Generic betrayal isekai story (full title in first post, too long for here for some reason)

[John_Oakman]

After being reincarnated to another world to fight against the hordes of evil, the generic fantasy human kingdom tried to betray my ass but I betrayed them first, thus causing a coup and civil war!​

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You know the drill, brainrot incoming.

I been playing too much AoE3 these days, so the battles in this story will be on a much smaller scale.
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Chapter 1: He's leaving [the mortal coil] at dawn​

"We did it! We have finally done it!" The genuine excitement from Rostov's voice was undeniable, even if a bit out of place as the last climatic battle of the war had already passed from the action to the picking up of the pieces. But then again, the process of the mind is a fickle thing.

The smoke of powder had long since dissipated, revealing in the dying light of the day a sight all too common in the past few years: Of broken men and beasts lying as far as the eyes could see, the din of combat giving way to the cries for help. Help that would arrive too late, if at all.

Alex smiled a smile without warmth as he looked at the younger man, who looked far more like a hero than he himself ever will be, and in a world where perception is reality, that matters far more than it appears on the surface. "So it may seem." He mumbled. The faint memories of another life, figuratively and literally, danced in the back of his mind like wisps of ghosts.

They faintly screamed of the coming horrors. He brushed them aside. It is not that he does not believe them, for he does. It is that they offer no solutions. No solutions that they are willing to take. The chains of norms of a more civilized world. Actually civilized. A place where high trust and basic dignity of man could be found.

But it is not of this world, where the facade and the subsistence are themselves worlds apart. A fact is well known to everyone-

"... and once we get back to the capital the king will recognize our efforts and we'll be rewarded with the riches promised!" The excitement from Rostov is akin to that of a child, which in a way he is, for fate had robbed him of his childhood just like it did to countless others…

… and soon that same fate will rob him of his life, and many other things though not anything the dead would care about.

"Maybe so." Alex said with a deliberate air of reservation, not that the other man would notice such an undercurrent. "But do you think it's rather strange that every other previous hero and their party ended up falling to evil and had to be executed?"

"But we are clearly not evil!" Rostov proclaimed, shocked that anyone would even suggest such a thing, much less the architect and main reason of their victory.

"No. No you're not." Alex shook his head, making sure to emphasize the word you're. "Maybe this time will be different." He lied, knowing already that it will not be different. The him of another world coming to that conclusion from the brainrot of too many gutter picture books, and the him of this world from reading between the lines of the great tales of the past.

Perhaps he of this world is in one of those gutter picture books, but damn if he's going to die from death.

No. He'll die on his own terms, when the time comes.

"Sire. Are you alright?" Rostov asked, concerned at the sudden intense look on the older man's face.

"No. Not really." Alex said truthfully. "In fact, I'm feeling dreadfully weary. You should go ahead first. Bring the good news to the king promptly." The sudden turn towards the melodrama would have fooled no one at normal times, but the current time is hardly normal.

"Of course! I shall do so at once!" Rostov said as he all but jumped at once to fulfill the last step of their successful mission, in his zeal completely failed to notice the tinge of sorrow in Alex's eyes.

As he watched the younger man gallop away on his steed Alex sighed to himself. He's about to send his only friend in this world, perhaps the last bit of pure moral virtue in any land of this world, to a certain and unjust death. The cruelest fate awaits Rostov at the other end, and he sends him there with a smile.

He's about to prove the worst fears of the kingdom right. Whether they're prepared to be vindicated is another matter entirely.

 

[John_Oakman]

Chapter 2: Today is a good day [for someone else] to die​

As far as weather goes, the day couldn't have been better. The sun bright and shiny high up in the sky, with nary a cloud in sight. It's as if the gods themselves have blessed this day to see justice being dispensed.

As is tradition.

Well, the weird bastard's right after all. Petryaev thought to himself as he, and the massive crowd around him, watched the drawn out execution of the latest hero turned traitor of the kingdom. Who, in a shocking twist, had planned on betraying the kingdom before being caught in the knick of time by the king's guards.

Which is a complete crock of shit to anyone who had known Rostov: nevermind any question on his moral character, he wasn't even the actual hero who had defeated the demonic hordes…

… but then, that sly bastard had foreseen all of that. He had to have. There's no other reason for him to have dismissed the entire company at the peak of their victories, paying them each a pretty handsome sum of coins. Everyone thought at the time that he was just paying them off so that he himself could reap the entirety of the king's reward, but the money at hand was good enough that they were mostly satisfied.

And now as he remembered, all the while tuning out the screams of the soon to be dead, he realized that Alex was trying to save them all from death and disgrace.

Speaking of that man, no one had any idea where he had gone, it was as if he had simply walked off the pages of the world…

A sudden shout snapped Petryaev out of his melancholy musing. He looked around, not really seeing anything past the crowds immediately next to him, but even they looked rather agitated, or distressed, or something else entirely.

Then he heard it. More shouts. "Lies!", "Injustice!" and a lot of other less than polite words & phrases thrown about. Some of those voices were even familiar- With a start he realized that they were his battle comrades. The same men who were there, who had seen the unvarnished truth.

And then he started moving forward, driven by a force he could not put a finger on. The people around him are also moving, as if driven by the same force. Belatedly he realized that said force is rage: rage at the revealing of the truth. The truth they had always known, but until now blinded by the suffocating bind of how things should be as told by those above.

For when the reward for the highest of moral virtues is death and disgrace, then there's nothing more to lose by being evil. And the mob, seemingly motivated by a newly found instinct, surged forth towards the execution platform.

Countless were promptly cut down by the guards present, but the weight of the enraged mob still spewed forth like a torrent, soon drowning the hapless guards, whose armor and arms overwhelmed by the mass of bodies. More guards and city watch poured out from all directions, and soon they were joined by the royal knights on their mighty steeds.

The last of which was decisive: trampling all those in their way like mud under their hooves. Blood & guts sprayed wherever they went, bones and souls broken by the might of those whose strength has only ever been used on the defenseless and in the back.

The spontaneous rage of the mob quickly dissipated, replaced by fear. Fear that quickly manifested into reality as their bodies were crushed and their souls condemned into the next world.

All the while as the sun smiles on, seemingly obliviously… or perhaps sadistically. For what gods are they, who forsake only the defenseless and the downtrodden?

Petryaev knew when to run, and the sight before him was more than enough reason. Whatever drive that had propelled him before was long gone. It was a somewhat difficult task, as he was far from the only one with that idea. But as time went on and more died the crowds began to thin out, the going got easier for those who remained.

As he ducked into a narrow alleyway he saw that he was far from the first one to have that particular idea, for there were already a half a dozen others in various states of injury. A couple of faces he recognized, the rest he presumed also from the company. Ironic that the very people who have incited the mob that led to the death of many (and even more in the coming days: Petryaev knew as well as anyone that the royal court is in no mood for leniency after such a display of revolt) are the ones who have mostly escape the carnage.

But they have little time to dwell on their latest mistakes, for the sounds of rage still thundered forth, even above the sounds of pain and death. Not a word needed to be spoken between them, for the common task is simple enough: get out of there.

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It has been a rough few days since then. The day when the veil dropped and the blood flowed, and as it turned out that the truth was far worse than any lie. A wagon lurched on a muddy road, alone, yet unmolested. A stench of barely restrained violence emanating from it deterring all the nearby would be bandits.

The men inside, hardened as they are, pondered on their next steps. They have escaped, yes, and probably not even being chased after. Yet life is no longer the same, they can all feel it. It's as if the very essence of the world has changed, and there's no going back to what once was.

But what is the forward? That they knew not.

As they passed the crest of yet another hill they saw it: the walls of Vorkuta-on-Kek, a nominally unremarkable city on the border regions, which in happier times being festered with excitable would be adventurers, heroes to be, and the merchants who fleece them for all they're worth.

This time however, there is something different. A different flag flies proudly on its battlements. Moreover, a flag that they're very familiar with, having fought under it… was it that a long time ago?

Sprawled on that flag is the image of a crudely drawn image of a cock and balls, painted in a hideous green, underneath it scrawled the words: bend over, none shall be spared. Once a simple joke of their status, now a cruel commentary on the lives of all. Yet for all that the sight of which brought the thinnest of smiles on their faces, for it could only mean one thing.

And that thing was confirmed as they neared the main gate of the city walls, as a single man, simply dressed, sitting on a wicker chair, and snacking on a bag of candies probably worth the life wages of a dozen farmers.

"Well fancy that." Alex said as the wagon stopped and the men within got out.

"Are you-?" Petryaev asked, daring to hope for the first time in a while.

"Reforming the Free Company of the Green Weenie?" Alex smiled as he got up from the chair. "Of course. Welcome back." He said as he gave Petryaev a hug. "It's gonna be rough going forward though."

"We're ready to die for you." Petryaev declared. Alex waved him off.

"Dying? I need y'all to be living. Those guys, the guys we're fighting against. They can do the dying." He smirked, though they can all see the determination, tempered with more than a tinge of hatred, in his eyes. He paused for a moment to compose himself before speaking again. "Y'all do know the costs right? What we're doing here is treason."

"Rostov was loyal, and he was rewarded with death." Petryaev replied. "What's the difference?"

"Well, since you guys don't see a difference, then neither do I." Alex said smoothly, letting out a sigh that he didn't know he was holding. "Well then, come on in. We have a war to win."

 

[John_Oakman]

Yes, this is a worthless chapter mainly covering game mechanics that no one actually cares about, as is tradition.

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Chapter 3: New game plus [nonsense]​

"And why, would any of us trust an usurper like you?" Lev Reznik, master of the merchant's guild, said to Alex from across the conference table as he narrowed his already beady eyes into what looked like silts. "Especially on the matter of keeping a promise on something this unprecedented?"

Despite the recent upheavals, the room was still rather well furnished, if still looking more than a little disheveled. The rest of the building for that matter as well, though the same could not be said for its late and unlamented inhabitants…

"Well then, don't." Alex replied deadpanned. "What you gonna do, hand me over to the king on a silver platter?" He narrowed his eyes in return. "But you already know the reward for loyalty over there do you?" News of the execution of Rostov had made the rounds already, as expected of such events worthy of gossip.

He hoped the merchant master didn't realize his naked bluff, for narratively speaking slimy scumbags like those of the merchant's guild are basically guaranteed to live and prosper, and as silly as believing in some barely remembered superstitious shit like that so far things seemed to have played out about in that direction.

After all, for all that being a treacherous shtibag, he himself is doing rather well. At least he wasn't hung by a thin wire, swinging around, trousers falling down in a last humiliation. He shoved the R18G thoughts aside. Dwelling on those things is not going to be productive. He has to focus, to hope.

To dare to hope.

"Humph." Lev snorted. "You do have a point. Still-" he continued, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion, "- what is that you're after?"

"What do you mean?" Alex asked back.

"I'm not seeing what you have to gain from dealing with us." Lev said. "Handing over power to someone else, and so quickly?"

"That's the point." Alex replied. "I'm not here to replace the parts of the system, but the system itself."

"Wha-" Lev uttered in confusion before Alex cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Trust has to start somewhere, and I chose here and now." He simply said with a cheesy dramatic flourish as he got up from the table.

Ironic, as he hasn't been completely forthcoming with all the details of his mind. They wouldn't understand, or worse, they would, and nip that in the bud before it could get off the ground. He could only trust them to be predictable, nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

Hammering out a new government, or what passes for one, was not exactly simple. The same rage that gripped the mob at the capitol had found more success here, though with similarly grisly results: He had thought he was used to heinous atrocities, but the sight and smells of hundreds of corpses strung up around the town square. Not just the local aristocracy, but their families, servants, casual acquaintances, anybody and anything that can be remotely linked. Not even the pets were spared.

And the sounds too, for the crows and the vultures have been eating good, and proclaiming their good fortunes for all around. As always, the only unambiguous winners of any wars, anywhere, anytime.

Grim displays of revenge aside, the mass killings of the entirety of the local ruling class and their support has led to some practical difficulties, namely how to fund a war effort. The peasants in the outlying villages are doing just fine: for their only dealings with the local lord was during the looting that is called taxation and the rape of their maidens when the lord asserts prima nocta. The city dwellers are doing fine too, being mostly in the same lot as their rural counterparts.

The problem comes with supplying an army and a war effort: That still requires a bureaucratic institution of some sort.

Thus this devil of a deal to elevate the merchant's guild into some sort of government, a compromise for them as well for they would have to contribute in an earnest fashion if they don't fancy being strung up by somebody or another.

Like those previous luckless fools.

"Ah, captain. It's good to see you in good health." An oddly familiar voice greeted Alex as he stepped outside of the door of the conference room.

"Oh- um Minaev, same to you too." Alex slurred out the greeting in return, trying to hide his almost forgetting of the old quartermaster's name. "Caught me in the middle of some thinking."

"Reading over your tarot cards again?" Minaev asked nonchalantly. Alex shook his head.

"No, but now that you mentioned it…" He said as he swirled his right in a pattern, having long since stopped bothering to explain what those shipment cards actually are. "Although I don't see-" He suddenly stopped in mid sentence as the ghostly images manifested themselves in front of him.

It's a different deck, in fact it's a very different deck than the one he had previously. A lot more aggressive, of a "hail mary" vibe. A lot more close up and to the knife.

If he hadn't lost his faith a long time ago he might even have believed it to be a sign to hurry up. That time's running out. But time had already run out a long time ago, yet here they are still.

Alive. Defiant. A pain in the arse of the natural order of things.

God is not watching, just beings higher up on the power scale order. Scumbags they all are too, for how could they be anything else and tolerate a hellish world such as this?

"Ahem, are you not feeling well?" Minaev asked, a look of concern on his face. Alex shook his head.

"I'm fine enough." He muttered, before returning to his normal tone of voice. "Well, I think you can already guess it, but I'm bringing you back on, this time as my chief logistician."

"I assume that's a promotion from quartermaster." Minaev said dryly, as if fishing for something else instead.

"Yeah, something like that." Alex confirmed. "More things to handle and deal with. We're not just a rabble of murder hobos this time around. At least not if we want to have a chance of staying alive."

"Then I believe I do have good news for you, if you'll follow me." Minaev said with a chuckle as he gestured to the other man to follow him.

"Well, I'm grateful for anything, but unless it's some deus ex machina I don't think-" Alex began before Minaev cut him off.

"It's a big thing alright." He assured him cryptically before seemingly abruptly changing the topic. "Do you remember the times you wondered about where all the taxes from the peasantry were going?"

"Yeah, and?" Alex shrugged, as they descended into the first of the underground level of the massive building. From the looks of it, it was some kind of root cellar, the contents of which had been looted clean. Completely unsurprising of course, though it would still be completely inadequate to deal with the famine levels of starvation that's the natural state of the peasantry.

"And you are about to have your answer to that." Minaev simply said as he opened a rather large trapdoor from an otherwise nondescript section of the floor, revealing another subterranean level of storage.

A much larger floor, if the echoes of sounds made it rather obvious. Visually it's hard to tell however as everything is filled with wooden crates as far as the eyes could see.

"What am I looking at?" Alex asked as he narrowed his eyes. Clearly the answer should be obvious as Minaev wasn't the type to be coy about matters.

Minaev took a deep breath before he spoke again. "Storage of foodstuff and other materials in a magically induced state of stasis. Now you know where all those centuries of oppressive taxes have gone to."

"Oh." Was all Alex could respond as his mind pondered on. "Why?" He then asked aimlessly, to no one in particular. The fundamental question has not been answered.

"That I do not know." Minaev shrugged. "But that aside, there's enough stuff stored here to fund the war effort, and much more. It's basically a cornucopia down here, and probably in all the rest of those places too." He said the last part in a much lower voice, in an almost whisper.

"Well then," Alex sighed in relief, as if a massive weight had been taken off his shoulders, "that settles it. Мы выходим на рассвете."

"Да. Minaev nodded in acknowledgement. "Будет сделано."

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Spoiler: For those who are wondering what the protag's cheat power deck looks like:

Though it's not like anyone gives a damn about continuity or anything...