Year 397 before the ascension of the Celestial Monarch. —AUDIO LOG— —Magister Amethystos Iuris Civilis— —Date of recording: Unknown. —Location: City of Edna.
(Sound of heavy breathing).
Iuris: Shit, shit, shit, someone's here, shit, they're getting closer.
(Sound of hurried footsteps).
(Long silence).
(Static).
Master, if this reaches you or any of our people, you must know, this isn't as simple as an initiation, they are looking for...
(Explosion).
(Sound of something burning).
(Unintelligible voices).
(Screams).
(High-pitched ringing).
(Silence).
(End of transmission).
...
The mundane bustle covered every corner of the city of Edna, to the point that peasants and feys unaccustomed to it would probably find themselves overwhelmed.
The city of Edna had recently been named in honor of a former general's daughter; this very city did not exist three generations ago, but was rather an outpost.
A military camp located at a strategic point at the crossing of the Florence River, one of the most important tributaries of Ulheim.
And in that very place, Tolrik parted ways with his sister and Benia.
"You seem quite melancholic, young lord. Is something on your mind?" Dracma asked with an amused look, even though his face showed the most absolute indifference.
Grunting in annoyance, Tolrik glared angrily at his father's old butler.
"It's nothing, I was just wondering why you are accompanying us, uncle. After all, it's rare for you to leave my father's side."
"Hahaha, it's not strange, young master; after all, with the illness that afflicts him, I am your father's messenger and counselor, and for that very reason I am now in Edna."
Tolrik frowned. He hadn't thought much of Dracma's presence at first, but, thinking about it, it couldn't be as simple as just accompanying him.
"What is it, uncle? Is the war with the giants...?"
"Escalating, yes," Dracma replied bluntly, looking apathetic. "Probably more will die in Ulheim this year than in the last ten."
"Is it that serious?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes, it is that serious, which is why your father hired mercenaries to protect the lands, and his intention was to lead them himself, but..."
Both fell silent.
At that moment, Tolrik had a choice before him.
Although Dracma hadn't said it that way, he knew it was true. He had two options: return to the Isle of Dawn and continue his filial training, or stay in Ulheim to defend his clan's lands and his people.
The choice was there; he just had to see it through to the end, looking back at the now-thin retinue led by the carriage carrying him and Dracma.
There were Fernand and Gedik, two guards who had come here at his invitation. Adrait's death had affected the group; after all, he was the youngest here, leaving Tolrik out of the equation.
But even so, even though it wasn't their fight, they stayed with him. His gaze fell on the servant driving the last carriage at the end of the line; he had a tired expression, but even so, his wounds had healed and he was working hard for them.
If a mere slave could exert himself for Ulheim, how could he, one of its future lords, not do the same?
"Who are they?" he asked.
Dracma looked at him with mild surprise, but with even greater pride. His aged face smiled as he murmured: "The group's name is the Griffon Brothers, apparently they are a group of ex..."
His final words were suddenly drowned out by a noise. They were less than two hours from Edna, as they could see it in the distance, and at that moment they saw, to their surprise, something heading toward them down the road.
And it was not a horse at all.
...
The most deafening noise he had ever heard in his life was now echoing in the distance, getting closer and closer, to Ducanor's surprise.
Stunned, he tried to look past the line of horses and carts on the road to see the source of the noise.
"That is..." To his surprise, the tall and dignified figure of a middle-aged man appeared before him. Despite the signs of age, the innate dignity and power of the feysier radiated from him as he observed the approaching object in the distance, as if he could see it clearly.
If he remembered correctly, his name was Gedik.
And he was a guard.
"Master," he said, somewhat uncomfortably—after all, his position as a servant was quite new to him—"what is that?"
"That, boy," he replied in a stern but surprisingly kind tone, despite his unfriendly appearance, "is trouble."
Barely had he finished speaking when Gedik drew his weapon, a spear tied to his horse, and spurred his mount forward, leaving Ducanor with an existential doubt.
"Tsk, he didn't answer me," Ducanor cursed, feeling strangely alone. After all, Julia, as she had said, had left, leaving him completely alone in an environment of lords and nobles.
And as he thought about that, he curiously remembered one last thing, something that Ulrika, his current lord's sister, had given him before leaving.
That as soon as he arrived in the city, he should open the letter she had given him, where her final instructions would be; after that, he would be free.
Freedom, Ducanor thought with sadness. How naive.
...
On the outskirts of the city of Edna, a chase was taking place, but not an ordinary chase.
They were strange vehicles by the standards of ordinary mortals. It was an elongated, metallic vehicle, looking similar to a wagon, but as if it had been split in half.
And although it was almost twice as long as a carriage, its speed was absurd, comparable to the top sprint of a Ferghana horse.
And behind it came similar vehicles in pursuit.
Then the shooting began.
Mounted on top of the vehicles were a kind of cannon that fired heavy shrapnel projectiles with enough force to rip a mortal's belly in half.
And now they were striking directly against the lead vehicle in a violent pursuit.
"No, no, no, I can't," the woman growled in anger, covered from head to toe in some sort of thermal suit, as she tried to accelerate even more, injecting more energy into the vehicle's engine.
But another shot hit a vital point on the vehicle directly, causing its speed to drop considerably as she was forced to maintain control of the vehicle to avoid crashing into the ground.
An explosion of fire and heat engulfed part of the vehicle as it spun chaotically along the side of the road for several dozen meters before coming to a stop.
The volatile spiritual energy that initially powered the vehicle was now escaping in the form of light and heat, causing part of the vehicle's chassis to collapse and break away from the rest.
Revealing a badly wounded figure who barely managed to drag herself out of the wreckage.
"Damn it, I can't die, I have to get out of here." Part of her protective suit had been torn apart, and she could barely breathe due to the smoke from the fire.
She could hear them; she could perfectly hear them approaching.
"Bastards of the Heg—" but before she could finish, she heard a different sound, the sound of hooves.
A sound of...
"Help, please, help me." Desperate and wounded, she simply surrendered to fate.
And to the will of the gods.
...
When he heard the gunshots and saw the fire, Tolrik took a few moments to react. When he saw the velocipede spiraling out of control into the forest, pursued by dozens of other vehicles, he was dumbfounded.
"Young master," Dracma rushed to say, seeing Tolrik's expression fill with conflicting emotions. "Those are soldiers of the Hegemony, part of the Iaspis Magisterium. They are not simple law enforcement; they are the Hegemony's militia."
Tolrik frowned and froze. He didn't doubt Dracma's words; after all, the man had far more experience than him.
The Iaspis Magisterium was rare to see—one could say extremely rare. Normally, they were only present in the major cities of the Hegemony, and Edna was not one of them.
Therefore, their presence in itself was suspicious, but...
"It's not our problem," Tolrik stated coldly. He didn't know who was on the velocipede; it could be a criminal or a deserter. Jumping to the rescue of a total stranger wasn't the most...
Suddenly, a feminine cry echoed in the distance; it was a cry for help.
Tolrik trembled as his mind wavered.
A woman, and likely a young one.
"Shit," he grunted, thinking about going. "Uncle Dracma."
"Young master, I will follow your will no matter what you choose; I know you are in the right," the old man said firmly, with an affable expression.
At that moment, Tolrik felt that everything his father had taught him about the virtues of men filled his mind.
And as if on cue, a figure riding a horse at top speed simply burst through the thicket and plunged into the darkness toward the voice.
"Hahaha, it seems someone has beaten us to it!" Tolrik shouted with a smile, feeling more relaxed as he gripped his sword and quickly mounted one of the horses tied to the cart, detaching it.
"Yes, young master. Shall you reprimand him?" Dracma said with a smile, looking into the distance with battle intent at the group of Iaspis legionaries approaching from afar.
"Well, uncle, if the servant is brave, the master cannot be left behind," he said with a smile as he rode toward the battle and the glory it would bring.