09:30 HOURS.

  WENESDAY, 31 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  GLACIES, YONDEL.

  CAPTAIN OLIVER THOMPSON WAITED PAITENTLY. He was slowly growing annoyed at the lack of communication the king and his folly had offered to his Rangers about a possible deployment, and unfortunately there was little he could do to relieve and tension and anxiety his NCOs held with the attack on Bishmark. He was the leader of a specialized infantry squadron, and only the worst of his fears had grown as the increased interaction with politicians and royalty made his head spin.

  Over the past week he had kept pressing Captain Orwell for answers on why his Rangers were being reassigned under temporary command of Senator Orpheus. King Aldrich was their acting CO, but Princess Lecca was the one handling day-to-day operations. To be placed under a member of the Royal Court was an idea he was against. Playing any part in politics was beyond his pay grade, and now he would be expected to play nice with the senator.

  To keep the politician from disturbing himself or his men, Oliver had worked with Princess Lecca to establish two special duty sections that were made up of his men and six additional staff members of the castle. They did basic tasks such as roving security watches, access watches, and special details under the royal family’s command. None of his Rangers, especially Malkovich, were ecstatic at the idea; they would rather be running the trenches with high-velocity slugs and magic being hurled at them. However, they were thankful for the captain’s quick thinking as Senator Orpheus began to conduct preliminary examinations to pull soldiers into a new army unit being formed. I guess they took inspiration from us, the O-3 thought.

  “I received a letter from the mayor.” From the corner of his eye, Oliver spotted the silver-haired princess waving away one of her loyal butlers. She was handed a small envelope, and the poised beauty contemplated opening the letter in the middle of the passageway. His curiosity was directed towards the butler’s choice of words, indicating that Lecca had received a message from the mayor of Bishmark, however, it was not his place to bother with internal affairs—he opted not to bother her.

  Either way, no matter what the man wanted, they were untouchable in Yondel. There was no point in trying to interact with any locals, especially not local representatives. This wasn’t the United States. Not everyone could be petitioned to get a reasonable answer, and their foreign military status was beyond obvious even when placed in the army’s special ‘Holy Knight’ dress uniforms. He couldn’t stand the tight-fitting robes anyways. The ACUs he had been beyond comfortable in this world.

  With the opening of a wooden door, Lieutenant Andrew’s fireteam emerged from the Auxiliary Storage Room. “—We have an opportunity here to get what we need. The Sage told us to be present here at 10:00,” the junior officer continued a conversation he was having with Sergeant Randall.

  Mike seemed unbothered that he was standing there staring at them. “Well, let’s hope he’s right, sir.”

  “An opportunity?” Oliver already suspected that his Rangers were up to no good. His raised eyebrow was more than enough to shoot a nervous chuckle through his lieutenant. He had caught them in the act of something he wasn’t aware of, and now he would be damned if he didn’t question every single act his men were making under the custody of the king.

  “No problems, captain! Just something I wanted to confirm with the Sage!”

  Oliver crossed his arms, “And what might that be? Why Wasn’t I informed?”

  “It’s not exactly like we had a plan of the day, captain.” Andrew chirped as he waved his men ahead sending them off to the storeroom where the Great Sage wanted to meet them.

  “Check this out, sir!” Green shouted ignoring the lieutenant. He provided a handful of brass and a small vial of a black powder.

  Swiping the glass vial from the PFC, Oliver stared at the contents, his hazel eyes stared in amazement. “No way….” Was all he could say before he shoved the vial in his pocket and began to speed walk over to the storage room passing up all his men. Throwing open the wooden doors, he caught the attention of a group of passing maids who stared in wonder as he froze in the doorway realizing he had brought attention to him and his men just outside of the room.

  Stumbling from around a small cabinet, the white-haired sage leaned against a small wooden cane. Unlike when they first met, the man had changed his appearance taking influence from the very Rangers he was now speaking to. His previously shoulder-length hair was cut short, and his elongated beard was now just a scratchy poof on his face. “Holy Knight Thompson?” He said in the same feeble voice.

  “Just call me Thompson, sir.” Oliver reached out his hand.

  “Then, call me George.” The man said weakly as he ushed the men inside the room.

  “Brass, crude gun powder, steel.” Green chirped as he led the group in showing all the materials that had been gather on top of a large wooden crate. “I don’t think anyone here should have a problem knowing what we’re going to use this shit for, but in case you didn’t know, we’re going to be making bullets today!” He said jabbing a finger into the pile of gunpowder.

  “Green, I’m pretty sure you need a mill or something to make bullets, specially’ ones for our specific guns.” Malkovich sighed.

  As the two men continued to talk amongst each other, their captain watched as the Great Sage walked up to the crate nabbing a small wooden bowl from the shelf beside him. His eyes narrowed as he saw the man procure one of the 6.5mm bullets that were found in most of his squadron’s carbines. There were the odd exceptions, Richard with his underbarrel grenade launcher, and Simon carrying a squad-automatic-weapon. The Sage took a small amount of the brass, three pinches of gunpowder, and a single piece of steel. The man’s eyes lingered upon the gunpowder.

  For George, he was well acquainted with the power of the volatile substance. Yondel’s Navy had long used gunpowder, and it was slowly becoming adopted in the “long-bore” guns that had been passed around certain Army units. The existence of this substance was more than enough to sink the greatest of warships, and here, the men in front of him used a refined version of it as nothing more as a propellant, suited for launching miniscule projectiles through a chamber of pure pressure and fire. He had observed the power from the men; it appeared from a simple observation they used a version that was smokeless in nature, “smokeless gunpowder” as his previous encounter with Holy Knight Simon had pointed to.

  They were powerful enough to defiantly kill humans with efficiency.

  Teufel. The Demon Lord would yet to stand against these men.

  “This will be enough for the trial,” He announced to the men with quiet confidence as he placed the bullet in his left hand onto the table. “I cannot assure that the sciences this world has will compare to your own, so I must bear to ask of you all to have patience as the desired results will not be guaranteed immediately.”

  “Trust me, as long as we have ammo, our services can always be provided.” Andrew cracked a small smile as he ordered his men to take cover behind several loaded shelves and crates filled to the brim.

  Wordlessly saying thank you to the men, George returned to his work. He had spent most of his career experimenting with different compounds, chemicals, substances. He was a scientist at heart, yet his love for his work was only due to the personal ambition to create a world where man did not have to rely on magic. Ironically, he became one of the most powerful mages within Yondel attempting to accomplish such a lofty goal, but this reminded him of his younger years, where he would experiment to his hearts content hoping to make a change to the world that would have the greatest impact for humanity’s future.

  Rolling up the right sleeve of his robes, he revealed the three lines that illuminated through his skin, crimson, azure, and emerald. He was one of the few that was able to use multiple forms and classifications of magic. The display from him casting a golden sigil below the ingredients garnered coos of wonder from the men hiding behind cover. As the light slowly enveloped the gunpowder, brass, and steel, it almost acted as a bonding agent as the ingredients began to form around each other forming an object that looked similar, yet not the same as the bullet still untouched on the table.

  Mike watched the display with indifference. He had accepted this new reality, this new magical world and everything that came along with it. He missed his home. He missed his family. Yet ever since he was pulled out of the shithole that was Peshawar, it seemed that this new world would be enough to keep his mind in the right place even if there were things he had yet to understand. All he knew was that he had his team. Even with their new addition being the First-Born Princess, it had seemed that she even belonged amongst him and the other Rangers. They are all people without a home, but at least they were by each other’s sides.

  Being shaken out of his thoughts, the Great Sage let out a noise as the light intensified. At this point the spell had been cast without issue, but now there was an unforeseen variable. Letting out a groan the Sage held firm, unwilling to let himself or the Holy Knights down. Though small, securing the ammunition used by the knights was imperative to the kingdom’s survival, as it was a sure way for the knights to fight, as well as it being a way to develop new technologies.

  A sudden groan from the box drew George’s attention and he faltered in his focus. A sudden spark of purple electricity erupted from the center of the sigil cooking off the gunpowder and making it erupt with a thunderous roar. A trail of blood shot upwards from the Great Sage’s right hand as molten brass tore through skin and bone. The blood splattered all over his face and chest sending him scrambling onto the deck for cover as the remaining gunpowder burnt away in the following second.

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  “Everyone sound off God damn it!” Over the persistent ringing in his ears, the Great Sage heard each of the Holy Knights respond to their captain as he peered around his cover ensuring that the chemical reaction had ceased. He couldn’t hear anything else as the man spouted additional orders making Sergeant Mike and PFC Green rush to his aid grabbing a nearby cloth that was typically used for royal ceremonies.

  “Here, pack then wrap his hand,” Mike said guiding the young soldier in applying the cloth to stem the slow, yet consistent bleed that escaped from George’s hand.

  Jamming his fingers into the wound—eliciting a painful groan from the sage—Green stayed fast as he finished packing the wound, then turned to tightly wrap the cloth around the sage’s hand with easy efficiency. “I’m glad I took those TCCC classes back in Benning!” He said with a cheerful voice, ignoring the fact that George still seemed frozen from the sudden incident.

  “Yeah, but you forgot to check everything after treatment.” Mike said sternly as he knelt beside Green triaging George looking for any signs of shock, massive bleeding, hyperthermia, signs of breathing, and a clear airway.

  The young man gulped as he watched the sergeant finish his triage check, “Thanks sarge.”

  “Don’t worry about the backup, just remember it, it’ll save a life.”

  The other Rangers approached slowly as they saw that the injury was contained. They all moved steadily around the room as if there was an IED within the storage room. Lieutenant Devlin and Oliver watched each of their men as they maneuvered around the scene pointing out what needed to be cleaned up or separated to prevent a risk of a second detonation if any agents were left.

  “Hey, check it out.” Lieutenant Devlin pointed at the burnt surface of the crate. “I think it worked.” He said drawing everyone’s attention to a formed group of bullets. Slowly withdrawing a pocketknife, he usually carried on his plate carrier, the junior officer stepped forward and slowly separated the bullets from the burnt remains. Looking at his captain, he only moved to collect the bullets when the man nodded slowly in affirmation. Grabbing all seven bullets that were created, the lieutenant could feel the remaining warmth from the explosion on the surface of the bullets. A small part of him was glad he removed the rounds, as any further cookoffs could very well lead to someone being killed. Even if the bullets fired off in his hands, it would be better than mourning one of his men from taking a lead slug to the face.

  “It’s just a theory,” Technical Sergeant Baker said from the back of the room. “I think the bullets will work, but of course we won’t know till we put them through a rifle.” He said as he reached out a hand to Mike offering to help him get the Great Sage off the ground.

  Oliver shot a harsh glance at Baker before he let out a heavy sigh, “You still have that rifle, Mike?”

  “I passed it on to Malkovich, but yes.”

  “It still works?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s what Jackson would’ve wanted anyways.” Oliver said walking over to Malkovich and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Can you take care of it, safely? This is an opportunity we can’t pass up, and as much as I don’t like it, it’s what the demo-man would’ve pushed me to do anyways.”

  Adjusting his footing, the captain looked down as the sole of his boots brushed over broken glass. “Lieutenant?”

  “Captain.”

  “Take charge here, I need to inform the princess of this development.”

  “Sir.” Passing the bullets to Technical Sergeant Baker, Devlin turned around and motioned for both Mike and Green to get the Great Sage off the ground as Oliver left the room in a hurry. “Alright people! Daylight’s burning, get your asses into gear: Randall, Green, get George to the infirmary, rest of you, we need to clean up this room.”

  As the men moved without another word, the Great Sage stopped the junior officer before he could leave with his men to find cleaning supplies, “Thank you for your kindness, Lieutenant Devlin.” He croaked out still reeling from the burning pain in his hand.

  “Of course, sir. A question: Why help us? Didn’t we manhandle you when we first met?” He asked as Mike and Green continued to help the man out of the room and into the hallway where a large group of servants and Yondel soldiers had gathered.

  “I…” The man sighed as he pushed through the pain in his fragile body. “Though your men have made prior hostile transgressions against me, it is still my duty as the Great Sage to support all that serve the kingdom,” he said tiredly as he walked throughout the halls of the castle. Being older and wiser, it was not only easier to discern what the Holy Knights were thinking of him, but it was also easy to forgive the men for the way he was treated upon first contact. These men reminded George of his prior years within the research division in Yondel’s Army, and all the men he worked with throughout his entire life. The way they acted, how they treated him, these were the men that would truly change the kingdom’s course of history. “I have no true personal reason for helping you all. Call it a gut feeling, but you will all be paramount for the survival of this nation against Teufel and the coming war.”

  “Coming war,” Devlin said precariously as he shot an inquisitive look towards the Great Sage. “We don’t even know what our enemies look like. How are we supposed to fight against this so-called Demon Lord if we’re not allowed to go out into the field and take them out one at a time?”

  “There will be a time where you stand against his forces. For now, that is not.”

  “What about an insider threat? A terrorist attack,” Mike said as he reached forward to open the infirmary room’s doors.

  “Based upon what, an economic crisis?” Green asked. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen signs of a possible power struggle within the government.”

  “What do you mean?” Lieutenant Devlin looked at the PFC with a puzzled gaze.

  “It looks like the kingdom has come out of some revolution recently. This shit reminds me of the French Revolution: I mean just think about it, the current standing princess’s name is Arish, not Shaldricht—or whatever—like the current king. If anything, that evidence would point to the previous king being Lecca’s father, which also provides circumstantial evidence that the current king disposed of him. I wouldn’t know though; it could all be conjecture at this point.”

  “I would not recommend stepping into the politics of his kingdom, Holy Knight.” George warned.

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  10:10 HOURS.

  WENESDAY, 31 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  GLACIES, YONDEL.

  “Again! You no longer trust your blade!”

  Lecca lunged forward as she attempted to hit Captain Orwell with the wooden short sword, she clutched tightly in both of her hands. The army captain simply stepped to the side despite the princess’s immense speed bolstered by the compressed air she had used to launch herself. He adjusted the grip of his blade and simply parried the very tip of the sword as he maintained his defensive posture.

  “You have grown out of practice!”

  Stopping herself from tripping over on the training grounds, Lecca steadied herself as she turned around and reconnoitered herself as she attempted to balance her sword with strained and burning arms.

  “The world’s changing Lecca.” Orwell explained as he provoked her into striking once more. “Are you changing with it?”

  Becoming frustrated, the princess swore under her breath as she felt a surge of energy course through her left arm. The purple hue that gathered around her hand became suffocating to all those affected by it as she cast clouds around the training grounds. The mist spread over Orwell, making him step back in anticipation of the attack. Stepping forward, Lecca thrusted the point of her sword towards the captain’s chest. As suspected it was intercepted and deflected, but she continued to follow up each-and-every attack with more and more thrusts hoping to break the man’s guard and forcing him to give in to her unrelenting assault.

  Seeing an opening it was over.

  Upon the final time their blades clashed, Lecca felt gravity hold her down as she was thrown into the air. Her back crashed into the ground kicking up a small amount of dust, and she suddenly found her dizzy vision focusing on a short, metal circle being shoved into her face.

  With a conniving smile, Orwell cocked the pistol he was holding. A flintlock he had stolen from the Navy in part to teach a lesson to the princess. “Lecca, I demand you yield.” He ordered gently. Blowing a strand of silver hair from her mouth, the princess let her wooden sword go letting it fall to the ground next to her. “Beautiful. Lecca, the world is going to keep moving whether you believe it or not. This nation may not know that you are indeed the true princess, but they already place their lives in your hands. Once the king’s time expires, this kingdom will fall to you, not the crown prince.”

  “A harsh lesson captain.”

  “For you to survive you cannot rely on your former skills as an assassin.” Orwell proclaimed, “The Holy Knights—Rangers, they are men of war. Though they may hold skills in sabotage and espionage, they were made to stare another human in the eyes and extinguish their life without hesitation. If you cannot do this, then you have no hope to lead them against the Demon Lord.”

  Oliver was to the side watching the exchange. He was resting on one of the stone pillars that surrounded the proving grounds, his arms comfortably folded over his chest. He had watched the princess and Captain Orwell spar for the last five minutes. A small part of him was glad that Princess Lecca-Maradel was just as human as his men and that she wasn’t overzealous and entitled. He didn’t know what he would do if that were the case, and she was acting as their commanding officer I the field.

  Seeing that the sparring session was over, Oliver walked onto the training grounds being immediately noticed by both Lecca and Orwell. “Princess, captain.” He called out. Orwell steadied himself, he didn’t expect the Ranger Captain to appear so soon after he had made that remark about them to the princess. It was both a compliment and an insult. They were men that were specialized in warfare—against the Demon Lord they would prosper greatly—yet from what he learned they were angels of death that were used against fellow humans. Orwell both respected them and feared them.

  “What brings you round’ here, Holy Knight?” Orwell spoke up as he handed the princess a towel.

  “Just wanted to give the princess an update.”

  “Please, do not let my disheveled state prevent you from reporting,” Lecca wiped her face and began to clean away all the dirt and grim that had accumulated on her body.

  Oliver nodded, “Ma’am, we’ve coordinated with the Great Sage and made the discovery that the munitions we use for our weapons will be able to be reproduced in limited capacity and numbers.”

  “Wonderful. And your men, how are they?”

  “Still standing ma’am. Though we miss home, I think most of us are itching to get back into the fight; this whole Demon Lord thing that’s been thrown at us is something we’ve been considering, and after Bishmark, we all want to get our piece of the pie.”

  “Even if we fight against other humans, like at Bishmark?” Lecca inquired not sure how to feel about humans being under the Demon Lord’s ranks.

  “It’s a part of the job ma’am.”

  Holding her soiled towel by her side, the princess tied her silver hair into a high ponytail as she walked over to Oliver. “I bear news from the king; we are to deploy to the Frontier to perform reconnaissance against sighted forces from the Demon Lord. We will be also helping the settlements to the north and bolstering their defensive capabilities.”

  “Recon, huh?” Oliver said one more crossing his arms, “My guys have been out of practice for a bit, but we’ll be ready to get out of here in 24 hours.”

  Captain Orwell patted Oliver on the shoulder, “Have your men ready by day’s end. I would rather send them under the cover of night rather than be noted by nefarious scoundrels outside of the castle’s walls.” He said before walking off to clean himself.

  “See to it Oliver, I trust your ability to lead your men more than they have faith in me.”

  The Holy Knight was left standing in the middle of the proving grounds as the princess departed, disappearing around a corner never to be seen until later that evening during dinner hour.

  Publicly Available Information: Operation First Stand:

  Following reports from the Frontier—the northern border of the Kingdom of Yondel—King Aldrich has seen fit to deploy special reconnaissance units along with saboteurs to prevent the Demon Lord’s forces from invading the northern lands.

  With a special mission from the king himself, the Holy Knights along with their foreign commanding officer have been selected to conduct a deep penetration mission to observe enemy units behind enemy lines. Their primary mission is to gather intelligence on hostile composition and cause undue distress within their ranks to delay an invasion.