It was a cheerful, jubilantly—seemingly ordinary morning. Birds chirped and cows mooed. Blades of grass swayed rhythmically, moving as a small gust of wind blew over them, making it appear as though the meadow was brimming with dancing greenery. Up in the sky, beyond the serene, bluish background with small, otherworldly, transparent gases staining the clear blue sky—a peculiar star bore its gaze towards the inhabitants of the world.
This star, that was constantly burning—a celestial body made out of pure flames, was, bewilderingly enough—a pleasant sight for the locals, be it man or woman, old or young, preys or predator—it was regarded as an important object, especially for the phenomenon it caused—showering the world with its warm light. The star, or as the venerable astrologists would call it—the sun—was widely recognized as a gift from the heavens, from the mighty gods that no mortals could ever bear witness to.
Such spherical star was worshipped with such sincerity—all because of the gift it bestowed for the creature. The light, the purifying light that was believed to wash away all the evil of the world—the light that always appeared at every single dawn, was nothing short of a miracle. The sun was truly worthy of being considered God's greatest creation yet. And today, with the warmth it provided, and the coolness in the air from the wind—it was undeniably, a perfect start to a perfect morning as far as one could describe.
However, a certain place contradicted such peaceful and tranquil beginning of the jovial morning. The place was shrouded in a tense, invisible atmosphere of pure, agonising silence. The place in question was a distinctively large training grounds that bore an uncanny resemblance to the grandiose Colosseum the Romans had erected long in the past—albeit with minor differences here and there. A crowd of infantry, some armed with swords, a few with spears and and most with shields—all gathered at the training grounds, the training grounds that resembled the Colosseum the Romans proudly erected, albeit with a few minor differences here and there. Multiple groups of infantry were stationed at such place, both old and young—all wielding finely crafted blades.
The soldiers were also cladded in armour—with the more seasoned soldiers wearing heavier, thicker armour, while the inexperienced newbies were donning light armour with thick, wool cloth stuffed underneath. The rookies felt anxious yet determined to stop the threat that dared threaten the lands. Their eyes brimming with hope, determination and bravery—foolish expectations of ‘saving’ the people by eliminating individuals that were deemed dangerous by the higher-ups.
The seasoned on the other hand—bore an expression of boredom for their upcoming mission. But deep down, they were slightly terrified. They were experienced combatants that had faced death numerous times already—but evading death once or twice did not guarantee immediate safety. Life is unpredictable. At a moment, one could be enjoying a pleasant dinner with their family, yet just a few seconds later—they could be witnessing their entire lifetime being replayed personally for them, before eventually departing from the realm of the living.
Lest one was an immortal—death was unavoidable, ruthless and unstoppable. It was the natural cycle of life, after all. One way or another, no matter to which deity you prayed to, which religion you believed in, to how many achievements you have accumulated, or even as to the positive or negative impacts one has made on the world during their lifetime—what awaited them at the end was undeniably death.
These veterans knew such facts, and they took it to heart. If not for their decisiveness and wits, perhaps they, too, would have never stood where they are currently now—perhaps they would have long perished before getting the chance to reunite with their beloved, perhaps they would have never escaped their days as a rookie, perhaps memories of them would have long faded from the mind of others. Alas, here they stood proudly—survivors of war, of death, of battles—individuals that had managed to overcome such adversaries. These people were truly deserving of their status as veterans, more than anyone else in the lands.
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The person that stood in front of such large crowd of armed men—was no mere man. No, he was perhaps the most experienced of them all, a man of an ungodly status that they saw as a war machine. The trusted commander of the House of Altifirma, General Wulfsige—the man responsible for rallying the soldiers here, at this very place, at this time.
Just like the others, he, too, was cladded in heavy armour, armour that seemed too heavy for an average person but not him—especially due to how enormous his stature alone was, a height that seemed to belong to titan, rather than a fierce commander. In his right hand, he held his trustworthy lance that weighed at the very least 130 kilograms—worthy for a beast of a man of his calibre. His eyes gazed before the group of soldiers standing before him—letting out guttural groan before promptly speaking in a loud, booming voice.
“All of you are here for one, and only one reason.” His words seemed heavy and burdensome, causing each individual soldier to become even more tense as they waited patiently for his next sentence.
“Some of you might already be familiar, some of you might still be new around here. Nonetheless, today, we shall finish that damn mission, and put an end to this infuriating task. You lots hear me!?” He roared, causing the sleepy soldiers and the careless soldiers to be immediately brought back into the present. In a union, every single individual responded in a loud, clear voice. “Yes sir!”
In front of the commander, with steeled expression, stood about 120 soldiers, separated into 6 different groups. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd groups seemed average at best—comprised of a large number of inexperienced soldiers and a few veterans to guide them and nurture them. The 4th group appeared a bit special, consisting of all archers—who all also specialises in horse riding. The 5th squad, with 21 rookies and a single veteran, was also recognised as the ‘Doomed’ squad, all because of that sole seasoned warrior was none other than Rhodus, the proclaimed Devil who made a deal with the witches to ensure his safety.
All but a single individual yearned to escape from this platoon, but they knew such wishes were nothing more than a dream, a dream that could never be realised, and that understanding of such fact left them a bitter, depressed taste that made their eyes furrow at their ‘commander’ with deep hatred.
‘If only someone could prove his guilty of being allies with the witches…I hope he burns in bell.’ They all thought collectively, muttering profanities beneath their breath—yet Rhodus paid no heed to such comments and glares. He was too accustomed to that sort of attention, after all.
Last but not least, the 6th unit, involving only 3, albeit unique individuals—otherwise deemed as the ‘Precious Jewels’, a company of people who bore quirky features, and looked extremely stunning—especially the blue-haired boy and Park Jeongeun. Although their mystical appearances undoubtedly left the soldiers mystified—they were also considered a ‘doom’ unit as the only reason they were here to begin with, is due to the sole fact that the young mistress of the House of Altifirma favoured them. But just because a noble treasured them—does not emphasise the combative capabilities of such group of people. She simply cherishes them all because of their stunning, natural appearance—and that choice of hers, each time requesting more ‘jewels’, have led many to meet their untimely demise. Thus, it was natural to assume that every single platoon, composed solely of the people she had chosen—were bound to fail in the first place. A dysfunctional group with untrained cowards.
The commander took a deep breath—a mixture of disappointment and anger coursing through his veins, wanting to vent and perhaps even kill the mistress, for always bestowing him with the task of training such foolish souls. Alas, all he could do was grit his teeth and suffer in silence. Dismissing his thoughts, he hurriedly regain his composure and announced each and every single groups’ respective missions.
“Good! Now, here are your tasks. Group 1 and 2, for today, you'll be accompanying the young mistress. Now get moving!”
He took a deep breath for a moment, then promptly continued. “Group 3, you'll be patrolling the town as per usual. Group 4, 5 and 6, all of you have been given the most vital mission. Today, you all will be with me to hunt down the Crimson Witch.”
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