A man is sitting on a makeshift throne, in a fortified shelter just outside the city of Moscow. This man is Pyotr of Tver, one of the last Princes of the destroyed principality. The Principality of Tver was conquered by the Muscovites in 1485, and Pyotr, one of the last remnants of the royal family, continued to live in exile. His father had died shortly before his coming of age, and did not have the opportunity of seeing his ruined nation rise up from the ashes once more. 

Religious wars had been raging on in Europe due to the discovery of magic, which forced thousands of Germanic refugees to move to the new Muscovite state, which had been relatively in peace due to their lack of knowledge about magic. 

The Muscovites had reacted by outlawing magic outright, and claiming it was "unchristian" to practice it. Unlike the Muscovites, the Tverians, who were desperate, accepted the knowledge for themselves. Immediately afterwards, they begun the Tverian revolt.

The Muscovites, unprepared against fireballs with no source, gusts of wind that came as sharp as a knife, water that seemingly had no end, were completely pushed back. They soon adopted magic, but their inexperience with it clearly showed and they had little personnel capable of fully using the potential of Mana.

The Tverian Prince Pyotr, which he had crowned himself as, had been sieging down the Muscovite capital of Muscovy for a little over a year by now. He was reluctant to order a full on assault, as he had heard that an Elite force of mages existed in the Muscovite state, which were rumored to be stronger than even the strongest of Tverian mages.

Pyotr did not personally believe these rumors. He found it inconceivable that they could amass such great strength in such a short time, but his cabinet disagreed. They thought it was too dangerous to attempt something like this, which is why they had been in a year-long siege. 

Pyotr had been growing more frustrated by the day. He knew they had the advantage, but he could not do anything about it. Using his absolute powers in a time like this would be an easy way to lose support of the larger populace.

Suddenly, a knock on the door forced Pyotr away from his thoughts. 

"Come in." he commanded in an assertive tone.

A relatively old man, who was one of the Germanic refugees entered the room.

"Good evening, my lord." 

"Ah, Friedrich. How do you do?"

"I appreciate your concern, my lord. I have news."

Pyotr had not heard anything major in a while, as such he was interested. Friedrich spoke once more,

"The siege is going as expected, however we have encountered a few complications with our men. They continue to fear the Three Mages."

The Three Mages were what the Tverian force had started calling the rumored elite Muscovite force. There had only been three spotted that could be considered "elite", which is why the nickname was chosen.

"That nonsense again, is it not obvious that it is a ploy by our enemies to demoralise our troops?" Pyotr said in a tone that showed his frustration.

"I completely agree with you, my Lord, however it is also important to point out that ploys are not easy to see through. The cabinet has also continued to see through this ploy, which is why they intend to plead for you to stop the siege and be content with our gains."

Pyotr put down his fist in fury. "How can we be content when it is obvious the Muscovites will only get stronger in time?" 

Not losing his patience, Friedrich spoke. "I completely agree with you once again, my lord. However I fear the cabinet may attempt to overthrow you if they deem you as inadequate." 

Pyotr calmed down and creased his eyebrows, then grinned. "Let them try."

Three hours later, at exactly midnight. Pyotr was walking around the room, thinking about ways to circumvent the rumored "Three Mages" when suddenly he saw a figure on the window.

The man was wearing a cloak, with a sharp blade attached to his belt. He leaped into the room from the window, and spoke.

"Prince Pyotr, I presume?" 

"You would be correct, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" replied Pyotr, while drawing his blade from his waist.

"I am Vladimir, the strongest of the Four General Mages. I have come to slay you and take your head for the glory of our Kniaz."

So he is an assassin? thought Pyotr. 

Vladimir spoke again, "I will warn you, I am a Grade Four mage. Do not fall into the naive thought you might be able to defeat me." 

Pyotr grinned. "Grade Four? Is that truly the best you Muscovites can do?"

Vladimir replied, "What are you attempting to say?"

"I am a Grade Six mage."

Vladimir appeared unflinched, and then immediately went in for the attack. His blade cut through the air and slashed at Pyotr's face, which he dodged with great difficulty.

Although weaker as a mage, the assassin's skills as a swordsman were unparalleled. Pyotr was outmatched in terms of sword combat.

Pyotr used flame magic to light his sword ablaze and his eyes began to glow a deep red. The man, in response, used wind magic to send repeated gusts of wind at Pyotr. He dodged these with relative ease by moving to the side and lunged in for an attack.

Pyotr's and Vladimir's blades clashed in the air, after which Pyotr used his free hand to generate a fireball. Unprepared, Vladimir disengaged and barely dodged the flaming fist. 

"Got you." grinned Pyotr. Suddenly, a flaming spiral appeared around the assassin. He watched in shock as he was completely engulfed. Vladimir, in a panic, started sending out wind blasts, to no avail. 

What was left of Vladimir was a charred corpse. Pyotr sighed, and left his makeshift throne room. What he saw were his guards, completely unaware a battle had taken place, lounging around. 

"Deal with the corpse." he ordered. The guards rushed to quickly deal with the body, dumbfounded how they had missed such an event.

Using wind to silence the room.. heh, not bad. 

The next day, in the throne room. 

The advisory board had convened once more to discuss the siege, but this time, it was called by Pyotr. 

Pyotr, sitting in his throne, made a declaration.

"We will begin an assault on the city." 

There was an audible gasp in the room. The cabinet was obviously shocked at the rash actions of the prince. One older man with yellow hair spoke up first,

"My Lord, that is simply impossible. We are currently unaware of their forces - additionally there are the Three-" 

"The Three Mages are nothing but a facade. I was attacked by one just yesterday." Pyotr cut the man off. "They are called the Four General Mages, and their strongest was a Grade 4 mage." 

Whispering started in the room. In the ruckus, a young man asked for permission to speak, which Pyotr gave.

"Your highness, how are you certain they were a member of the Four General Mages?"

"I am not," Pyotr spoke assertively. "However, he had better swordsmanship skills than most currently in our military. I was considered a prodigy in my childhood, and even with that, he far outclassed me. I find him a far too valuable pawn to sacrifice for an idiotic mission such as this, unless their intention was not to mislead but to truly assassinate me."

The room went silent. More and more started agreeing with the Prince's opinion, until a majority was achieved in the meeting.

A mere five hours later, the offensive began. The result was an absolute slaughter.

The Muscovites were caught off guard. The many fire spells easily demolished the walls of the city and the Tverian troops flooded in. Within two hours, the city garrison had completely surrendered.

The Grand Principality of Muscovy had been crushed, and the Tverians stood victorious. 

Pyotr declared himself King of Tveria, and the Kingdom was officially established. The Kingdom would continue to dominate the region for years to come, eventually becoming an Empire.

The Professor finally finished his explanation on the history of Tveria. I looked around and saw that most of the class had fallen asleep, including Meran sitting on my right. William on my left was paying close attention, which I found neat.

Well, I found it pretty interesting. You guys are missing out. I thought to myself.