The year 1547 of the Coldiron Calendar marked the end of a brutal epoch. After six devastating campaigns of the so-called "Luminous Restoration," which had expended three million human soldiers, one hundred and seventy thousand elven archers, and two hundred thousand dwarven stalwarts, the allied forces of humanity finally succeeded in drawing the main demonic host—one million strong—into a decisive confrontation on the plains of Yarnixun.
On the twenty-eighth day of this final battle, the human coalition unleashed its total assault. To the central front, a sacrificial line was committed: three hundred thousand dwarven warriors, reinforced by one hundred thousand human heavy cavalry, four hundred thousand armored pikemen, and two hundred thousand longbowmen. Their grim task was to stem the advance of two elite demonic legions: the Armored Behemoths and the dreaded Wyvern Knights. This central force absorbed the catastrophic brunt of the demonic sorcerous barrage. Despite outnumbering their fearsome adversaries nearly ten to one—the Behemoths and Wyvern Knights numbered only one hundred thousand and twelve hundred respectively—the allied center was all but annihilated. The carnage was immense.
Having borne the fury of the demonic magic corps, the human forces revealed their true gambit. At its heart were the twelve Grand Magisters of the continent, around whom gathered over two thousand intermediate and high-level mages. In unison, they unleashed the fiery forbidden spell: "Judgment Day."
The demonic sorcerers, their power drained from the prior assault, were helpless to raise defensive wards. The cataclysmic flames consumed their ranks entirely, slaying the demonic commander, Mordecai Darkspire, and eradicating his entire magical corps. The demonic center dissolved into chaos.
At two hours past noon, Marshal "Saint" Andreas Voss ordered the general advance. A colossal strike force of three hundred thousand cavalry, comprising the continent's most legendary orders—the Radiant Knights, the Teutonic Legion, and the Sacred Paladins—spearheaded the attack. Their flanks were protected by a phalanx of fifty thousand "Berserkers" and two legions of fifty thousand "Armored Mammoths" each. This juggernaut plunged into the reeling demonic lines.
Victory was total.
Fewer than ten thousand demons managed a retreat. The final tally of the Battle of Yarnixun was etched in blood:
Demonic Forces: 990,000 slain. Commander Mordecai Darkspire fallen. The magical corps obliterated.
Human Alliance: Humans: 1,000,000. Ten of the twelve Grand Magisters perished; the mage corps was devastated. Elves: 110,000. Dwarves: 330,000, their Chieftain "Wotan Korneis" slain. Berserkers: 97,000, their Chieftain "The Soaring Eagle" fallen.
The conflict had mauled both sides, but the alliance's military and magical elite was utterly shattered. Thus, the continent adopted a new calendar, born from this pyrrhic victory: the Crimson Moon Calendar. The year Coldiron 1547 became Year One.
Chapter 2: A Legacy of Stone and Sea
Three centuries into the Crimson Moon Calendar, the demons returned to the shores of Mara. This time, they bore not weapons, but wealth. Seduced by glittering treasure, humanity embraced trade with little hesitation. By Crimson Moon 330, human merchants first set foot on the demonic continent, initiating a bustling maritime trade.
The dwarves and elves, whose lifespans far exceeded humanity's, clung to their ancestral enmity, a stance that gradually estranged them from their former human allies. Yet, an innate dread of the demonic visage and embellished tales of the old wars ensured the demons remained confined to a few coastal ports, never venturing deep into the continental heartland.
The Lay of Mara
Mara is a land of stark contrasts: high in the north, low in the south. Dominating all is the Alathas Mountain Range, running east to west like a colossal spine. Its highest peak, Mount Pyrelius, pierces the sky at 6,781 meters, with an average altitude of 5,200 meters. It cleaves the continent into two unequal parts: the vast south, comprising five-sixths of the land, is a tapestry of plains and rolling hills; the north is a realm of rugged highlands growing ever colder.
The mountains themselves are a place of profound mystery and danger. Intense elemental turbulence radiates forty li from the range, disrupting all magic. Spells become wildly unstable, their effects diminished and unpredictable. To mages, it is the "Cursed Ridge."
Three Paths, Three Fates
For those wishing to cross the divide, three routes exist.
First, the Throat. Midway along the Alathas foothills lies the Kabeng Pass, a 1,300-meter-high notch splitting the range. Through it runs a seventeen-li defile—the Throat Valley—widest at one li, narrowest at a mere three hundred meters. Its strategic import is undeniable. Fortresses guard either end: to the north, the Grand Duchy of Sillimar's "Gate of Ice and Snow," gateway to its 70% frozen realm; to the south, the Larfanset Empire's "Gauntlet of Gord," built by its founder, Emperor Kaiman Gord, to ward against the then Sillimar Empire.
Second, the Sea. One may sail a two-thousand-li detour through the "Sea of the Damned." Named for its perpetually drifting polar ice and chaotic currents, it offers no reliable shipping lanes. History is littered with ambitious monarchs who attempted to use it for a surprise attack across the mountains. All failed.
The most infamous was the "Campaign of Heavenly Decree" in Crimson Moon 1330. King Sillimar Hain of Sillimar, seizing an opportunity, feinted an attack on the Gauntlet of Gord with 150,000 heavy infantry. Meanwhile, his elite—5,000 Armored Mammoth riders, 100,000 heavy cavalry, and 300,000 infantry—embarked to sail the Sea of the Damned and strike Larfanset's capital, Sunset City, directly. A sudden current shift dragged the entire fleet to the arctic permafrost. Of 410,000 souls, only three hundred returned.
Larfanset counter-attacked with half a million troops, nearly breaching the Gate of Ice and Snow, only thwarted by the valley's confines. With its elite lost, Sillimar could not reinforce. When rebellions erupted in Larfanset's conquered territories, the offensive stalled. Sillimar sued for peace, accepting vassal status as a Grand Duchy, dismantling its magic academies, and paying an annual tribute of 300,000 gold coins and twenty mammoths to retain its borders. History recorded it as the "Campaign of Heavenly Decree," for its outcome seemed decided by fate itself.
Third, the Mountain. The final path is to cross the Alathas directly. But with perennial snows, average temperatures of -20°C, and slopes averaging 60 degrees, no horse can endure. Emperor Kaiman Gord once estimated a forced crossing would incur 40% non-combat casualties from frostbite alone, ignoring logistics. No sane commander would attempt it. Only desperate herb-gatherers or mana-crystal miners dare its heights.
Chapter 3: Strangers at the Gate of Bastoni
Crimson Moon 1430, a century after the Campaign of Heavenly Decree. The continent's political landscape remained a cyclical tapestry of "war-peace, war-peace... the same chaos, the same disorder. Allies one day, enemies the next." Large-scale wars had grown rare. The Grand Duchy of Sillimar and the Larfanset Empire seemed to have forgotten their old grudge. Merchants and travelers flowed freely between them. Only the twin fortresses in the Throat Valley and their vigilant garrisons stood as silent reminders.
Bastoni, on the Larfanset side, lay 130 li from the Throat Valley forts—the first hamlet reached after exiting the pass. Small but thriving, it catered to all wayfarers with its inns, smithies, sundry shops, Adventurer's Guild, mercenary board, and taverns.
On a day in early spring, where a faint drizzle fought a losing battle against the biting wind sweeping down from the Kabeng Pass, four figures appeared at Bastoni's outskirts. Three men and a woman.
The leader wore a pristine white cloak of a cut suited to a cleric or white mage, yet its tailoring was alien to Mara. The figure's gender was suggested but concealed, its age and face hidden.
Two men followed.
The first stood around 1.75 meters, in his early thirties. He was clad head-to-toe in black: black armor, a black traveling cloak, a black two-handed greatsword on his back, and a black knight's blade slung at his right hip—marking him as left-handed. Most memorable was the casually insouciant smile playing on his lips.
The second man was impossible to miss—a tower of muscle over 2.1 meters tall, with a physique twice the norm. A fierce mane of red hair crowned his head. Across his back was slung a double-bladed greataxe, 1.7 meters long, its weight suggesting it would challenge even an orc to wield. He wore a standard half-plate with a central mirror-polished disc that extended to fully sheath his right arm. His torso was otherwise bare to the cold wind, which he seemed not to notice, idly swinging his cloak in one hand.
The last was a youth of seventeen or eighteen, in silvered armor with a knight's sword at his waist. A grey cloak hooded an unremarkable, boyish face. A heavy-looking pack weighed down his shoulders.
They halted just outside the town. An old man, a retired mercanty turned local, sunned himself at the entrance. His practiced eye scanned the quartet, and he gave an involuntary shiver—not from bloodlust, for they emitted none, but from their discordant presentation.
The white-cloaked one should be a rear-line supporter, not a vanguard. Their stride is too measured, too precise for a spellcaster.
The black-armored one has the bearing and smile of high nobility, yet no noble knight would carry a mercenary's greatsword.
The red-haired giant... that axe defied reason. Only an ogre might manage it.
The youth... his footing was shallow, unrooted. The weakest, placed in the most vulnerable position.
Two possibilities: foolish noble offspring on a lark, or masters so profound their skill was invisible.
The four stood motionless until noon. The townsfolk grew uneasy, calling children inside, gathering laundry prematurely.
At midday, they conferred briefly. Then, the other three retreated to the tree line as the black-armored knight strode alone into Bastoni.
The afternoon passed without his return.
By dusk, only the white-cloaked figure remained standing sentinel. The red-haired giant and the youth sat against a tree. The old man went inside, warning his grandson, "Stay in tonight. Something will happen."
As full dark threatened, the knight had still not emerged.
Finally, the woman in white turned, resolution in her posture, and addressed the lounging youth.
"Director," Lirael Voss said, her voice low. "If Kael is not out in five minutes, I advise we go in."
"Lieutenant," Jaxson Tang replied without rising. "I won't stop you. But I will not go in. I'd never live down the shame. If Kael can't handle a simple task like this, it proves we've reached our limit. In that case, we should turn back now and forget all of this."
Lirael, seemingly expecting this, glanced at the red-haired warrior.
Gideon Voss met her pleading look, gritted his teeth, and nodded. "Then I'll go with you."
At that moment, the black-clad knight emerged from the town.
His steps were slow, rhythmic, the careless smile still on his face, gilded by the last rays of sunset. He walked to the tree.
Jaxson scrambled up. "Well? Did you get it?"
Kael Rainer smiled and spread his hands in an empty gesture.
The trio's faces fell into profound dismay. Failure.
Then, a cry of utter, soul-rending anguish tore from Jaxson Tang's throat. Inside his cottage, the old mercenary nodded by his fireplace. "So it begins," he murmured.
Outside the town, Jaxson clutched his head, his voice a mix of despair and hunger. "Tell me you're joking. You didn't get any food at all?"
Kael Rainer (the black-armored knight) shrugged, the insouciant smile never leaving his lips. "What could I do? They simply wouldn't believe we'd been robbed." The other three pretended not to see the obvious flaw in his statement.
Frankly, no one would believe a man claiming to have been robbed would still be in possession of both his imposing greatsword and his knight's blade.
Jaxson Tang (the Director): "What about your gear? Didn't you sell any of it?"
Kael, smiling that infuriatingly casual smile: "The town blacksmith took one look and declared it all 'metal-plated junk.' He refused a second glance."
Jaxson: "Didn't you explain the benefits? The advanced properties? And for heaven's sake, can you stop smiling? There are no noble ladies around to impress."
Kael's smile remained intact. "Would you have preferred I give the local smith a lecture on materials engineering, followed by a primer on the latest developments in bio-enhancement technology?"
Jaxson, grasping at straws: "Your cloak, then! That should be worth something!"
Kael, smile unwavering: "The sundries merchant said the style was rustic and the fabric non-abrasive. Only fit for rags." Three pairs of eyes inadvertently shifted to Lirael. Her face paled slightly beneath her hood.
Finally, even Lirael surrendered, sinking down to lean against the broad tree trunk. Standing perfectly rigid for an entire day on an empty stomach was a trial for anyone.
A long time passed. Full darkness had fallen, and the wind from the Kabeng Pass grew sharper, more biting. Even Gideon had donned his cloak. The world was quiet save for the mournful sigh of the wind and the occasional, suppressed shiver.
Ah-CHOO!
Someone had been jolted awake by the cold. It was Jaxson, the Director with the shallow footing.
Director: "Lieutenant."
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "I have a question."
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "Our defeat... your defeat... well, the defeat. That was ten thousand years ago, correct?"
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "In the final battle, you—we—activated the Sky Citadel's ultimate weapon, the Final Judgment. But at the last moment, the Citadel's central control system—which would be me—was forcibly uninstalled. This caused the Final Judgment to initiate abnormally, sucking me, and subsequently all of you, into a dimensional rift. We ended up on a parallel world called Earth?"
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "Then the Council and the General Staff spent several millennia locating me after my... numerous reincarnations?"
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "Then you activated the last of the auxiliary power to forcibly open a gateway between the two worlds."
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "Then you employed coercive measures and enlisted my so-called 'friends' to lure me here." (He shot a glance at the seemingly slumbering Kael and Gideon). "To play the lead role in some princely revenge saga."
Lirael: "...Yes, sir."
Director: "Then, based on your observations of this world, you created highly realistic packaging—disguises, rather—and sent us here. To reactivate the Sky Citadel and reclaim dominion over this land."
Lirael: "Yes, sir."
Director: "The axes and swords are ceramic composites."
Lirael: "Yes, sir. The material offers five times the tensile strength of titanium alloy at one-tenth the weight of steel. It was the optimal material available to us." Had the old mercenary in town heard this, his thoughts would have been interesting. Indeed, no one could wield a two-hundred-pound axe. But a twenty-pound one? Countless warriors across the continent could manage that. In truth, Gideon's greataxe weighed eighty pounds by Mara's standards—still a formidable weapon, but not impossible.
Director: "The armor is ceramic composite with... what was it? Some kind of protein?"
Lirael: "Yes, sir. Keratin-collagen protein weave. It provides a three-fold strength amplification effect."
Director: "And you made cloaks in the local style. And these 'supplies'." He kicked the heavy travel pack beside him.
Lirael: "..."
Director: "A flawless plan! All I had to do was return, activate the Citadel, and rule the continent once more!"
Lirael: "..."
Director: "But my question is: did your flawless plan include any rations? Or currency? In professional terms, a universal equivalent. Say, enough to purchase four loaves of bread?"
Lirael: "..."
Director: "And these marvels of technology are utterly unsellable! How many times is this now? Twice on the other side of the valley. Three times on the road. Six times in total! Six! And every time, we're treated like charlatans! And that damn Kael! Why must he always wear that smile when trying to sell armor? It's the smile of a con artist! His nerve is astounding; he actually goes through with it each time. Though, I'll admit, he's convincing."
Gideon, stirring: "That's because the rest of us lack the courage to try." Jaxson was growing more agitated, his voice rising, waking the redhead.
Kael slept on, a smile (and a trace of drool) on his face.
Director: "Why is this happening? Why? WHY?!" His shouts, amplified by the empty woods, echoed over the sleeping town. The old mercenary at the gate, just drifting off, jolted awake. Trembling, he muttered, "I knew it. I knew something would happen tonight."
Director: "If I die here, bury me under this tree. My epitaph shall read: 'Here lies the would-be ruler of the world, felled by starvation.'"
Director: "I WANT TO GO HOOOO—!" The final syllable was muffled as Gideon shoved something into his mouth. It was a piece of poorly roasted venison, charred on the outside and nearly raw within—a testament to Lirael's lack of culinary experience. It came from a fawn they'd found two days prior, struck by lightning. Without that fortuitous find, they would have starved already.
Tears welling in his eyes, mouth full of meat, Jaxson threw his greasy arms around Gideon. "Gideon! You're the only one who truly cares for me!"
Gideon pushed him away with a look of disgust, examining the oily prints now adorning his arms.
Kael, now awake: "Your real target was the meat all along, wasn't it?"
Jaxson, swallowing hastily: "Well... that is... Now that we're all awake, let's share the meal properly!"
The meager piece of venison was divided with scrupulous fairness into four even smaller portions.
Once the last morsel was consumed, Jaxson wiped his hands on the travel pack (the one containing the 'supplies') and adopted an officious tone. "Excellent. Now that we're nourished and alert, let us formulate a plan of action for tomorrow!"
Director: "My personal opinion, of course, remains unchanged. We should turn back now." Kael appeared ready to sleep again. Gideon produced a small whetstone and began sharpening his axe. Lirael was silent.
"Of course, that's merely the strategic direction! I welcome discussion! Let's hear all viewpoints!" Jaxson added hastily as his words met with indifference. Kael merely rolled over. Gideon bit his lip, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Lirael stood up, snapping to attention. "Sir! Request permission to speak!"
Director: "There! That's the spirit! Speak, speak!" Kael and Gideon finally lost their composure, laughing aloud.
Lirael: "Sir, the inter-dimensional gateway could only maintain a stable connection for five minutes. The auxiliary power system is completely depleted. Replenishment would require one thousand years. We cannot return unless the Sky Citadel is reactivated." Kael and Gideon were now wiping tears from their eyes.
Director: "I know that. You've said it dozens of times."
Lirael: "Correction, sir. Eleven times."
Jaxson, forcing a smile: "My point is, I've asked eleven times now. Is there any other way back that doesn't involve a millennium-long wait?" Kael was now clutching his stomach, his forehead pressed to the ground in mirth. Gideon was biting his cloak, body convulsing with silent laughter. Only Lirael remained ramrod straight, ignoring them.
Lirael: "Report, sir. There is not."
Finally, Gideon stood. "I'll gather more wood for a fire."
Director: "No, no! A fire at the town gates would make us look like beggars, not masters." He seemed to have forgotten who had first rushed to Kael at dusk demanding news of food.
Gideon sat back down, pulling the still-standing Lirael down beside him.
After a long while, Kael's laughter subsided. He looked up. "Since returning is currently impossible, and our arrival point deviated significantly from the target, Lieutenant, is there any chance of repairing your electronic systems?"
Lirael: "Not here, sir. They are all completely inoperable."
Kael: "So we don't even know the magnitude of the deviation?"
Lirael: "Correct. However, the final tracking data indicated a variance of at least..."
Jaxson leaned in eagerly. "How much?"
Lirael: "Report, sir. Twenty-four thousand li."
Director: "In what direction?"
Lirael: "Report, sir. Downward."
Director: "'Downward'? East, south, west, north?"
Kael: "Twenty-four thousand li straight down from your feet."
Director: "Down from my feet... that would put it on the other hemisphere! To find it... wait, let me calculate." He sprawled on the ground, pretending to scribble equations in the dirt. Three seconds later, he looked up in despair. "Considering our current financial state, the local and international political climate, and this world's technological level, the probability of locating the Sky Citadel is equivalent to Columbus attempting to sail to the moon."
Lirael: "...?"
Kael: "He means it's impossible." Gideon snorted with laughter again.
Lirael, voice firm: "No matter the difficulty, I will complete the mission. It is a soldier's duty."
Kael: "Gentlemen, Lieutenant. Whether we find the Citadel or not is a question for later. Perhaps we should first address the more pressing issue: what do we eat tomorrow?" The others fell silent immediately.
Kael: "While I failed to procure food today, I observed that we could seek employment for income."
Director: "Right!" Jaxson perked up. "Back in school, when we lost our allowance playing cards, we got part-time jobs for the second half of the month! I washed dishes, even pilfered sausages sometimes. Kael, you played piano in lounges."
Gideon: "I could go back to lumberjacking." (His father had been a Siberian lumberjack, which perhaps explained his affinity for the axe).
Director: "As for the Lieutenant, she could be a waitress. She'd be a hit!" Lirael: "...?!"
Kael: "Now, now. Let's think of more... creative occupations."
Lirael, sounding slightly flustered: "I... also believe I may not be ideally suited for customer service."
Director: "Then what do you suggest we do?"
Kael: "I saw postings in town. Aside from... service industry roles, one can register as a mercenary or take on tasks at the Adventurers' Guild for pay."
Lirael: "But our mission—!"
Kael: "Lieutenant, I believe a hot bath, a proper meal with broth, and a night in a real bed would significantly enhance our operational effectiveness, wouldn't you agree?" Lirael fell silent, though she clearly felt something was amiss.
Director: "Is there mortal danger? Will there be bloodshed? I won't do anything dangerous!"
Lirael: "Sir! Request permission to speak!" Her tone indicated this was directed at Jaxson.
Director: "Go on."
Lirael: "Sir, you bear the weight of the Empire's destiny. Please consider how your words affect your subordinates' morale."
Director: "Alright, alright. It's not like anyone else is here. Besides you, who insists on being my subordinate, there's no one else."
Lirael: "Sir!"
Director: "Fine, fine. Understood."
Gideon: "I have no issues. My father always said I should see more of the world."
Director to Gideon: "He wanted you to be a mercenary or adventurer? Was your father in a... legitimate line of work?" Gideon grinned, a little sheepishly.
Kael: "Then it's settled. Tomorrow we visit the Mercenary Guild and the Adventurers' Guild to see what work is available."
Gideon: "Agreed."
Lirael: "Affirmative." Her agreement was reluctant.
Director: "Let's just try not to get killed," he mumbled under his breath, careful that Lirael wouldn't hear.