06:00 HOURS.

  TUESDAY, 31 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  GLACIES, YONDEL.

  SERGEANT MALKOVICH WAITED.

  Mike had arrived right at the turn of the hour. Other than the trousers and thin BDU undershirt he wore, the sergeant fought against the cold, rainy morning. Malkovich rested at one of the hundreds of windows that littered the castle. He huffed out a cloud of smoke from a Cuban cigar that he always smuggled with him no matter where he went. His calloused fingers rubbed over the coarse texture, and his brown eyes remained fixed on the amber dots at the end of his cigar.

  “Mike.” The sergeant greeted.

  “Malk.” Mike nodded his head.

  Withdrawing the carton of cigars he had, Malkovich offered one. Mike nudged his head and held up a flat palm, “I don’t smoke.”

  Malkovich showed a toothy grin, “Suit yourself. More for me.”

  As they sat in silence the natural progression for what Malkovich called Mike to this window for came up after he took another drag from his cigar. “Have you synced up with your guys since we got back?” Malkovich said as he tapped the end of his cigar, letting the embers fall to the training grounds two stories down.

  “Bishmark—yeah—Green’s holding up alright, and the corporal is fine as always, but I can’t get a bead on Simon.” Mike said crossing his arms and leaning against the window frame. Besides, we’ve seen shit like that before. If anything, we’ll be alright in the long term, he thought leaving it unsaid.

  “Same here for the most part,” Malkovich admitted with a long sigh. “It took me a bit to get the captain to talk though. He’s been shouldering a lot of what we’ve had to deal with since those fuckers brought us here.”

  “Old Ollie holding alright?”

  Malkovich leaned further into the window. Another drag of his cigar was his way of displaying his contemplation over what he would respond to Mike with. “He’s just growing tired of being the middleman between us and the kingdom.” He let out a violent cough making Mike arch an eyebrow as he mustered up a ball of spit and shooting it out the window, “—And the princess? That was her first instance of direct combat, wasn’t it?”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders as he racked his brain to think about Lecca-Maradel. “I’m not sure. We don’t know much about each other besides anything on the surface. She’s alright from what it seems, I don’t think she’s taking it any harder than any of us. If anything, we should be more worried about those knights we found.”

  Malkovich stopped himself from taking a fourth drag from his cigar. He slowly raised his posture and tapped out more embers from his cigar, “Yeah. I get that.” Leaning out the window, the sergeant looked down at the surface below the window. His eyes darted around the dark exterior, and after a short observation he tossed the cigar bud out into the cold and rainy stone far below. As he brought himself back inside the castle and shook his left hand free of water, he tapped Mike on the shoulder as he began to walk down the hall.

  Standing slightly dumbfounded as he looked between the open window and the sergeant slowly walking down the hall. Fucking bastard… Mike hurriedly shut the glass pane before chasing after his fellow NCO. As they passed through the east wing, Malkovich shot a glance at the maids and butlers that littered the kitchen and dry-store area. They were preparing the morning meal for the royal family and the morning shift for the guardsmen. Stopping at a corner, Malkovich looked around with a sharp gaze. Mike waited patiently as he observed what the sergeant was doing: Malkovich was satisfied as he saw all the men and women present continued their work, he opened the door around the corner and entered a study that was typically occupied by Sailors that were on shore duty in the castle.

  Mike wasted no time letting his burning question fly, “Malk, what’s up? You seem off.”

  Slapping his hand down on the nearest chair, the sergeant set himself down in a tiny cubicle that was over encumbered by books, manuals, and technical sheets. “I can’t be the only one that’s been trying to put together everything we’ve been through here.”

  Mike became intrigued, “Indulge me.”

  “Alright: So, the first thing that I know everyone knows is that these people speak modern English. It’s convenient for us and what we do, but—” Malkovich picked up a book in front of him and opened it to a random page, “We can’t read shit. The language thing alone should be making us think that people from Earth—our world—have been brought here before and it’s the reason for them having certain interesting cultural items and technologies. Doughnuts, lightbulbs, prefabricated buildings, those musket shitass things.”

  Mike arched and eyebrow as he took a seat across from Malkovich, “You think someone else is here?”

  “Not even that. Think about when we first got here.” Malkovich said diverting the conversation.

  “The forest,” Mike leaned back in his seat, raising his left leg and pressing his boot into the edge of the table in front of him.

  “Clear as day,” Malkovich held up a single finger and tilted it towards Mike. “But everyone else apparently ended up in the chapel next to the castle.”

  “They said it was a spell.”

  Malkovich leaned forward as he seemed conflicted, “Mike—it wasn’t just—from LT they had some kind of conduit of unknown origin. He and Tech Sarnt’ Baker have been looking into it since we got here.”

  Mike took a moment to clear his head. Looking around the room, the sergeant watched the unmoving books and dust gathering on the shelves they laid on. Drifting his gaze to the right, he looked down at the door separating them from the corridor they once wandered. A still light was all he saw. “Is this confidential to us?”

  “If it is, they haven’t exactly stopped us.”

  As a disturbing expression grew on Mike’s face, he removed his foot from the desk and straightened himself in his chair. He had questions for Malkovich that had long answered themselves. The first discharge he heard when awakening in the forest; the sergeant across from him had discharged his weapon. The royal family that had lived before the current monarch; Princess Lecca-Maradel Emma Arish was the heir and sole survivor. And now the existence of an unknown entity or organization: Everyday a power struggle grew between all aspects of the standing government. If their goals aligned, the methods they used made them clash. For technologies of an unknown purpose or meaning were to fall into their hands a power imbalance would create a rift, and Pakistan would just be a simple lesson of history that was repeated.

  Mike reached out his hand letting his arm’s muscles contract and relax as he stretched the appendage.

  “Load and make ready.”

  Slamming a magazine into his handgun, Mike felt the burning sensation in his arm as he reached for the slide and racked it chambering a bullet.

  “Holster.” Captain Orwell said calmly. Watching the sergeant quickly tuck the pistol into the holster on his thigh he turned around to walk away, “If I had a computer in front of me your proficiency would’ve been marked off.”

  Mike was silent. As the captain walked out of their barracks room, he was left all alone as he walked over to his small bed. On top of the sheets laid the small pouch that he had tucked the dog tags he had collected from the tour in Pakistan. He knelt and reached out his hand and removed the clip that held it in place. He turned the pouch over and let the silver dog tags fall onto the crisp white sheets of his bed.

  The man’s face morphed from a collected expression to that of agony, confusion, and disturbance…

  …Slamming his fist into the bed, Mike let out a blood curdling scream.

  07:00 HOURS.

  TUESDAY, 31 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  EXTERIOR TRAINING FIELD, GLACIES, YONDEL.

  Stolen story; please report.

  JACOB GREEN STOOD BESIDE JONAH SIMON. Both men had come to this place that was all but abandoned by the military and security forces that lived within the capital. This place had been discovered by Corporal Anthony a week prior in his pursuit to discover a new gun range that they could use to sight in their weapons and on the rarest occasion, send rounds down range to maintain any form of proficiency they could get from firing their weapons. This time however, they were not alone. Along with Captain Orwell, Ariel, and Sergeant Malkovich acting as their advisor, Senator Orpheus had made an appearance to watch as they men trained.

  Resting on a small tree, the young girl amongst the group lifted her head towards the sun.

  Ariel was not a citizen of this kingdom. She belonged to the principality that laid east of Yondel—her home—one that had been at war with this very people. She once spent her days playing from rise to dusk. Their names mattered not. Caine Wellington, Mitchell Jaimes, and Anastasia Thorne. They once lived in the same building as her own family. Each day they would sprint out of their homes and visit the local forest or rivers all around her childhood town.

  Her home was one of the many manufacturing districts within the small, yet mighty nation. They were the first to introduce the idea of gunfire to the fantastical world. Their once allies that disappeared to the north had given their last shipment of gunpowder, chemistry research, and metallurgy instructions to the principality before the Demon Lord overtook their lands. It was a parting gift; one paved out of iron and blood. The same stone streets and wooden buildings would never be the same when the common man wandered about his business carrying a broomstick that could out-cast any magician and pierce through the sturdiest armor that a knight could muster.

  Squinting her eyes in the harsh light breaking through the rain clouds, her gaze fell to Simon who removed the magazine of his carbine.

  “Robust, precise: What you’re looking at his the M5. 12-inch, iron forged bolt carrier. Standard 1-6 times scope or a standard holographic sight. A 160-grain projectile with a jacketed sleeve, this 6.5, spicy projectile is enough to punch through up to level 3 plates with enough fire power to eventually desecrate level 4,” Jacob said as he placed a magazine with five bullets into his carbine. He readied himself, loosening the sling on his weapon and tossing it over his head and through his left arm. With a single tug of the fabric, it tightened, and he held the carbine at the low ready.

  “Such a weapon is beyond our capabilities,” Senator Orpheus observed. “It is near impossible to imagine that man made this without the use of magic.”

  Jacob chuckled, “Well, this bad boy is something that has already blown your mind. But know you get to know a bit more.”

  “RSO, we good to go?” Simon said looking back at Sergeant Malkovich.

  Malkovich retrieved a small notepad and flipped it open, “Course of fire: Two to the head, three center mass. Target is at thirty yards. Par for course is three seconds. Range is hot!”

  Ariel lowered her eyes from the clouded heavens. The soft crunch of the dying leaves called out to her, and a man twice her stature slowly placed himself on the adjacent side of the tree. His burning amber eyes never looked away from the weapons that those men wielded.

  “Madam Ariel, is it?” Senator Orpheus said softly. He seemed contempt in his posture, “There were always others that fought before our people. The War Faries were such people that took arms against our enemies…”

  A wave of mana crossed the Royal Guardsman’s eyes. She looked directly at the Senator who clutched a silver pearl in his left hand.

  “War Faries never acted outside of orders. Desertion was merely a fantasy.” She said slowly, “They drew their swords with the understanding that their survival was naught due to ignorance.”

  Orpheus smiled.

  “Not only did they keep our flag flying, their light was inherited from the moon and stars that they once stepped upon.”

  Ariel remained silent as Sergeant Malkovich raised his left hand. An unknown, small device was clutched in his dark hands, and he placed his thumb on a small button.

  “Everyone, cover your ears! Shooter standby!”

  BEEP.

  Like War Faries, they acted without fear.

  Jacob raised his rifle and placed it firmly into his shoulder. He raised his right hand and flicked the fire selector in the timespan of a half-second and transitioned to sending bullets down range. Three bullets snapped through the air making the non-Rangers around them flinch from the smoke that emerged from the end of the gun’s barrel. Three punctures in the wooden target were instantly followed by an additional two entry wounds that tore the center of the ‘head’ from the post it laid on.

  “Rangers were never meant to be Holy Knights.” Ariel squinted her eyes as a ringing noise was entrapped within her ears.

  Senator Orpheus looked down at the young girl. She lowered her head and kicked at the mud below her feet, “And you were never meant to join the Guard.”

  Clenching her fists, the young girl watched as a stray fox walked across the range. The vibrant orange colors of its fur shined in the breaking sunlight and its shinning blue eyes were solemnly placed on the Rangers downrange. Jacob slowly lowered his rifle, remaining careful to not flag the animal as it sat still in front of the target. It waved its tail and gently licked its fur.

  Ariel watched the display as the range was suddenly called cold. The private slowly wandered onto the range, and upon kneeling in front of the animal, he stretched out a calloused palm to the fox. Sniffing his palm, a calm trust overcame the fox before pressing its snout into his hand letting the Ranger pet him. Ariel saw no malice, no frustration. Acceptance and kindness captured the soldier and held it in a firm grip. It was unlike anything she had seen prior. The young man had seen the blood and had ultimately passed the test of luck when it came to war. If he had any reservations, they were laid to rest, and he had long turned the page to drown out that place with fading memory. If they still cared about anything—even if their names weren’t to be remembered—they were here, they still lived. They would resolve this conflict and reach the bitter end.

  Like the ocean that had called her all those years ago, they were in a world that had nothing to give nor take.

  “Senator, you are mistaken,” Ariel began letting resolve overtake her voice. “We brought them here by force—and yet it is by their own words that they would remain. Their steps in silence. Unconquering will. Bleeding hearts. They lost all avidity and yet they still reach out for a possible future, one where their lives will be amongst the words of the chord.”

  Senator Orpheus saw nothing more than expendable weapons, one that could never be used in the ultimate survival of the kingdom.

  “Do you believe the Demon Lord will attack?” He hesitantly asked.

  Ariel clicked her tongue, “Their weapons may never harm Teufel, but their indomitable spirit will forge generations.”

  08:00 HOURS.

  TUESDAY, 31 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  OUTSKIRTS, GLACIES, YONDEL.

  IT WAS THE ANSWER.

  A tether of mana escaped her fingers and gently coiled in the air. Lecca let out a heavy breath as the magic snapped and a large tubular object materialized in her hand. To any onlookers it was no different than a flintlock-styled pistol.

  She twirled the handgun between her fingers. The size of the pistol was no larger than her palm, and it was adorned in golden embroidery and shined in the shinning white marble like surface it was made of. With a snap of the wrist, the grip fell firmly into her right hand, and she snapped her right arm up aligning the single sight post against the silhouette of a tree that hid behind the sight.

  Vice Count Mororcos and Lieutenant Andrew Devlin remained at a safe distance behind the princess. She squeezed the trigger letting the hammer fall forward, igniting a pool of mana that had rested within the barrel. Unlike other weapons of the smooth-bore type, a flurry of pellets exited the gun followed by a wad of disintegrating mana. The force of the projectiles created a large puff of smoke and the beads flying at inhuman speeds tore the tree into shreds and splatted sharpened bark shrapnel towards the expansive woods that laid beyond.

  As the smoke cleared, Lecca simply dropped the weapon letting it disintegrate into millions of mana shards.

  “Princess—” Mororcos was interrupted by gunfire.

  A dark purple cloud enveloped Lecca. Shooting out both of her arms, she materialized two flintlock pistols. She bared her teeth and let out a heavy scream as she pushed the amount of mana she was expending from repeatedly firing both weapons in rapid succession, surpassing the natural limit that event mana-infused weapons had. Scattershot was directed at the previously marred tree, and the amount of projectiles fire was enough to pierce through the bark and wood tearing off branches and creating a gash that showed the core of the great evergreen tree.

  Beads of sweat fell from her face. She tried to catch her breath as her body shook; her hands were strained from the casting of an unmeasured stream of mana. Once more this power had strangled her, making it impossible to breathe.

  Lieutenant Andrew walked to her side. Extending his right hand, the junior officer remained steady as the princess looked up to him with hollow, small eyes. With the strength she could muster without collapsing, she gently placed her hand into Andrew’s and held with the fight that kept her alive. She had felt this pain before. All those times that she had lived through hell. Lives extinguished around her. Some to the spawn of Hell. Others to man’s unending desire.

  “We can’t have you dropping on us now, ma’am.” Andrew calmly said. He slowly placed his free hand on her shoulder, ensuring she would never fall.

  “How can you all stand so tall!?” Lecca coughed, remaining thankful for the support she was given. A deep breath was required before she could find her next words, “Bishmark—this will lead to your death!”

  Andrew’s eyes grew wide from the sudden outburst. He—neither those around him—could’ve expected this from the princess.

  “You fight for the people, for freedom?”

  Lecca simply nodded her head.

  “Your mistaken ma’am, we’re nothing special.” Andrew looked over the maiden, the Vice Count waited in silence.

  “But you all—”

  The lieutenant left no room for argument, “Any man would do the same thing as us.”

  Lecca fell silent, listening to the junior officer.

  “Our mission through blood and steel is to ensure that our Flag is still here,” he said with pure confidence. His eyes remained steeled as he held the princess tighter, “This is now your mission: Through all the death, sweat, tears, and breaking of your bones, you will wave the colors and ensure that this—” He let go of the princess and gestured to the world, “That this is still here.”

  “And the Rangers?” Vice Count Mororcos said, “What of the Holy Knights?”

  Andrew didn’t answer as he let go of the princess. Her breaths had calmed, and color had returned to her skin letting the flushed face she had return to the smooth pale that always painted her in an ethereal light. This questioned had been poised not only by those that had brought them to this world, but by his own men. Their purpose? If they had a single solemn objective, it was simple: Keep the legacy of their existence alive. They would fall, they would die. Until that day would come, it was now that they would fight for this idea of freedom and survival for humanity. This wasn’t their war; they had no obligation. But for man, but for the idea of humanity—it was an inherit right.

  That jurisdiction was more than words on a page…

  …No epiphany. No order. Just a choice—an accord—they all made it.

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