I. - Iron Commanders

When I was a young boy, my father, By the Grace of Every God, His Majesty Emperor Aleksei, Sovereign, Tsar and Grand Prince of all Ebrongen, told me one thing. One thing that I never forgot and that I will never allow myself to forget.

My child, you are Ebrongen. In your little chest beats several million hearts as one.
This nation is like a tree. An ancient tree that was left to grow and grow for centuries. A massive clan that stretches over a third of this continent. 
And it is mine, my child, and it will be one day yours.
Ebrongen bows to no one. I trust that you will keep that way, in your time.
You, my child, will be the decider. The man who molds nations in his hands like a potter manipulates clay.
You will rule. 

I took this to heart. My pride. These words were etched into the rings on my fingers, the fur of my coats and the hilt of my sabers.

And my armies marched against the world.

Troops marched against the winged hussars of Mamukia, the samurai of Stausenia, the Sontebian Cossacks and the Chechian raiders. 

I established bureaus to control every nation that has fallen before me. The last Ebrongenese Cossacks have either surrendered or been exterminated to the last.

And now, as I grow old and I repeat my father's words to my son, I look at Bayania once more.

The world grows uncertain. Worshippers of the Sun attack Demons in the East, while the Meseans in the West prepare for war.

Gods, grant me this wish : one last victory. 

Allow me to see parading troops, returning covered in gold and glory.

One last time, Gods. 

"The Mustering of the Krismadorka Streltsy" - Kirill Chistyakov, first court painter to Tsar Yuri Pyotr I