A Battle Unseen

[Dredd]

[Pravda, Kaesama, February 5665]

Ludvík read the newspapers regarding his address. He smirked to himself in his cigarettes dim glow at his father being quote, "The picture of health". Ludvík knew full well of his fathers chain smoking, drinking habits, and appetites. Ludvík thankfully had quit smoking after the war, and swore off drinking after a drunken stupor of a bar fight in Lirnak. He was the only one who could bring Kundrati to greatness, all the lackeys in the Politburo who whooped and hollered in empty hearts for the presidents speeches, only to turn around and enjoy a night at home with a prostitute while their wife was away with some illicit drugs. The moral decay of the nation was rotting its foundations from within. His father was a hero in the eyes of many; He had done much to recover the economy with the so called "free market", repaired much of the post war infrastructure and housing, gave power and water to millions. But a nation no matter how wealthy fiscally can never truly succeed if it is morally bankrupt. Ludvík had championed the new kuno, backed by the bullion and bond notes, which were finally beginning to show returns after the abrupt and difficult transition. Kundratis purchasing power domestically was now far more powerful, damned be the foreign economies of the corrupt demagogues and "democracy makers". The people needed a true free economy, and a currency backed by real tangible assets, not wantonly determined rates set by speculators and pencil pushers a continent away. Ludvík had great ambitions for Kundrati, to finally be a power feared again, to be a power that instead of receiving aid from the world sends it out once more, to plant its grip firmly in Artania and defy Luthorian dominance.

Ludvík sighed to himself in a bit of sadness, he knew his father was unlikely to live from the ordeal. In the months prior like one smells the rain before a storm he could read the signs of his fathers declining health, he'd already forgotten his wife's name on multiple occasions and begun having tremors. He was already imagining the state funeral with bugles and drums, but this was not a time for melancholy. His father was strong, he had fought in Legionaria, killed invaders and destroyed machines of war, there would come a time for mourning and reflection.

But now the time was coming for the separation of the wheat from the chaff, and above the heads of 50 million people united, a scythe swept forth as a unified voice cried out in Ludvík's vision;

Glory to Kundrati!