12:00 HOURS.

  SUNDAY, 05 NOIEMBRIE 1441.

  SETTLMENT OF FALKNER, YONDEL.

  IT WAS A COLD ROOM. Where they were meeting held wood panels, marble furniture, and oil paintings scattered that showed the history of leadership within the settlement. Beyond the white curtains that shielded the sun, large chandeliers held candles that cast an amber glow to the entire space.

  Mayor Harry encouraged Mr. Que and Princess Lecca-Maradel to enter the before anyone else could. Once all the Holy Knights and members of the Volunteer Corps had entered, the mayor firmly shut the door behind him. Pitchers of water and empty glasses had lined the entire table, and small plates of cookies rested at the center of each set of seats. As each man and woman remained silent, the mayor slowly walked to the head of the table. On his right and left flanks stood both Darrel Que and Lecca-Maradel Arish. He placed his hands together and flashed a smile before lowering his right hand and moving his seat signaling that everyone could take their seats.

  Amongst the anxiety that plagued the Holy Knights and other representatives of the Corps, Mr. Que and currently recognized Chieftain Arish remained cool and poised as they both gently settled in their seats with precision and ease. Unlike the crowd, Harry had no documents with him as he merely looked between each head representative drawing up the start to this meeting, “Under Chieftain Arish’s leadership, these Holy Knights from the king have successfully slain the Architect’s Golems and recaptured Point Hope for the Volunteer Corps! In accordance with Mr. Que’s request, we are to award these men with only the finest of what was offered.”

  Harry held more influence and power than the princess first imagined. His nationalism was strictly tied to the people, and his charisma that came from power was something he wielded to demand respect not only from his own people, but outside entities that wished to conduct business on his turf. There were no “negotiations” in Falkner. Just the truth of what was offered, and what was given.

  “The terms are quite simple, one derived from old agreements in a time before mediators.” Harry leaned back into his seat. A small turn of his head indicated that he was addressing Mr. Que. “I understand that rules are flexible, but all arrangements must be honored.”

  “Of course, Mayor Cald.” Mr. Que said with unyielding patience and a clam smile.

  Harry turned to Lecca-Maradel, “Investigations and audits from the Hunter’s Guild and Magistrate have procured us information that the Volunteer Corps had attempted to perform reconnaissance on this site when it was lost for over three months. There were rumors that the Demon Lord had ordered spies to infiltrate and take over the arms cache. Once the Guild caught wind of this, all further investigations halted. That’s where you all arrived, and that’s when the Magistrate had begun to audit the capabilities of the Corps and where their resources were being moved.”

  He omitted the fact that the Volunteer Corps never received funding or support from the king. Within the ecosystem of the settlements in the Frontier, the Corps survived by bouncing between nations and settlements making money and growth through trade agreements, and defensive pacts. Combat wasn’t the only thing these men trained for. Logistics, transport, security, all facets of life which required manpower that wasn’t at the regular for the everyday businessman, those tasks were able to be accomplished through the power of the Corps. They were the same people that they served and fought for. It was a national identity.

  “These men that follow you Chieftain; Tell me their legacy.” Mr. Que challenged, “Why did this kingdom bring them here?”

  “The Demon Lord—” Harry was silenced by a hand raised by the old salt.

  “Lecca-Maradel.” Mr. Que said calmly as the room’s attention was drawn to the chieftain. “Your Holy Knights.”

  Lecca pressed her lips together as she stared straight into Mr. Que’s eyes. A flicker of purple fire hid behind her own, as she stood from her seat, allowing all present to know that here-and-now, the commanding officer of these Holy Knights would tell them the answer:

  “These men were called upon by the monarch to lead the next generation into a war of survival,” her words were heavy. Yet, they flowed so naturally, “My men are the future of humanity, and no matter how long it will take, it is my responsibility to bear that they lead us into a world not of peace, but a world strong enough where our children never have to bear arms.”

  “You look for the support of the Volunteer Corps,” Mr. Que met the princess eye-to-eye as he slowly raised himself with his cane firmly grasped in his right hand. “We’re the only organization that has any reaching within the Frontier, and you look to go beyond, my darling.”

  Lecca nodded her head, “To ensure that we can complete our mission I can only humbly request that the Volunteer Corps assist us. You all have already failed in scouting far beyond the Frontier, let us spearhead this venture and expose the truth to the world.”

  “You wish to hire our services.” Mr. Que chuckled, “If your presumption is right, not only have you saved the Corps from this audit, but humanity my very well be saved from this barter.”

  12:20 HOURS.

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  SUNDAY, 05 NOIEMBRIE 1441.

  SETTLMENT OF FALKNER, YONDEL.

  SILENCE HELD THEM. Four Rangers watched as their team leader passed them to inspect the carriage that had entered the town.

  Behind their polarized visors, their identities were hidden. And under the brown cloaks that were around their bodies, all any passerby could see was the skin of each man that was shown on their wrists and lower half of their face. Amongst rain, specks of snow fell from the overcast skies. They were ghosts amongst the mist. No flags, no identity; for what they were here could be anyone’s guess. And in these times, what they knew—Holy Knights—these men were the strength of the free world, and of the Frontier, a glimmer of hope in these times where man had been strained to the limit, that every tear and drop of blood was worth shedding.

  No one knew. Yet the answers that were brought from the depths of the Frontier gave peace to the inhabitants of this settlement.

  “What are we going to do man—when we get back?” Anthony let his voice clash against the scattered flakes of ice. His hands remained tightly wrapped around his rifle and grenade launcher.

  “Don’t think about it Corporal,” Simon placed a hand on his shoulder. We’re all antsy about it…

  “We’ll be wherever we are called.” Mike said in a hushed voice. He took a small pause as he tossed a stick of gum into his mouth. “We just have to worry about getting past the Frontier. Intel is sketchy, but we should expect a large force beyond the following settlement.”

  Lifting his head, Green looked to the sky, his cloak’s hood falling back revealing his entire head. Droplets of water landed on his visor distorting the picture beyond the electronic interface, and he shut his eyes. “Man, does it always rain here?” He whispered opening his eyes and staring far beyond the overcast clouds that hung low. No one bothered to answer him as he lowered his head drawing his hood back in place with his left hand. He shook his palm free of the light moisture that he had touched before returning it inside of his cloak to firmly hold his carbine.

  Mike remained in place. From the streets his eyes fell to where his boots were planted in the mud that was once the dirt streets that ran through the entire settlement. He shifted his weight, the khaki boots he wore dug further into the ground. They had sunk as if stuck in quicksand. A cough had drawn his attention behind him and his Rangers. Slowly exiting the stone building, she had returned to them. Amongst the populace that made up this small place, she looked no different in her garments: a slightly baggy blouse and skirt hidden by the very same cloak they all had been given by the Royal Army’s reserve in Glacies. The difference was her silver hair; it still shinned despite the fallen skies, and though it was held in a messy bun, the princess carried herself no different than an angel. With a careful draw of her hands, she took the hood of her cloak and concealed the silver strands. All that remained visible was the glimmering hazel eyes, and pale face that one could see if they were standing in front of her.

  Lecca lifted her head and turned to Mike. The slimmest of comforting smiles tugged at her lips, and she tilted her head ever so slightly. Mike remained in place, aghast and silent at the kind expression she gave. He didn’t know how to react. He could only observe: The pale skin, smile, soft brown eyes, and the gently rosy complexion on her face.

  “Lieutenant, we got troops moving down the road.”

  To Corporal Anthony’s warning, Andrew had returned from team 2. He looked down the road as a small patrol element’s worth of armed men escorted a young woman down the street. A quick glance to the lower portion of his HUD showed that all his men had heard the announcement. Green on the board… A wavering smile was on his face as the woman broke free of her escorts and hurriedly stepped through the rain. Her boots were coated in mud, and she almost tripped when stopping five feet from the Rangers. Letting out a long breath she had held, she ignored the steaks of water that dripped from her face as the rainfall intensified melting away the scattered snowflakes. The green, short cloak she had was soaked through and her golden-yellow hair was falling straight with the amount of water falling on her. Small freckles adorned her face, and her ocean blue eyes were widened with fear and hope as she stared at the battered soldiers before her.

  “My name is Pearl Sidonia!” She placed her right hand on her chest as she curtsied to the men, “My father had served in the Corps and was at the armory! Is he alive?”

  Lieutenant Andrew inched his vision to the men standing beside him. Their expressions were unreadable. Mike and Jacob didn’t let her words affect them, while Simon’s face was hidden behind a neck gaiter and Anthony slowly raised the scarf around his neck. This was no different than a house call he had the unfortunate pleasure of making only twice in his army career. It was when the chaplain of his command had been hospitalized and the leading officer of the unit affected was killed in action, he was requested alongside the commanding officer of the battalion to make a house call-in small-town Montana. It was a two-day trip…

  …Just like now it lasted a lifetime.

  The silence was enough to break Pearl’s expression. Tears leaked from her eyes as she placed her hands on her face trying to hide from the world.

  “Ma’am, we couldn’t recover anything—” Andrew stopped himself.

  Reaching out a hand, the lieutenant took the woman into a shallow hug, using his cloak to shield her from the rain.

  “Lucas Sidonia. One of our finest raiders.” Mr. Que had moved from the shadows that the building casted and joined his men. He twirled a golden coin in between his fingers: A smile was on his lips as he flicked the coin into the air and snapped his fingers setting it ablaze and letting in disintegrate into ashes. The old man spotted Captain Thompson arriving with his fireteam, “You—the field commander—join us in our venture to the next settlement. There, you will find the answers to the questions that plague your mind.”

  Oliver looked to the princess. It was a sudden offer, an order. It was one that they had to take. Their mission was to go beyond the Frontier to locate the Demon Lord and bring the numbers and composition of his armies back to the king. This was another step forward; Lecca had ensured that this chance would reveal itself.

  A silent agreement was held between the two officers. On each of the shooter’s visors, a simple order was displayed: FOLLOW. Quickly stepping forward in her mud-crusted boots, Lecca filled the steps left behind by her Rangers.

  “This mission is to reinforce a local settlement and their current garrison of forty Corps members.” Mr. Que explained.

  Oliver seemed amused by the idea, “If we’re reinforcing, then a guarantee will be needed to reach the Demon Lord.”

  “Noted. It will all be handled,” The old man said raising a solemn question, “I still question if your loyalties truly belong to the throne. You are not one of our people, that much is obvious.”

  “We’ll figure that out on our end.”

  Mr. Que enjoyed Oliver’s response. “Very well.”

  Publicly Available Information: Humanity’s Reach:

  Surrounded by unknown and non-traveled waters, and a large desert “No Man’s Land” beyond the kingdom of Yondel, over 130 million people occupy the lands noted, and over 100 nations exist to this day.

  Controlled lands count up to 3.012 million miles^2, yet this number has been distributed as several nations have begun colonization efforts on a large island to the south of the mainland, and the further reach to a recently discovered continent to the north.