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SCL Chapter 98: The Spark in Styrling
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 16:03:06 +0000 UTCIn March of 2489, in the city of Styrling on Korhal IV, the politicians inside the municipal hall—along with the financial giants of Victoria District and the influential nobles—could sense that the political winds were shifting. Ambitious figures sought to rise amid the chaos, while nobles and tycoons concerned with their own survival were looking to flee to private estates far from Korhal.
Self-proclaimed members of the 'Korhal Independence Party' began appearing across city squares, parks, stadiums, maglev train stations, and in every public space and rural street corner. Their political demands rapidly gained traction among the general population, with vocal support from a faction of politicians and newly risen nobility—chief among them, Senator Angus Mengsk.
Spontaneously, these revolutionaries formed a militia—an organization whose numbers and strength swelled at astonishing speed. They recruited people from all walks of life and social classes: passionate youth, idealists, and even members of gangs and underground syndicates.
It was as if, overnight, the presence of these revolutionaries had become ubiquitous. They gave rousing speeches in public and handed out pamphlets openly—dozens of them—each filled with lofty political ideals. These leaflets declared a vision: to make Korhal truly independent, and to return the sacred rights that originally belonged to the people.
Chaos soon followed. Revolutionaries began storming the speaking venues of senators who disagreed with Angus’s views—bombarding them with rotten eggs, tomatoes, or disruptive noise to embarrass and force them off the stage. Just days prior, rumors had spread of one senator suffering multiple broken ribs after being assaulted by an angry, unidentified mob.
Massive IAA holographic billboards across skyscrapers and commercial hubs now looped footage of Angus Mengsk delivering fiery speeches with clenched fists. Even the local UNN branch office in Styrling had begun reporting on Angus’s rhetoric.
At the center of it all sat Augustus, the mastermind behind this entire operation. In the underground headquarters of the Korhal Revolutionary Army, he sat signing documents while sipping strong coffee. After several days of relentless work, Augustus had been surviving on just four hours of sleep per day. His pale complexion and dark under-eye circles made him look haggard and worn.
It was the morning of March 18. After working through the night, Augustus suddenly set down his pen and reclined fully into his office chair, letting himself go limp for a moment of rest.
By the time he awoke again, Lisa Cassidy was standing behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. Her amber-blonde hair tickled his nose, making it itch slightly.
“Have Yelrud write a few more drafts reaffirming the importance of Korhal IV’s independence. Our bottom line is clear: we want this planet to become a permanently autonomous dominion and a neutral state that never takes part in war,” Augustus said without turning around. “And tell Chopinque, the deputy editor at UNN, to rewrite that speech highlighting the superiority of democratic systems.”
“Where’s Jim right now?” he added.
“Jim’s in New Amsterdam, the port city in the southern hemisphere,” Lisa replied. “He’s receiving training from Umojan National Guard instructors—you sent him there the day before yesterday. Tychus went with him, too—he heard there were profits to be made.”
“I thought that was yesterday,” Augustus murmured, thinking back. “Jim wants to captain a big ship—and I’m fine with that. But he still doesn’t understand what all those indicator buttons and signals mean on a battlecruiser’s bridge. A captain doesn’t have to know how to pilot the vessel, but I think Jim should at least learn the basics.”
“He’s smart—he picks things up quickly. But I don’t want him to be half-baked forever.”
“He’s thrilled,” Lisa said, “especially since you gave him command of the newly formed Rangers Squadron. Most of the pilots in that air unit are foreign nationals, with Masarans and Shyloans making up the majority.”
“I came up with that squadron’s name myself,” Augustus said with a faint smile.
“I just don’t have enough trustworthy people,” he continued. “Leaving the unit under Umojan officers isn’t a long-term solution. Promoting someone straight from the lower ranks is too hasty, too. A lot of folks think it’s absurd to have a sergeant command a fleet—but honestly, he’s the best I’ve got.”
“One day, they’ll understand. Korhal’s sergeants are nothing like the rest.”
“As for Tychus,” Augustus sighed in frustration, “let’s just forget it. I’ve given up expecting him to contribute meaningfully. I’ll be grateful if he doesn’t cause trouble.”
Perhaps the only things Tychus truly cared about were eating, drinking, and having fun. Aside from that, only the thrill of blowing enemies apart could stir even a flicker of passion in him.
“Lundstein has officially taken command of the 1st Division of the Styrling Revolutionary Army. Ryk arrived at the 2nd Division headquarters earlier today. Harnack secured command of the provisional Firebat 1st Regiment by beating up anyone who challenged him. Zander’s 3rd Division is currently assembling on East Greenland, the largest island on the west coast. Connor is overseeing construction progress at the land-based missile site southeast of Styrling,” Lisa reported to Augustus.
“The funds we acquired from Meinhoff have been allocated to form the first Goliath mech unit. Of course, for now, we only have two training models—both acquired from the Turaxis gang. Currently, the nominal commander of this unit is Rory Swann.”
“Everything is falling into place,” Augustus nodded. “None of them are graduates of a military academy. Some have never even commanded others before. But compared to those with nothing but hot-blooded enthusiasm, Jim and the others have at least experienced real war. Give them time—they’ll learn to stand on their own.”
“Anything else?” Augustus rubbed his temples, which were beginning to throb. “Ah, right—there’s still the matter of rebuilding the political party.”
“The new party will be called the Pan-Terran National Unity Front. Our ultimate goal is to unite all broad, loosely defined ethnic Terrans—including those from Tarsonis—into a federal republic. In the present, our immediate mission is to lead the revolution toward Korhal’s independence through a party built on shared ideology and purpose, and to overthrow the tyrannical rule of the Confederacy.”
“The new party will take professional revolutionaries as its vanguard. It will maintain a tightly structured organization with strict discipline, and it will establish institutions for thorough vetting and rooting out traitors. We will only admit ideologically advanced individuals—and only these individuals will form our core.”
“I’ve already drafted the new party’s platform and constitution. Contact the publishers of physical books and have them immediately begin printing the works of progressive revolutionaries like Mark—including ‘What Is Our Task?’, ‘Who Are the Friends of the People?’, ‘The Life of Angus Mengsk’, ‘On Democracy’, and ‘Korhal! Korhal!’”
“Understood. I’ll contact the Ministry of Propaganda and the Independent Party Committee right away,” Lisa said as she prepared to leave.
“Wait.” Augustus stopped her just as she turned to go. “Tell them to intensify the propaganda campaign.”
“Revolutionary April is nearly here.”
...
April 1st, 2489. It was a bright, sunny day in Styrling, capital of Korhal IV. Not exactly an auspicious date—but revolutions don’t wait for lucky omens.
The marble road stretching from Martial Field to the Palatine Forum was known as the Senators' Parade. In times past, Augustus's ancestors had walked this very path, clad in heavy crimson robes, on their way to uphold justice and reason in the heart of the senate.
Back then, it was principled and upright senators—wearing the same red robes as Angus once had—who stood in the Senate Hall, arguing passionately over legislation. Their audience had been the people themselves. Now, the ones listening to speeches were dressed in lavish finery—the elite and powerful.
To maintain order, Augustus had requisitioned a training camp originally built for the Korhal Defense Forces. After being won over by the revolutionaries, the young soldiers there now answered to him. Clad in brown military uniforms and armed with Gauss rifles, they lined both sides of the Senators' Parade, forming a human wall to hold back the surging crowd.
Angus’s supporters had come from across the planet. The fervent masses carried banners that read “Independence for Korhal IV!” and “Angus Mengsk: Hero of the People!” Flags of crimson bearing the golden wolf-head sigil—the emblem of House Mengsk—waved in the air.
At that moment, Augustus stood a few dozen metres behind his father, closely following in his footsteps. He wore a dark gray militia officer’s uniform, its broad epaulettes adorned with golden wheat motifs. Standing beside him was Colonel Achton Feld of the Revolutionary Army. His hawk-like eyes scanned the dense crowd with vigilance.
“Clear the way! Let me stand among my people!” Angus Mengsk called out with a warm and earnest smile. His voice rang through the broadcast speakers of dozens of Umojan armed drones hovering overhead.
The crowd erupted into even louder cheers, so much so that Augustus was forced to dispatch additional troops to keep the crowd in check.
“He’s more popular than any superstar,” Augustus murmured, glancing toward the towering skyscrapers farther down the road.
“That’s the charisma of a true statesman,” Achton replied. “If the Confederacy hadn’t relentlessly bled Korhal dry—if their chaotic, corrupt government hadn’t lost all credibility—the calls for reform wouldn’t be this loud. The Confederacy has created its own worst enemy.”
“Very few senators showed up today,” Augustus noted. His earpiece was constantly feeding him updates from surveillance points and from commanders of the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 1st Brigade, 1st Division of the Revolutionary Army, all secretly assembled.
“Lennox Craven is one of them—he’s holding position inside the Senate Chamber. Out of one hundred senators, only thirty-seven have arrived, and just eleven of them support Angus.”
“There are no guards stationed at the Senate Hall—no sentries posted. The early senators, as pioneers, had insisted that soldiers should never stand between them and the people.”
At that moment, Angus stepped onto the black-and-gold marble steps of the Palatine Forum. Turning to face the crowd, he began his speech with practiced ease and stirring conviction.
