My name is Yuanxi, though my friends call me Yu. This is not my story. No, this is the story of an entire archipelago. It began in 1621 of the Yakobinian Calendar. In those days, all of Santara was divided in two: the West and the East. In the West lies the prosperous provinces, the ones under the thumb of the Dragon Emperor. Those were the Tionghoa Southern Holdings, called such because the Tionghoa Empire is far to the north of the archipelago, in the main continent. The East was where all the trouble could be found: Yakobinian puppet kings, resentful of their situation, were always ready to revolt at the first sign of Tionghoa weakness.

If readers are wondering why I start with this soliloquy, it’s because that little tidbit about Santara was my first thoughts when I first became conscious. That was for the better; if I had known the terrible truth at the time, I would not have been able to function.

Moving on… it was in the major island of Paloe, the center of the Sultanate where my adventures in Santara began in earnest. There, I found my arms and legs bounded as I woke up. Of course, I only know of my location after my ordeal was all said and done. At the time, I had no idea what was going on. I was like a newborn babe, except instead of being surrounded by loving parents and kindly midwives, I got brigands - rude, ugly, and uncouth brigands. Given my memory issues, I suspect they had ambushed me and hit my head in an attempt to rob me. But after realizing that I had no valuables save for my pistol (and perhaps my notebook), they took me captive in a vain attempt to get their labor’s worth.

They could have taken my coat and left me naked on the road, but no one ever accuses brigands of being smart.

Little did I know at the time that brigand stupidity would set me on the path intertwined with the fate of all Santara.

Our fated meeting happened so quickly. Brigand encampments are shoddily reinforced as a rule, but what my rescuers pulled off was still amazing. That was when I met the man whom I looked up to the most: Aron bin Atreus Borromeo, King of Dun-a-din. Aron was not a particularly strong fighter, but there was something gallant about the way he carried himself. I could see the nobility in his eyes. His skills with the blade was not shabby either. Meanwhile, his companion was the warrior without equal. Riding atop his black wyvern, Drusus bin Gaius Marius was a terrifying sight for any enemy.

Apparently, Aron and Drusus simply broke through the brigade encampment with just the two of them. No other soldier was with them. It did not take long for them to find me. It was Aron who cut my binds with his sword. I noticed he had a pistol hanging from his hip.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“Are you okay?” asked Aron.

“Yes.” I pointed to the pistol. “That’s…”

“I took it from a dead brigand. I didn’t know bandits around here carry firearms, let alone one as fancy as this.”

“It’s mine.”

“You’re kidding!” But his expression of disbelief soon disappeared. “Here, you can have it.”

But before I could get my pistol back, we were interrupted by Drusus flying in on his wyvern. His lance was red with the blood of brigands. “Surely you jest, my lord. We don’t even know this boy!”

Thankfully for me, Aron was of the trusting type. He waved away Drusus’ objection and gave me his pistol. From that point on, I was ready to die for him.

But though I had been rescued, I knew the situation was still grim. It was still the two of them against bandits who numbered at least a dozen, surely. It was then that I offered to help them. I knew very little of my past, but I know battle tactics. I didn’t know how, but I didn’t care at the time. All that mattered to me was to help my rescuers.

Our tactic for this battle was so simple that a child could come up with it. Aron with his sword and Drusus with his lance were to take point while I stayed at the back to guard their flanks. But I also had Drusus dismount from his wyvern so it could help us from the sky.

I wish I could say that we had an epic and desperate battle, but that would be a lie. Instead, it was by the numbers as Aron and Drusus were able to take out the bandits charging at them while I shot down any who was smart enough to try and sneak up on them. There was also the angry black wyvern charging from the sky – no one wants to be at the receiving end of that.

Actually, we didn’t even kill most of the bandits. Once it was clear that they were outmatched, they fled the encampment. Taking the prudent course (uncharacteristically), Aron chose to let the survivors go. Though we made sure to torch down the encampment so they wouldn’t be able to use it again.

Afterwards, Aron was ready to bid farewell to me. I was sad to see him go, but I would have done so if he hadn’t told me his next destination: Mocasar, to help the Sultan of Paloe against the Tionghoa. I didn’t know what came over me, but I genuflected before Aron before asking to come along with him. There was a compulsion in me that made me want to go to Mocasar.

I must have come across as a madman to my newfound friends as I begged them to take me in. Thankfully, Aron was in good spirits and welcomed me in without hesitation. Later, I also learned that King Aron actually had other soldiers with him, he just didn’t bring them against the brigands because he didn’t want to exhaust them in the march to Mocasar. He only attacked the encampment because he wanted to help the local villagers who had been suffering brigand attacks. Such actions from the King of Dun-a-din were the reason why I never think him a prudent man. A good man? Yes. Prudent? No.

But I can’t complain. After all, he gave me my pistol. And my notebook too.