Chapter 429: Picking Your Battles at the Right Time
The opening ceremony had concluded, leaving the crowd in complete and utter awe. On the morrow, the Games would begin. But tonight, Germany celebrated.
A grand reception was held in Berlin for the world’s leaders and international delegates—those who had come to witness the dawning of a new era. An era of steel and order, of civilization reshaped by discipline—not decay.
For the Germans, the air was thick not with arrogance, but with assurance. A miasma of quiet confidence permeated the grand halls. They had trained harder, longer, and under better conditions than any other nation. And now, they were ready—not merely to compete, but to dominate.
As the athletes prepared for the coming contests—of strength, agility, perception, and sheer force of will—Bruno and his family stood among the powerful.
Most of the men present were representatives of governments that had been enemies a mere two years prior. The blood had dried, at least on the surface. Now was the time to rebuild—and to reckon.
Delegates from Britain were present. King George himself was in attendance—the weary sovereign who had narrowly avoided watching the flower of the British Army crushed in the final Central Powers push toward Paris. He had turned his attention instead to the empire, rallying what strength remained to quell rebellion in the colonies with ruthless fervor.
Ireland had been subdued in brutal fashion over the past two years, with tactics reminiscent of the suppression of the Easter Rising in Bruno’s former life. The heartland of the United Kingdom had returned to order—but its empire was bleeding.
From India to Africa, the colonial dominions were alight with revolt. Rivers ran red in places the British maps called civilized. And yet here stood King George and his ministers, faces lined and drawn—not just by war, but by the agony of the aftermath.
If the Great War had tested their resolve, the last two years had scourged their souls.
The British King did not look fondly upon Bruno. Wilhelm, he could tolerate—there was shared blood, old ties, the illusion of noble camaraderie. But Bruno? Bruno was the knife behind the crown. The man who had turned the strategy into humiliation. A general who had rewritten warfare itself.