Florianus took a deep breath while the sunlight bathed his garden in pure light. The day was splendidly blue, with scattered clouds pierced by cool breezes. An august tree provided him with shade, and the flowers he had brought from the Eastern routes blossomed around him. His small study table stood in front of him, adorned with a vase of infused water and the tomes of his rigorous study. He moved his seat forward and picked up one of the leather-bound books, carefully opening it. The old cuneiform writings were as fresh as they had been when they were painted three hundred years prior. To the untrained eye, those precise strokes looked no different than mere triangles and wedges painted all over a piece of papyrus. Nonetheless, that was the script of the great Eastern Empires of elder ages, the oldest one known to man, and possibly inherited from the time when the Gods fought the Giants of the earth.

On a new blank notebook of hemp paper, Florianus had drawn the alphabetical equivalent of each sound. He had learned the Eastern Language, at least the most modern variant, from one of his army colleagues, the same one who had introduced him to the Cult of the Hero.

He sighed, as his progress was slow and the text confusing, but he persisted, even as the feeling of mental fatigue started to creep up on him. After all, he had lost a significant sum of money in his pursuit of that sacred text. It had been miraculously preserved by a pious soldier when the Great Library of Kan Digirak was burnt to the ground.

The few translated pages he had dealt with valiant horseback warriors, their hearts pure and noble, their bodies strong and ready for battle. They fought wicked dragons of the skies and floating castles that spewed fire, capable of engulfing entire towns in flames. The text described monsters made of clay and iron, as well as holy princesses with flowing black hair who guarded enchanted chalices. But those fantasies or dreams were merely symbols of the fundamental struggles of mankind. He believed the dragon to be the archetypal symbol of the destructive barbarian, the eternal scourge of civilization.

As he turned the page, he came across a unique symbol, a type of sigil. He narrowed his eyes and did his best to translate it. Slowly but surely, its meaning revealed itself. It was called the Seal of the Protector. Continuing to read patiently, the text spoke of wicked monsters created through black magic and the blood of fallen heroes. These men had been the great kings of the first ages, but their desire for power and immortality blinded them. Through countless sacrifices and secret blood rituals, they obtained immense power and magical abilities, which they used to subject mankind to the cruelest slavery.The great demigods fought alongside the gods of heaven, riding chariots of fire and wielding enchanted swords. The God of Fire bestowed upon them a sigil to serve as both an emblem and protection. The sigil resembled an eight-spoked wheel guarded by seven incomplete circles, each atop the other, with a hexagram in the center. Although he didn't know much about magic, he was certain it held some form of occult symbolism. He planned to consult with the Acolyte later, but for now, he wanted to focus on the story.

He scratched his chin in thought. Those evil monsters could represent human savagery, the rejection of decency and civilization in favor of barbarism. Meanwhile, the godly warriors embodied the civilizing forces of ancient empires. As someone well-versed in ancient studies, he recognized that existence operated in cycles. In the current cycle of time, he believed the Itruschian Empire embodied the golden warriors.

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He hoped that the time was approaching when the entire world would become Itruschian.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him and the clanking of metal armor. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption, and kept his eyes fixed on the text.

"Sir," a voice interrupted his study in a callous manner. He clenched his fist and placed it gently on the table.

Standing up, he almost knocked over the stool behind him before turning with crossed arms.

"What is it, soldier? This better be important."

"Sir," the soldier lowered their head. "Six soldiers from the Border Guard have arrived. One of them claims to have survived an ambush from you-know-who."

"You-know-who? Who am I supposed to know about?"

"The fugitives, the blonde girl, and..."

The news hit him like a barrel of ice-cold water. Florianus let out a long breath and clenched his teeth.

"That's enough! Where are they?"

"They're in your office, sir."

"Alright, I'm going there now."

He felt foolish for not finding the fugitives during his four months in office, only for them to suddenly appear alive and well. For a moment, he believed that burning down the forest had been successful. He thought they had perished in the inferno.

Entering the villa, he found five border patrol soldiers standing in his office, wearing full segmented armor but no helmets. They faced the gate, with the marble eagle that adorned the hall behind them.

"Soldiers," Florianus declared, marching into the room with his arms crossed.

"Sir," the five soldiers stood firm. Florianus noticed another soldier sitting on a stool with a hardened leather base. Their arms and head were wrapped in gauze where they had received a blow that miraculously didn't kill them.

"What happened?" Florianus asked curtly.

"Sir," the soldiers began. "This comrade was..."

"If he has a story to tell, let him speak for himself," Florianus snapped. The soldiers fell silent as Florianus looked down at the wounded soldier.

"Sir, those women came in the night when we least expected. They attacked by surprise. They came like animals, killing left and right. They took the slaves and the horses. I... I was the only one who survived."

"I knew it." Florianus scratched his shaved chin. Larius had been foolish, his meaningless sadism, his desire to let those savages starve and suffer instead of killing them on the spot had turned them into a bigger problem. Now, those savages were on the run.

"How many were they?"

"Five at first, five came in and attacked it. But there were many others."

"Five people? Five people defeated an entire garrison?"

"Sir." The man bowed his head. "They... They are armed and very powerful."

"Those disgusting pieces of scum. We shall destroy them."

He thought it unlikely that the Gadalian tribes that dwelled beyond the border could decide to attack. Even if they did, they were too weak to be a problem, Larius had been dealing with them for long, weakening them with pests and spies in their councils. They would not be foolish enough to start an invasion. Florianus thought of sending a scouting troop to check whether the fugitives were there. He could get them extradited back to Tharcia, and if the barbarians in the area were assisting them, he could kill two birds with one stone.

Florianus turned around and clapped his hands.

"Send an emissary to the Provincial Capital. We're going out of the border and let's put an end to those traitors once and for all."