Long Live Politzania
As the war continued to rage on, the Politzanian populace continued to dwindle. A few of the decidedly defective defectors departed for the enemy’s territory and those who remained that the leader believed questioned his laws or who were secret harborers of doubt were… disposed of. As such, the leader - in his forty-eighth year - found trust in what had become a rather small pool of an inner circle.
He saw how all those whom he trusted had - in some way or another - had betrayed him, had conspired, and had deceived him. Though it had pained him, he found no other option but to cull the culprits. To him, every commander had become a spy, every loyal servant a traitor, and every bridge made bound to be burned.
A small price to pay for victory, he thought, as he commanded the removal of the tenacious few who decided to confront his authority. With his well-amassed army of soldiers - most of which had been mentally reprocessed - he had managed to eliminate every last remaining threat he could reach. However, it all began to go awry when the senseless soldiers, having had their mental capacities rewired, began to perceive their fellow comrades as immediate threats, reducing one another to rubble and ash, just as he had done to his closest confidants whom he considered conspirators against his new order.
Soon, with Politzania posing a laughably low threat to the enemy, the last and so were quickly quelled.
