0723 HOURS.
SATURDAY, 20 AUTUMNSUS 1441.
GLACIES, YONDEL.
“WHAT IS YOUR OBJECTIVE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? Do you trust those that have enlisted you; for they made you a Holy Knight. The difference is choice. I work not for me, but the people, can you say the same?”
Senator Orpheus stood witness to what was supposed to be the magic evaluation of the Holy Knights. Instead, he was granted to see the combat prowess and tactics of the Holy Knights. It was unprecedented, and he took advantage of the confusion that followed the Rangers as they wandered free of the dome that held them with the Reavers. He approached the youngest of all the Holy Knights—a man named Jacob Green—and he looked deep into the man’s hazel eyes determined to understand what laid behind the uniform and weapons.
Long before he could receive an answer, the Rangers had quickly escorted the princess from the Throne Room as the Royal Guard took over security within the space securing the present members of the royal family. The senator watched the men disappear out the grand doors only to be replaced by the sight of mages from the engineering corps brought in to repair the throne room. Within minutes their subclassification of Earth magic repaired the throne room to its prior state, leaving those that had never seen their handy work aghast.
Surrounded by the Holy Knights as they slowed their pace down the western wing of the capital, Lecca found her mind and heart calming, “Captain, I no longer require an escort—”
“I know--Don’t want to hear it!” Oliver retorted, “Let’s not just ignore the fact that—well whatever that was—tried to kill you, the king, and all of us!”
Oliver had slowed down his men to a crawl as they entered slowly entered a small foyer adjacent to the west wing mess hall. “Alright double check yourselves!” Andrew called out as the men slowly rested around the foyer as a group of Knights and Royal Guardsmen exited the mess hall. They stood in a large circle around the space as the kingdom’s uniformed men quickly vacated the area with only a few of the more curious, younger men sparing any greetings for the Rangers.
Anthony let out a heavy sigh as he slunk against the wall behind him. His eyes flicked to his rifle before he flicked his thumb downwards, “So what the hell was that?”
Oliver looked at the corporal, “Doesn’t matter. Are we all good?”
The demolitions Ranger looked to his left and right at his fellow shooters, “Nah, we’re good.”
Oliver let out a sigh, “Just double check yourselves.” There would be no guarantee that no one in his squadron wasn’t injured without having his men go through an extensive triage process. And the last thing he wanted to do was drag out this event more than necessary. If anything, the captain would compromise on observing his men with his lieutenant to ensure they weren’t dead by the end of the day.
Resting his head on the wall beside him, Oliver stared at the corporal as he opened his grenade launcher to remove the smoke projectile inside.
The last thing he needed was a casualty.
0930 HOURS.
SATURDAY, 20 AUTUMNSUS 1441.
GLACIES, YONDEL.
HIS BODY ACHED FROM THE PAST HOUR.
Mike had begun his new routine the day prior: Wake up, eat, work out, study, rest, and sleep. It was contained and simple enough to allow altercations to the ever-evolving plan of the day that was given by his captain in conjecture with Princess Lecca-Maradel and the king. It was by chance when he woke up this morning that he discovered a magical contraption—similar in function to a clothes washer—that he could use post workout. He wasn’t wholly confident in his skills to use a simple bucket of water and soap to thoroughly clean his gear and clothes, so this was an appreciated discovery. After the engagement with the Reavers, Mike found it to be a personable need to maintain his level of fitness offered by being within the 75th Ranger Regiment. As much as he would like to take a week to relax from grueling training and spend his time in awe at this world, to let his body and mind slip would kill him down the line. Thus, he was here in this isolated field near the castle doing bodyweight exercises and cardio. In true fashion the equipment offered by a society reminiscent of the old German Empires with Knights and Kings didn’t supplement what he needed as a modern-day soldier.
In those terms I would rather do this than carry a bucket of rocks on my shoulder, he told himself as he completed his second set of pushups.
“You need to take it easy, Mike. I saw you up all night the other day sticking your face into that book.” Sergeant Malkovich had told him off in the morning when he was slowly piecing himself together. His reasoning had left Mike feeling unsure of what he was doing; for his fireteam he had relegated to them recovering from Pakistan while pushing them to slowly adapt to the new environment of Yondel. It was ultimately his choice to remain a hard charger to provide enough morale through his actions that his men wouldn’t get caught up in any politics or unnecessary fights.
Upon reaching the final pushup, Mike was already at 60 in total for the day. His arms were burning, and he felt slightly weak. A smile cracked on his lips as he kept himself suspended in the air after the final push up, and in one swift motion he hopped from the ground and caught his breath as beads of sweat ran down the side of his face.
Along the two-mile stretch that he had ran and worked out on, there was a point of interest that caught the sergeant’s attention. Under the humbling blue skies and the scorching orange hue of the sun, a large cemetery that was as grand as Arlington National Cemetery. Rows and collum’s of stone headstones panned for what felt like over a mile, and from where he stood, Mike couldn’t see the end of the gate that surrounded and protected the fallen.
Mike felt his expression fall as he stared at the cemetery. Looking down at the watch on his left wrist, he let out a sigh as he continued to run back to the castle…
…Now with the interest of revisiting the cemetery.
1040 HOURS.
SATURDAY, 20 AUTUMNSUS 1441.
THE FIRST WAR CEMETERY, GLACIES, YONDEL.
LECCA-MARADEL EMMA ARISH MOURNED.
It was a need that calmed her heart and spirit. Below the humbling blue skies, she clasped her hands together and prayed to Mother Juna, the Goddess that protected humanity and most importantly her kingdom. Her head lowered to the gravestone in front of her as her escort, nothing more than Captain Orwell, waited silently by her side somber ling looking upon the grave.
“I’d never thought that they would reinstate you.” Orwell coughed into his hand violently as a wad of spit grew in the back of his throat.
Lecca gently opened her eyes as she looked at the base of the grave. Unlike the other tombstones that surrounded her, the grass around this grave was unkempt and growing wildly. It had remained barren as time and nature overtook the manmade structure. She finished her prayer and reached out her hand to a pile of sand in a small glass case. The grains slipped between her fingers; it felt as soft as silk, and as coarse as grinding her teeth together.
Spitting into the sand, Lecca took a handful and violently smudged it into the name that was carved into the stone.
THE FORGOTTEN HERO OF THE KINGDOM. MAY HIS SPIRIT LIVE FOR EONS. FONS 1427.
Orwell placed a hand on her head as he gently patted it, “I’m sure he’s proud as well.”
The captain heard the shifting of the gravel path well before their new visitor. The captain straightened himself as he withdrew the short sword on his left hip. With two steps he turned around and tilted the point of the blade at the man before him. “I knew you would visit this place.” He calmly said with a thunderous laugh. A Holy Knight watched him silently as he adjusted his uniform. Mike Randall was his name, and Orwell had taken an interest to this sergeant. He was one of few chosen by mother Juna, and he was brought to this world as a Holy Knight. Unlike the heroes of past, he was nothing more than a soldier. Mike was a spitting image of his younger years, long before he had sunken into irrelevance by the revolution. And once more history would change from his mere presence—their presence—not even the Demon Lord could understand what the king had brought upon this plain of exitance.
“I was expected?” Mike asked trying to look around the captain.
“For me, no. However, we all knew that you would find yourself pulled to this place,” Orwell explained. He straightened his blade before swiftly raising it into the air and dropping the point into the scabbard. “Magicians from the Military Academy have a common history of utilizing special clairvoyance magic that provide insight to a man’s future.”
Lecca-Maradel gently rose from the ground. She faced the two men brushing a hand through the silver hair that had fallen loose from the late autumn wind. “And what does that mean, captain?” Her sudden brash attitude wasn’t unfounded or something that was a surprise to Orwell, already noticed that she had been slowly adopting the same deposition that the Rangers had been conducting themselves in.
“This tomb belongs to a king,” Orwell began as he marched over to the grave. “Burials for such prominent figures of government are carried out with the upmost respect and curtesy. And when I look at this headstone, the marks of war and vengeance tearing away at the name of a former monarch, a hero to the people. What reservations they hold against us, I do not know. What I saw when we were summoned to control those mages: Mike Randall, what is it you desire?”
Mike chose not to response as he approached the grave. Orwell stepped to the side as the sergeant knelt just before the king. Princess Lecca-Maradel moved to his left and knelt just behind him, silently watching, waiting for the Ranger to pay his respects.
Staring at the inscribed writing on the stone, Mike lowered his head. May God give you mercy, he silently said. Reaching out a single hand to the tombstone, he rubbed his calloused hand against the cold, jagged stone. Despite the early day cold a burning sensation kissed Mike’s fingertips making him flinch from the sudden heat that scorched his skin. Jerking his hand away, the sergeant turned over his palm and stared at the steam that escaped from his fingertips.
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“Mana resides in all matter. It predominantly is found in life,” Orwell smiled, amused by Mike’s reaction. “The failure to call upon such a gift is not uncommon amongst Holy Knights. There is recorded history of only heroes—those with Mother Juna’s blessings—that were able to harness the true power of this world.”
Mike shook his head, “Being blessed has nothing to do with magic. I would consider my life a blessing, God has offered me that much.”
“Life is a blessing, no matter who holds such life.”
Turning his head to the princess on his left, the two locked eyes. Golden light shined upon her face casting miniscule shadows from the silver strands of hair that fluttered in the wind. She closed her eyes hiding the brown iris from the world. Both arms hugged her body as the brown shawl over her shoulders fought against the wind, daring to keep her body warm in the months that would lead to winter.
Upon opening her eyes Lecca stared at the Ranger before her. Unlike all the other encounters, this soldier had remained barren of any of his armor, weapons, and gear. He was in his most bare state, nothing more than the uniform he arrived in; a simple pair of trousers and a form fitting combat shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Is it comfort? She questioned, not knowing what was going through the man’s mind as he returned his gaze to the tombstone.
“Mike, have you chosen isolation to cope with loss?” Her voice was soft, and it addressed him in a kind manner. Turning around and looking up, all the sergeant could focus on was the silver hair that was fluttering in the wind when he stood up and turned away from the grave. Princess Lecca-Maradel was hovering over him resting her hands on the grey skirt she wore. Her pale face was glowing in the sun’s golden rays. Mike was unfamiliar with the concept of a young woman having silver-hair with pristine skin. Silver hair was always associated with age rather than a characteristic of someone like a princess. He had surmised that she had a condition that affected her hair color, but the realization that the princess had fully adopted what had happened to her painted a portrait that no one could simply put down on a canvas.
Her shining eyes fluttered to the side as she stood up and faced the distant graveyard. A mark of hesitation and somber overtook her lips as they twitched into a miniscule frown. Mike remained in place wondering if she had been watching him the whole time as he partly cleaned the marred gravestone of a former king. It made him wonder the truth of her connection to the throne and the current king. All his fellow Rangers had silently acknowledged it, but her family name did not match that of the current king. Was she the daughter of a disposed king? Or was she an illegitimate child that was recognized by the state as the First-Born Princess? He asked to himself. To question anything didn’t matter. All he had was the faith and trust that whatever was to come she the princess would lead them in honor and truth.
“Apologies Princess Lecca, I tend to be a loner, but I can assure you that it isn’t this bad.” He said with a smile threatening to tear at his lips, “Sometimes, it’s good to be alone. In our line of work, we can’t risk letting those under us see what happens when we break.”
“I know,” she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, before letting it drift to brush his face. “Our losses do not define us but are a part of us. The living carry their memories.”
Mike didn’t move as his body tensed from the sudden cold hand lovingly brushing over his face.
“You’re good that, Lecca.”
The adorable giggle she made was more than enough to tear through the tense ice that Mike had raised. He still found it odd that a member of royalty was casually conversing with him. As she slowly removed her hand his mind calmed, and he allowed his body to lower its guard. Putting on a curious gaze, Lecca tilted her head and gazed up towards Mike clasping her hands in front of her. “How so?”
You’re just like her… Mike thought as he cracked a small smile, opting to remain silent to the princess’s inquiry. “It’s a compliment, there’s no need for an explanation.”
“Tell me—” Lecca found it hard to speak, “What do you see in this world?”
Looking to the gravestone below him, he was slow to answer, “We’re soldiers tasked with preventing a war. Inherently that goes against what one would call a soldier. Your kingdom doesn’t see us as anything other than force multipliers. And it would be best for you all to remember that we just came from our own war. We’re just humans here—and we don’t know a damn thing about this world. But here we are, nothing more than remaining within our identities as Rangers.”
Lecca let him finish his thoughts, wanting to know everything that was contained in his mind.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. The others don’t know. We’re not on Earth anymore. Survival is all we care about, but we’ll do some good where we can. Hopefully your people, this world helps us.” He pointed a finger gun in the air as he shot a wink to the princess, “Take it this way: If this Demon Lord is real—and we can’t return home—then I’ll be the one to put a bullet in his skull.”
An adorable giggle escaped Lecca as she turned tow walk away from the tombstone. Mike was right in his own way, in how the Rangers would handle this unique responsibility. An observation alone wouldn’t suffice the justice that the men were already having on this world. Forgoing the weapons and gear that they were beyond proficient in, the presence of the men alone changed the status quo. Her kingdom’s muskets were prototypes that were slowly being passed on to specialty units for testing and limited use, while the weapons that she saw the Holy Knights using the refined and industrialized “rifles” to a proficient extent that outpaced anything that her nation could offer within the next 50 years. She had seen them fight, only once, but her confidence in cooperating with local units gave her enough confidence that she would be able to lead them and survive the coming war. Was such confidence shared amongst her peers?
“Princess Arish! Holy Knight Randall!” A young man with blonde hair and loose clothing trotted through the grassy hill and reached the top. He was a messenger, and it was clear he was in a rush due to his heavy breathing and panic-stricken face, “Knight Orwell has called for you both! You are to meet them at the training command post!”
“Both of us?” Mike stared at the boy as he raised himself from the grass. He towered over the poor lad as he stood tall well at six feet. Turning back to Lecca, the sergeant extended his hand to the silver haired maiden and flashed a kind smile. “Lead the way?”
The princess stared at his hand. Her eyes softened as she gently placed her hand ahead, “Of course, follow me.”
1100 HOURS.
SATURDAY, 20 AUTUMNSUS 1441.
GLACIES, YONDEL.
“Captain Thompson, is it? Your men’s tenacity is something I have not seen before, when faced with a foe such as the Reavers,” King Aldrich spoke slowly as he stared at the captain and his lieutenant from the sole desk in his study. “One out of 300 have driven away the threat of Reavers—Holy Knights are no exception—but you all have. You are one of the few. Reavers are judges and executioners of this realm. This subset of Holy Knights has eliminated them.”
“My Rangers aren’t used to fighting spirits, or these things called Reavers. We’ll treat them like we do any of our enemies at home,” Oliver grimaced as he crossed his arms at the king.
“Each took five-to-seven to put them out of action. That was a SNAFU at best,” Lieutenant Andrew jumped into the conversation. “Even if those Reavers seem to have no form of armor, I don’t know if we can maintain a sustained engagement with them. And if that is the standard for this world, then we’re going to have issues fighting this, ‘Demon Lord’.”
Aldrich looked out of the corner of his eye; the guards and knights around remained tense. The lieutenant had a point, there was little they could do with their otherworldly technology against such a threat. Since his men couldn’t stand against such a foe, he couldn’t expect these Holy Knights to be willing to stand against the world’s executioner. Asking these men to fight Reavers was a bold task, but that was not why they were here. Even if the Demon Lord were to stand as much of a threat as the Reavers, he had little doubt that his plan to utilize the Holy Knights would fail. He didn’t during the revolution. It was hard to believe that he had fought for this kingdom’s future and here he was asking soldiers not from a foreign nation, but from an alternate world to fight his wars for him. He had worn a uniform for so many years and now to wear royal garbs was something he was struggling to adjust to. He and his party had won the war and even fifteen years after they had won the same questions repeated in his mind: Had they truly won? Had anything truly changed? They had eliminated pieces on the board, moved others, and added new players. There was a price to maintain society as it was built during the old ages. There was something, and invisible power, always watching, waiting, searching for an opportunity to test the kingdom’s persistence and endurance.
He was no longer a revolutionary. The deck of cards placed before him would determine the survival of Yondel, and if he made the wrong choice, the wrong decision, thousands would die if they breached the inner nations beyond his own. The kingdom was a barrier between the untamed, unknown Frontier and modern society as it had been built. Only one nation long ago had dared to rise in these treacherous lands, yet they were destroyed long ago. Part of him believed he had barked up the wrong tree; the increase reports and sightings of Demons and Monsters was abnormal, and the sudden appearance of a witch within castle grounds gave him reason to raise the alert level of all forces under his command. Idealism and thoughts would only get him so far in this world.
“You made mention of it before, sir: Your intentions are to use us against some Demon Lord, and now we’re to be operational under the command of Princess Lecca. Not that we have any intentions of resisting—but how can you assure that our needs will be met and that we’ll take on such a threat?” Oliver inquired unsure what he was supposed to believe, and where he was to place his trust.
King Aldrich smile, “Did the princess not throw herself at the Reavers?”
“She did. It was a way for taking responsibility for what happened, isn’t it?” Oliver stared down the king.
“Much like the trust that you seek to place in her, my men have been watching your men for much the same,” The king took the tea sitting in front of him and poured himself a glass. “There are divisions within the Royal Army and Navy that question the authority and capabilities of these Holy Knights. They insist that a practical examination be held and recorded for further study and review.”
Political gain? Oliver felt his eyes shift away from the king. What is it you want?
With a simple flick of his wrist, the King casted a simple wind skill that manipulated hundreds of skulls and sheets of paper from the towering shelves around the study and from his desk. His eyes were hidden by a sudden glaze of green as his magic permeated the room making the two officers present feel lightheaded from the expel of pure energy. Lieutenant Andrew seemed shocked by the sudden display as he looked around the room in wonder, yet Oliver remained in place, not opting to release control over the agitation that was building.
“Take your time coming to know this place, captain.” The king said as the hundreds of objects organized themselves into different shelves, and a single sheet of paper laid flat on his desk. As his eyes broke through the hue of green and expelled the magical energy, he let out a soft chuckle, “Even with the things you have yet to understand in this world, you Holy Knights are just as a mystery as the Reavers and Architects.”
Oliver took a helpful pause to collection his thoughts, “You’ve already gave us the information package for the event—Sergeant Malkovich has it—so, if that’s all, we’ll be taking our leave, sir.”
With the door to the study opening, Andrew grasped the holster on his hip as he turned to face whoever had entered without calling out their name. “Captain Orwell, right?” He suddenly said releasing his hand and placing the lock back onto safe. Oliver watched the lieutenant with a calm gaze as he relaxed his arm as the fore mentioned captain and two other men entered the room, reaching the center and saluting the king by placing a clenched fist at the right side of their chest and standing at attention.
“Captain,” upon the king silently putting them at ease, Orwell addressed the Ranger with a miniscule smile.
“I heard from Malkovich when he spoke to the princess, you and Lecca ran into Mike earlier?” Oliver asked letting the natural stand off between he and his kingdom counterpart run its course.
“They were summoned for the training event happening tomorrow. It was the briefing that you were also invited to,” Orwell said before looking at the king, “At least until you were summoned by King Aldrich.”
“My apologies, Captain Thompson.” The king raised a hand with a weak smile.
“They’ll fill me in later, but do you think you can help out?” Oliver asked Orwell.
“Naturally,” the Royal Army Captain responded.
“Alright then, lieutenant, get the guys and have them meet me back at the room,” Oliver patted Andrew on the shoulder.
“Roger that, sir.” Andrew said as he turned around to leave.
“Captain Thompson, Lieutenant Devlin,” The king stopped the men. “For your information the Grand Harbinger of the Army has taken an interest in you all. I expect he will not want to be disappointed by tomorrow’s evaluation.”
Publicly Available Information: Chain of Command:
In the Kingdom of Yondel, the Knight organization act as leaders, while common folk make up much of the army. The Royal family act as both military and civilian leaders overseeing all operations both foreign and domestic, while the royal court designate both resources and funds to the people and military.
Executive line of succession:
- King Aldrich Spell Shald-Derecht
- Crown Prince William Shald-Derecht
- Queen Juna Shald-Derecht
- Head of Royal Court, Alexander Von Lockhart
- Head of the Army, Michael Falkner
- Head of the Navy, Waterer Harold
- Grand Harbinger, Julius Zane
- Grand Harbinger, Udine Oliver
- Grand Edict, Harkolo Milline
- Princess, Lecca-Maradel Emma Airish
