If the army is marched into the city, there can be no going back. The army can be brought into the society, and used to take over, or bring order, but once it marches in it cannot be taken out. For the soldiers in the army and the citizens in the city are of the same kin. Once the rift is carved between one part of a family and another, the generation is broken. And broken it is easy prey to tyranny. The traumatized and guilty surrender to the force that promises to bridge the rift.
And so, in the Red Year, the Imperialist regiments marched through the gates of the city. They barely needed to fight, except in a few hard places. Trumpets and drums played, as if the whole affair was a festival. Again and again the same martial tune, as a trance. The music rang on, while the armed forces filled the streets like a flood, converging on the main square, filling all space. The effect on the minds would linger far longer than the force that had been applied here and there.
Imperial troops charged over the pavements on both sides of the street. In their midst, on the emptied street, walked the Emperor. He walked in a calm manner, in his long robe, without weapon. He came up with them, in his mind and theirs the verses of Empire: now I am one with the sword, for now I am one with the word.
The troops overwhelmed every pocket of opposition, so that the Emperor's procession could go unhindered to the central citadel. The various anti-imperialists had proclaimed that the Emperor would be unwelcome in the citadel. This was the Imperial answer. No plea of surrender was heeded now. The Emperor's procession flattened all before it like an avalanche.
In the end, the Emperor slowly climbed the steps of the citadel. His soldiers stood in silence. The city was quiet. Then he turned to them, as they waited in silence, and he spoke to them thus from the stairs of the palace:
'My sons. We stand again together in the house of our people, and it is whole again, and bows to no one. You were once orphans of the wars among our people, but now you have a watchful eye over you, and you are carried on the hand of the greatest power.
To live, to love, to create life, to engrave one's acts into the world. To war. Safety is a lie. Life in struggle for a cause is a true life. We choose to wage this war of wars, not because it is easy, but because it is hard. Because carrying out the near impossible we become more than mere mortals, more than fearful little beings, more than mere animals.
To live to see the proud masses of waving flags born in battles. People tell of war, stressing the beginning, end, and winner.
But that does not tell the tale. For it is within it that we experience the universe of war, when the reality that is so different from commonplace life stretches from horizon to horizon, over all days, until all that we know is battle, preparation for battle, and the aftermath. War is all then. Survival or death. That is the great filtering.
All that we can ever have is victory. All that we can ever do is take it. Unleash emotion in yourself. The wish for glory, the craving for greatness, unleash them, all! The solution to conflicts is victory. When in doubt, use force! Feel the raw taste of relentlessness, feel the brotherhood of vast legions beside you, bathe in the sensation of dominion that stretches from horizon to horizon. Feel how every good thing becomes possible within the cleansed plane, how different from the corrupted sloth of before. Now, we can stand tall. Now we have a future, for we have untangled ourselves from the swamp of the past. We are one, across mountains and rivers, clothed in the holy flag that is everywhere. How great, to find that pivot of the world, that pinnacle, that one man might utter word, and the word become act, the act pushing the pivot, and the world turn. Come with us, touch the holy banners, and be absolved.'
They shuffled forward, and touched the red banner, and felt a weight lift off their hearts. It was replaced by another weight, but they did not know themselves, and all that they had lost. They knelt in circles outwards from the shrine, the whole place filled with red capes and banners.
'One day, the Empire will fall, and there will be a return to the tapestry of many nations. But remember this time. Know you are the greatest. For I tell you: the Empire will come again. I do not know the greater, the true empire that will come, the realm of spirit, for we are onto it imperfect, but keep the greatness in your heart, for they are keys to something that is true. For how can the feeling inside, the Imperialist sentiment, be all greedy and malevolent, when it is there besides love for the woman, love of good life, the feeling of oneness with our ancestors, and the sense of destiny?
So I give onto you this as Word: go, and taste victory, feed the hunger of our nation with glory, go, and advance on all fronts!'
And he spread out his robed arms, and the vast crowd erupted in a cheer such as had never been. Their banners waved in the breeze before him, and the time was theirs. The hour would come when it would be asked of them to do certain deeds, and they would call out: this is not what we had agreed upon. You cannot ask us to do this! They would re-learn, that they saw the lies back then too, but were glad to believe them.
And so they arose, and left from that centre, out to take empire to the world. The golden-red emblem of the arisen winged sword spread out, like a sunrise, like a plague, like a blessing, like a dream. Of the past and its memory they were rid then, and there was a silence of spirit then.
