1803 HOURS.

  THRUDSAY, 18 AUTUMNSUS 1441.

  GLACIES, YONDEL.

  HE WAS NO LONGER A YOUNG MAN. The wrinkles in his face had already damaged his once dashing appearance that was often enjoyed by the waitresses in the local tavern. His bright golden hair stood out amongst the people of the kingdom. His family originated from the far north; the Frontier before it became an interest to the now blooming nation. Like his father, grandfather, great grandmother before him, his life—now at the ripe age of thirty-nine would be in service to the throne no matter who sat upon it. The trust and power and power he held was minimal, but enough.

  His wife had made them a sizable dinner, slabs of pork served with a vegetable and broth soup. It was simple and fulfilling, something that he admired of the brunette two years his senior. Their child often didn’t make visits as she was spending her time learning magic under a trusted neighbor, but the times she would stop around, his wife—Camila Harold-Orwell—would make special custard desserts with blueberries and vanilla. This indulgence wasn’t often, but the coin was worth it for the ingredients.

  Life wasn’t simple: Why was it now that those in legend—ones that hunted heroes—would be brought to this world? Holy Knights didn’t serve any master but would not let the world fall into ruin. It was a reluctance that kept them tied to the throne. This time he would consider himself fortunate that the target was not that of a hero or a man

  For now, the weather of late summer had occupied the great plains and sprawling capital. It was strong, yet not overbearing. The crops still grew and soon the second harvest season would bless the people with greatness for the following winter. Here he once stood duty alongside his fellow servicemembers that were assigned to the detail that occupied the castle’s barracks and security component. Here, in the western wing of the castle laid the residential sector that held an amalgamation of rooms and chambers that would house staff, heroes, familial personnel, and in this instance, Holy Knights. Each room was large enough to hold a single monster—no bigger than a golem—and within each, the beds were made of pristine wood taken from the forgotten forest with the mattress and bedding being commissioned from the finest small-time craftsman in the capital. Securing this place was of upmost importance.

  Not that they need the protection… Orwell told himself.

  A single room held a special detail, there was about a dozen Royal Guardsmen on watch in this part of the castle. To get as far as they could to the room most had to be frisked—all except for the royal family and flag officers—anyone else had to be on special duties with an official document from the RG Chief Coordinator or were to be requested specifically by the occupants of this single room. Though the guardsmen were on duty here with the direct order to keep these guests, the Holy Knights alive, this mission was only second to the primary objective of keeping the royal family safe; thus, many on this post believed that they were stationed here for the purpose of making sure the summoned soldiers did not step out of line and threaten the throne.

  If anything, it would be the opposite… Captain Orwell was sitting alongside a navy officer, Vice Commander Calvin Adam, Royal Navy (RN). A member of each military branch was ordered to be present and on duty to respond to anything the Holy Knights wanted, be it violence or a simple cup of tea. So, the heads of each branch had decided to send three officers, each of the same pay grade. They had been here since 13:00 the previous day, and by 20:00 they had fully moved into their new job. They were unfortunately given the guard rooms which were not as luxurious nor polished as the guest room.

  “Commander Adam?” The old-hoarse voice of Orwell made the Vice Commander look up from the set of papers he was handling. He shared a modicum of annoyance as he placed the stack to the side. Adam’s concentration was something that wasn’t often interrupted, and Orwell had made the mistake.

  “Captain, I know that the Holy Knights require little attention.” Vice Commander Adam sat down at the table next to him in the guard room they had for the duty day. His annoyance for being interrupted was understandable—even if his personality wasn’t appreciated—what was upcoming was something that affected them every year no matter the branch. The new fiscal year, that’s what he’s working on. Orwell easily understood his grumpiness. They were recovering from a fall in the trading market, one that kept the people below a reasonable living for the spring and early summer. The emergency budget authorized by the king had mitigated any damage, but as of recent his interest in military R&D would reverse his original plan and exceed the limited government budget that was set for the next four years.

  “So, what do you expect the Holy Knights will be tasked with?” Orwell asked, hoping to stir a conversation related to what the king intended to use the other worldly soldiers for.

  The commander arched an eyebrow, “Those men will be the king’s ultimate tool for suppressing his rivals.”

  “Rivals?” Orwell did not know how to feel about the direction the commander moved.

  “This isn’t the first time that this nation has summoned men from afar—you should know well, the last hero that disappeared during your youth.” Adam sighed.

  “He was nothing more than a child then, just as I was.” Orwell argued unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and tearing it away showing the commander a chunk of flesh that was missing from his chest. “We all paid dearly when he sought the very freedom that he was denied.”

  Adam chuckled, “He indeed was nothing more than a child.”

  Before their line could continue, a sudden thud from the room beside them stirred both the army captain and naval commander into action. With calm and composed features, they grabbed their respective weapons and stood in front of the door separating them from the room the Holy Knights were housed in. Pressing his ear against the door, Orwell only heard the voices of the men inside and he couldn’t detect any trace of excess mana beyond environmental. It was something that had yet to be confirmed, but the Holy Knights were theorized to be magically inert. So, the fact there was little-to-nothing there made him lower his guard.

  He stepped back and knocked twice.

  By this time the Rangers had grown used to the constant intrusion of their privacy. No matter how many complaints they made in an hour timespan, it was crystal clear that anyone under the orders of King Aldrich had the authority to ignore anything and everything they said or requested. Due to this, caution, fear, anxiety, eeriness had built up in the soldiers. Such emotions were contained in the medium-sized conference room and were only to be dispersed only when no ears were listening; thus, the Rangers had opted for silence as they quickly discovered that they were being watched 25/7. They were getting tired of being listened to twenty-five-hours a day, and the time difference compared to the twenty-four-hours on Earth was wearing them down. Standing around the room in a messy semi-circle of couches on tables, the remaining men of Task Force Spare’s strike team sat in silence. There was no need for such a title anymore, they were just ordinary men of a military organization which did not even exist in this world. In time each found their peace, but this was still something that occupied their minds each passing second. The lowering sun shined through the closed white curtains of the westbound windows and the comforting environment it would’ve provided was drained by the appearance of Captain Orwell and the current topic of conversation he had just interrupted. There was a three-way divide, and Oliver tried his hardest to mitigate the discussion.

  “We can’t trust them with manufacturing ammunition or developing the things we need,” After a heavy sigh followed by a hushed curse, Anthony continued the discussion with a light chuckle. “I mean have you seen this place? This shit is straight medieval, that or something out of Old Germany.”

  “Corporal, we have to get some sort of supply. There are more dire consequences to not having ammunition than politics.” Sitting across from him was Sergeant Zachary Malkovich. His argument was more based on facts of their current situation rather than just an emotional evaluation of the world they inhabited. Alexander understood. The corporal wasn’t going to argue against that, but something about this place just bugged him the wrong way and that presented the friction he was placing on the conversation.

  “Sarge is right,” PFC Jonah Simon added on as he nodded gleefully, “It’s only going to be a matter of time before we run out of bullets. That’s why it’s paramount to find some way for either the government or some local company that can produce replacement gear and other supplies.”

  “Is this kingdom in some kind of financial trouble?” Technical Sergeant William Baker added to the many questions that had been building, “We don’t know the current state of the economy, nor do we know if they’ll turn anything against us.”

  The group fell silent. Captain Orwell felt all eyes on him. All points that had been raised ever since he had entered the room were beyond plausible and there was little, he could say to ease the tension that had built up. He could at least answer some of the questions; yes, there were ways the kingdom could help their logistics issue, and yes, their trading partners have been slowly moving operations out of the kingdom creating a shortage of all goods and services. It was a shame that he couldn’t help, but selling state secrets was not on the menu of things he could do to assist these Holy Knights. They are the ones that will be tasked world changing orders, Orwell felt his confidence faltering. He could barely keep up with what the men were referring to. This was a matter for the Great Sage to handle rather than just a normal officer.

  “Look, what we need is standard ammunition. 6.5, and 45. That should be enough for us if the kingdom can supply us with that much.” Jonah said.

  “Well provided that the king doesn’t launch an investigation into our gear, we could have them manufacture the ammunition while leaving everything else to local businesses.” Zachary said nodding the what the PFC had mentioned. Their current situation was quite dire. Any remaining ammunition they had was either chambered within their weapons or held within half-empty canisters in each of their assault packs. High Command had limited what they could bring to Peshawar. Those at the top surmised that having three platoons operating on a single target would be able to share ammunition amongst each other, thus they relegated the Rangers to securing the outer cordon, isolating the target building, and performing reconnaissance only. This choice was no backfiring on the men as they stood counting each bullet they had remaining.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “It’s not like we have a choice here.” Oliver mulled staring at the other captain standing at the only entrance to the room. Before anyone could get another word into the conversation and provide a compromise, a sharp knock came from the door making everyone shift uncomfortably. Andrew and Alexander waited patiently in their seats; their hands had already snapped to the handguns sitting on their respective bodies. Trying to placate the hostilities the Rangers were ready to release, Orwell opened the door placing himself in the opening. There, a small, brunette-haired maid looked up at the captain with fearful eyes fearing she had just interrupted an important meeting, which, she did.

  “The princess has called for both Holy Knights Devlin and Randall to her quarters,” she said in a nervous voice as she gently curtsied to the men watching her.

  “Thank you.” Was all Maximus said as he sent the maid away and closed the door. Oliver let out a heavy sigh. His hand was covered as he stood up and paced around the room.

  “So, what now?” The lieutenant asked as he too stood up while removing his hand from the hip-holster sitting on his belt. “I’m not in favor of splitting up right this second.”

  “Me and the LT are already acquainted with the princess. This could be an opportunity to learn something we don’t know of,” Mike argued as he stood up and walked towards the door as if he were trying to emphasize his point. “We’re stuck in here like hermits. Captain, it would be best to at least get something out of her, right?”

  As the younger man turned his head to Orwell, the knight captain could just simply shrug his shoulders. Oliver wasn’t pleased with the reality the remaining members of his platoon had been thrown into. He just had a squadron-sized element left and here they were without support or backup. He didn’t quite trust the princess, but the least he could do was listen to her. He felt his clammy and cold hands as he brushed the side of his growing beard. “Randall, go meet the princess. Andrew, shadow him and make sure he doesn’t get killed.”

  “Rog’. Secure information and make sure he doesn’t get killed by the princess.” The lieutenant said patting the sergeant on the shoulder making the man wave off his arm hiding his flustered face, “Aw c’mon Mike, you got a girl calling you to her room!”

  “Fucker, she wants to speak to the two of us,” Mike didn’t put up much protest to the chiding the junior officer did as he grabbed his helmet and secured it to his belt before double checking his handgun and securing it within his drop-leg holster.

  The two prepared their gear, or rather what little gear they were bringing in front of the knight captain. Maximus simply said nothing, they were allowed to always have weapons with them, the king had made that directive clear. As the captain escorted them out of the room, he could instantly tell the two were still not used to the castle they were occupying. They silently stared at the stained-glass windows, grand chandelier, and velvet carpets much to Orwell’s and the maids’ amusements.

  It wasn’t long before the trio would reach a single wooden door on the north wing of the castle. They were on the fourth floor, and each waited for someone to open the door as moments before Maximus had rhythmically knocked. Within three seconds a maid opened the door and invited the three in without a single word. Eyeing the First-Born Princess and her butler on the balcony outside, Lieutenant Andrew pulled Mike’s shoulder before he could go outside into the cold swift breeze that made both shiver where they stood.

  “Go on ahead, sergeant. I’ll handle the captain over here, see if I can’t figure something out.” Andrew said as he let the sergeant go.

  Nodding, Mike side-stepped the furniture as he moved towards the glass doorway that led to the balcony. He felt the now calming wind as he found himself standing in place and simply staring at the silver-haired princess who watched him with curious eyes. Mike was a bit dumbfounded that he was locked in some sort of staring contest with the princess, but he said eventually found the nerve to speak first under the late harvest sky.

  “Should I call you princess, ma’am? Or something else?”

  Lecca-Maradel turned back to the table she was sitting at. She gently grasped a small teacup and took a sip. Her silver hair and pale skin shined in the strong orange light that descended upon the castle and the breeze shifted her loose, back-length hair and free flowing white sundress. She eyed the sergeant before her and was curious as to why only Mike had answered her summons and not Lieutenant Andrew who still stood in the room talking to Captain Orwell. She brushed the few stands of silver hair that had fell over her eyes.

  “Ma’am?” Mike asked. I knew the LT would pull something like this. He was unsure of his current position and standing with Princess Ariash.

  “You may call me Lecca-Maradel or Lecca for short. Please, take a seat, Randall,” To her request Mike cautiously took a seat across from the princess. “Was I correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gently leaned forward and spoke in a cheerful, soft voice, “May I call you Mike?” She asked with a kind, smile, one that did not look staged.

  “Sure…”

  Though his hand rested on the arm rest of his chair, Mike made sure it was close enough to the holster strapped to his right thigh. He kept watch on the princess and her butler as he was poured and given a cup of tea. Weary of if he was exposed in this position, the sergeant silently refused to take a sip fearing an assassination or kidnapping attempt. Every move he made was calculated to give him enough time to escape or respond to danger, but with the looming towers of the castle just above him it was clear there was little he could do.

  Lecca herself remained cautious as she took a deep breath and focused on the environment around her. She understood Lieutenant Andrew Devlin was inside her room speaking to Captain Orwell and that he was keeping watch on the sergeant. She steeled herself to answer the questions that had been plaguing her mind since the Holy Knights responded to the summoning ritual, but before any words could escape her soft lips, Mike broke the ice as he spoke his mind eyeing two guards that were stationed on the balcony.

  “I don’t think your guards particularly like me or the others. The seem to be wary of us no matter what happens. I don’t blame them. Guard duty and Firewatch if tough.” Lecca was taken aback by the sudden voice of opinion the sergeant provided. She steadied herself. Mike was an experienced soldier who had just exited what she believed to be a war, so instead of treating him like any normal politician or civilian, it would be best to speak on equal terms as she herself is a soldier for her kingdom.

  “They mean no harm. It is their duty to protect the royal family and the other governmental figures that occupy this grand city,” She explained hoping to get Mike to relax. “I myself have done my fair share of armed duty, but what of yourself?”

  Rubbing the back of his head, Mike wasn’t sure how to respond. He eventually settled on a mission he had performed in Angola during the UN-African war, “Yeah, we had a couple of missions where we helped escort our allies and other US personnel. Though the missions relegated to guarding critical facilities was handled by contractors of the DOD.”

  It took a moment for the princess to remind herself that Mike and the others came from another world. Lecca calmed her curious self as she thought to what the sergeant had just described to her. In Yondel it was quite uncommon for a mercenary group, or a “contracting” firm to perform escort duties and protection details due to treaties in place with other nations and the laws and regulations of how such groups were to be used during times of peace. No one wanted to start a war over escorts being brash, so King Aldrich had limited their uses even though he was going back on his word and attempting to combine them with professional military forces.

  “I understand. If you do not mind, I would like for you to explain more of your past and how the “Rangers” fight in your world.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the liberty to say much. I think I can provide some basic information thought if that is acceptable Princess Lecca.” Mike said with a waning smile and a tired, deep voice.

  “Please, indulge me.” Lecca commanded with her soft voice and smile.

  “Well, to begin with, Rangers are the United States Army premier light infantry fighting force. We specialize in conducting raids and assault missions and each person selected through the rigorous physical and psychological evaluations are already airborne by the time they get the scroll and tab.”

  “Our Heroes, you seem to share similarities. They specialize in direct confrontations, though they too can specialize in sabotage missions.” Lecca processed the information provided and she tilted her head to the side letting it rest on her pale hands and letting locks of silver hair fall to her left.

  Mike blinked twice—refocusing himself—before looking into the room and providing an answer, “If we’re going by what my people interpret a hero to be, then what we do is completely different. Heroes are meant to be in the spotlight and fight grand wars, we are quite the opposite. Sure, we are often at the frontlines, but we’re designed to work behind enemy lines and pave a way for the real army to arrive and take over.”

  “So, how do you Rangers fight?” A bright idea popped into the princess’s mind, but she stayed her tongue opting to hold her words for someone else. She opted to ask of what Mike was capable of and what his experience was with combat.

  “Well—missions are usually carried by a Ranger platoon, comprised of around sixteen individuals, two squadrons. Our analysts forward to a mission to our command staff, and those within our chain of command green light a mission. We go in and persecute a target according to our rules of engagement. Each Ranger is a professional and capable fighter; together we can act as a force multiplier to any unit especially when working in combined arms operations.”

  “You seem to be quite the accomplished soldier, Mike. Knowledgeable as well,” Lecca complimented as she mentally took notes of what he had shared.

  “Not exactly, ma’am,” Mike tried to display humility.

  “I’m not jesting here,” Lecca said with a huff. “How old are you? You seem young to be a soldier of fortune.”

  “Twenty-four.”

  He is a year younger than me? Lecca hummed as she took another sip of her tea.

  “Don’t mind me asking, but why is your hair silver?” Mike suddenly spouted out a question as he stared at the radiant silver strands that shined in the orange hue of the sun an painted an ethereal glow on the princess.

  “Silver hair is commonly associated with our elders,” Lecca explained as she brushed her hands on her hair and picked up a small bunch sitting over her shoulder. “It is unnatural for someone to have such color of hair, in fact, I had brunette hair when I was just a child.”

  “Is there any particular reason why your hair color changed?” Mike pressed.

  Lecca straightened herself as she placed a slim hand over her chest, “When I was born, I grew deathly sick. Under the watch of Mother Julia, I was able to recover, though it marred my ability to have a natural hair color.”

  “Could it be a case of Vitiligo?” Mike asked mulling through the different hair conditions that could produce a loss of color. The princess looked at him confused as he looked directly into her eyes explaining what he had mentions. “It’s a condition where the melanocyte cells are destroyed. It could happen where your immune system destroyed them when you were sick; tush, you have silver hair.”

  Lecca looked up at the sergeant—unsure what he meant—but she swore something similar had been told to her in the past.

  “Are you a cleric or sage?” Lecca inquired becoming completely amazed at the possibility to knowing the truth behind her illness.

  Mike’s smile fell and hesitation grew. His right hand picked at the vest he wore, and he sharply forced out his response, “No, I’m just a normal grunt.”

  “I see…” Lecca responded, somewhat dejected by the souring mood.

  “Listen, I should get back to my squadron. Thank you for speaking with me, Princess Lecca.” Mike humbly said as he stood up and nodded his head slowly.

  “Yes—goodnight…”

  Lecca would never get the chance to ask the daring question that had been brewing in her mind.

  Mike would never get the chance to formulate an answer to the suspicions laced within his mind.

  Publicly Available Information: Intelligence Brief: Magical Powers:

  Through the evolution of humanity, documented reports of supernatural and inhuman abilities have been recorded over the ages. These powers have been both passed down through family lineage and through artificial means. Each power is dependent on a class that the user inherits, and though elemental powers can be obtained, there have been cases of more abnormal abilities.

  Magical Classifications:

  Fire

  Water

  Earth

  Wind

  Dark

  Light

  Nullification