg once more for annexation—an act he secretly despised.
And then, as if heaven pitied him, a messenger arrived.
A polite commercial representative, claiming allegiance to the British "Future Industries Group," contacted him through private channels.
He was courteous.
But his message was audaciously direct.
"President Houston," he said with a crisp British bow, "my master, His Royal Highness Arthur Lionheart, expresses his profound respect for the heroic struggle of your people in pursuit of freedom and independence."
Houston stiffened instantly.
The British?
Those cunning old foxes of Europe?
They did nothing without a profit.
"What do you want?" he asked warily.
"We wish to propose an economic partnership."
He opened a leather case and presented a document—an agreement so bluntly generous that Houston momentarily forgot how to breathe.
The "Future Industries Group" offered the Republic of Texas a National Development Special Loan of up to five million U.S. dollars, at almost no interest.
They would also sell Texas a full suite of "advanced agricultural implements"—which, curiously, included Colt revolvers and breech-loading rifles—at internal "friendship prices."
Furthermore, they were willing to "assist" the landlocked Texas nation in establishing a coastal defense fleet, using refitted British patrol vessels.
The price?
Only one, small, seemingly insignificant concession:
Texas would grant the Group exclusive priority mining rights for all future mineral resources—oil, gas, coal, precious metals—for ninety-nine years.
Houston stared at the agreement.
A contract with the Devil?
No.
To him, it looked like an angel's lifeline.
"Mineral resources?" Houston laughed in his plain, cowboy manner. "All we've got is dirt, cattle, and cotton. If you British folk enjoy digging holes, be my guests!"
In 1840, the mineral wealth of Texas was still a myth.
The oil age lay sixty years in the future.
No one could have imagined Spindletop.
No one—except Arthur Lionheart, who possessed a detailed map of the next century's oil fields, a purchase made from the System Store for a few bucks.
"Excellent. I'll sign."
Houston seized the pen without a moment's hesitation.
With Arthur's infusion of capital and "agricultural equipment," the starving Republic of Texas transformed overnight.
Gone was the timid, impoverished frontier state.
A new spine stiffened.
They ceased groveling before the U.S. Congress and began openly challenging their old tormentor, Mexico.
Fortifications rose along the border.
A fledgling navy—British-built—began flexing its muscles in the Gulf.
This provoked the volcanic fury of Mexico's strongman, Santa Anna.
"Outrageous!" he thundered. "Those Texan dogs dare parade their toy ships before me? Do they imagine I fear them?"
He immediately purchased emergency weapons from Europe—primarily from France, who never missed a chance to spite Britain.
A miniature American arms race erupted, secretly engineered by Arthur's patient hand.
Just as he desired.
For Arthur was the most dangerous type of statesman:
the one who viewed geopolitical conflict as a card game.
He did not care which gambler—Texas or Mexico—won.
He only cared that both bet heavily…
and bled thoroughly.
Only then could the dealer sweep the table clean.
Arthur placed the report aside and turned to his grand map of North America.
With elegant calm, he pressed a newly carved seal onto the territory labeled "Texas."
The seal bore a single symbol:
A flame—
burning bright, consuming all.
And somewhere in Buckingham Palace, had Victoria seen his expression at that moment, she would have placed a gentle hand on his cheek and whispered for him to rest.
For only she could soften him.
Only for her did the fire in Arthur Lionheart's heart ever grow warm instead of deadly.