Against all common sense, when a country was headed for destruction, its internal structures were often frail and its contradictions irreconcilable.
But Old Aran was not like that.
Under the influence of one organization, the brink-of-collapse Old Aran was brought together, even displaying the kingdom's last bit of threatening power—no person could avoid the excessively vicious and terrifying sharpness.
Thirty-seven years ago.
Holy Spirit Calendar 2653, Old Aran.
Duke Fabrik's territory (now the Southern Province).
The stormy weather was murky, the Milky Way seemed to pour down from the skies. The sudden thunder and lightning illuminated the entire gloomy forest. The iron hooves of horses covered in armor cracked every withered branch, the humming buzz of the army's charge scared away every fearful bird in the woods.
Marcus, in his twenties, received orders. As a Sergeant, he led a squad to sweep the surroundings of Fabrik Castle from the flank, suppressing the Evil Party.
