Chapter 62: Events that Occured in the Different Parts of the World
Year 0003, III-IV Month: The Imperium
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Relative Peace and Sandeval on the Run
While war began to envelop the eastern subcontinent, relative peace still reigned within the great forest. The residents carried on with their daily routines: exercising at dawn, training with wooden weapons in the morning light, tending the verdant fields under the midday sun, hunting in the forest's dappled shadows, and finishing the garden plots as evening approached.
There was harmony and balance—as it should be.
Meanwhile, the old and recently retired Captain Sandeval was running with all his might, having abandoned his men from the Corvus Slave Group to their fates. He knew they could be turned against him despite having shared food and drink, sweat and blood with these brothers-in-arms for countless slave runs. Loyalty was a commodity easily bought in these troubled times.
He had reached the outskirts of the forest several days ago and had been wandering the extensive woodland floor since, his boots caked with mud, his body aching from the constant flight. The forest canopy provided welcome shelter from both the elements and prying eyes.
Sandeval no longer resembled the sharp escort commander from his active days in the field. Now he appeared ragged and old, his once-pristine uniform torn and stained, his face weathered by both time and hardship. Yet his eyes still burned with determination, brimming with the fierce will to live. At least now this will was his own—no longer enslaved to his duties serving both the wealthy Zargos Mercantile Guild and the notorious Corvus underworld syndicate.
He had brought only essential items purchased with his remaining coins in the Village of Kirka before his desperate flight: dried meat that would keep him alive for a couple of days, spare clothing rolled tightly in his pack, a short sword at his hip, a hunting knife in his boot and a simple bow and arrow. His water skin sloshed against his side as he moved through the underbrush.
They hadn't outright chased him—no. Rommel, his former slave executive contact, had let him run. That bastard was probably laughing now, knowing the fate that would soon come crashing down upon this former captain. Sandeval knew that after such a catastrophic failure during his supposed-to-be-final slave run, his life would end either way. Better to die free than face the Corvus punishment chambers
"Haaaa," he exhaled heavily, pausing to catch his breath against a thick oak trunk.
This life was so impossibly difficult to endure; why had he been born at all? Everything seemed meaningless when viewed through the lens of his many sins. Yet deep inside, beneath layers of regret and cynicism, he truly wanted to live—and for the first time in decades, he yearned to taste life's sweetness rather than its bitter dregs.
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Sandeval's Youth
Captain Sandeval was currently stalking a small boar, moving silently through the forest undergrowth. His experienced eyes tracked the animal's movements as he prepared to bring it down with his hunting bow. After weeks of running, he had finally found a relatively secure location where he could hide. The dense forest canopy obscured any view from above, and the thick vegetation made tracking nearly impossible for anyone who didn't know exactly where to look.
He had constructed several traps to capture the tiny rabbiets that inhabited the area, positioning them strategically around his modest camp. He had never ventured this deep into the great forest before, but he knew of such places from his younger days. He and his first unit had survived on the outskirts of this very woodland, running in circles for almost a year during another failed escort run of another retiree captain.
Back then, there were no roads carved through this wilderness, making it easy to become hopelessly lost. They had trekked carefully through the forest, mapping their surroundings with primitive tools. But just as with their ill-fated slave caravan recently, they had encountered something terrifying back then—a massive snake-like creature the locals called an Arborwyrm, its scales gleaming with an almost metallic sheen as it moved through the underbrush.
They had unwittingly invaded its territory. The memory sent an icy chill down Sandeval's spine.
It was something he had buried deep within his mind, alongside other horrors he'd witnessed and perpetrated, but the memories had resurfaced since entering the depths of the forest. Perhaps it was guilt gnawing at him—being one of the few who had survived that encounter years ago. Now he found himself back in the same forbidden place, hiding from the very people he once served with unquestioning loyalty.
He could only hope they wouldn't find him this deep in the wilderness. The Corvus syndicate had eyes everywhere, but even their reach had limits.
The fire crackled softly as it consumed the sticks and dried wood he had carefully arranged. The flames were kept deliberately small to minimize smoke that might give away his position.
"Still got it, huh?" he murmured to himself, a hint of pride cutting through his exhaustion. Even after so many years, he still remembered these survival skills—making fire, setting traps, moving silently, living off the land. Skills that had been taught to him by his very own experience in the same wilderness 30 years ago.
Tomorrow he would need to scout the surrounding area more thoroughly and better secure his temporary refuge. He expected to remain here for quite some time—or at least he hoped to. If discovered, his only option would be to push deeper and deeper into the forest each day, until either the wilderness claimed him or he found somewhere beyond the reach of his former masters.
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Ishmal and the Revived Wasteland Desert
Meanwhile, in another part of the world, nestled within a hidden mountain cave on a barren island, Ishmar surveyed his flourishing experiment with satisfaction. The surrounding landscape, once desolate and lifeless, had slowly begun to regain its vitality. Where cracked earth had dominated just months before, patches of green now emerged, spreading outward from his carefully tended experimental plots.
His half-moon shaped fields had now borne their first fruits—peculiar plants unlike any he had encountered before. The seeds had been his parents' final gift before the drought took them, their origins a mystery even to them. They had whispered promises of renewal with their dying breaths.
Ishmar had tasted the first harvest cautiously. The fruit was bitter initially, almost intolerably so, but as he continued to eat, an underlying sweetness emerged, complex and satisfying. He realized the first specimens had been unripe, so he allowed the others to mature until they transformed from green to deep red, then bright orange, and finally a rich golden yellow.
The surrounding area had begun sprouting endemic weeds unique to this island—plants thought extinct since the Great Drying. Ishmar jumped with unbridled joy when he first noticed their tentative emergence from the soil. His weathered hands, calloused from endless digging and planting, trembled as he gently touched their delicate leaves.
"Who's the madman now?" he whispered to the empty air, remembering the mockery he had endured before finding this remote cave.
The memory of villagers' scornful faces flashed through his mind—their jeers and threats when he insisted the land could be healed. They had called him a fool, a dreamer, a waste of precious water. When he could no longer tolerate their ridicule and threats, he had left with nothing but a handful of mysterious seeds and unshakable determination.
He sometimes wondered if they were still alive in their dying village, or if they had finally turned on one another when the last wells dried up. But he no longer concerned himself with their fate. He had proven them wrong—here was tangible evidence, a miniature paradise growing under his careful stewardship.
"Give it a year," he murmured to himself, wiping sweat from his brow as he surveyed his work, "and trees will return, followed by the beasts that once roamed these forests."
He closed his eyes, envisioning his dream—a vision that no longer seemed impossibly distant. The land would heal, life would return, and perhaps someday others would join him, building something new from the ashes of what was lost.
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The Frontlines
The Imperial Expeditionary Army had reached the outskirts of Earl Serverus Freek's domain, their banners snapping in the wind, armor gleaming in the sunlight. Soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, establishing their forward operating base with the precision that had made the empire's military feared throughout the known world.
Duke Maximilian, resplendent in ornate armor that managed to be both beautiful and functional, had ridden ahead to pay his formal visit to the local lord. His personal guard, twenty veterans of countless campaigns, flanked him as he approached the town's gates.
When he reached the settlement's central square, he was greeted by Earl Serverus himself, who stood proudly with his vassals arrayed behind him. Despite their formal bearing, relief was evident in their expressions—it seemed they had endured difficult times these past months, holding the frontier against increasingly bold raiders.
"Greetings, Lord Maximilian," Serverus called out, his voice carrying across the square. "It is our pleasure to host the emperor's general and representative of one of the empire's foundational houses."
He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect without subservience. Maximilian nodded in acknowledgment, his experienced eyes immediately assessing the man before him. He recognized a fellow warrior instantly—those calloused hands, that solid stance, the body built for combat rather than court intrigues. Here stood an aged warrior who had earned his position through blood and valor rather than birth alone.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," Maximilian replied, dismounting with fluid grace despite his heavy armor. "The emperor speaks highly of your accomplishments—a rare honor, as our sovereign does not bestow praise upon those unworthy of such distinction."
His gaze swept across the town, noting defensive weaknesses, strategic positions, and the condition of the local militia with a single practiced glance.
"Now that we have arrived, I would first like to inspect the surrounding terrain. We shall fortify this position thoroughly in preparation for the arrival of our additional forces and eventually the emperor himself. This location will serve as our primary staging ground for the eastern campaign."
Maximilian's voice hardened, his expression growing stern as he continued, "Let us not waste precious time with excessive formalities. We have a war to wage and win. Those unruly lords and ladies who resist imperial authority will be brought to heel beneath the emperor's standard!"
Serverus Freek had heard tales of this man—a famed warrior who had stood at the emperor's side through countless battles, his sword claiming as many lives as there were residents in this frontier town. His reputation as both a brilliant tactician and merciless commander had spread even to these distant borderlands.
"Yes, of course," Serverus responded, squaring his shoulders. "Let us begin the preparations without delay!"
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Maya Village
Back in the village of Maya, excitement filled the air as the residents gathered to witness an important decision. The vote had finally commenced to determine who would become the master to the Grimfang pup that had been found during team one's last hunting expedition.
The contestants lined up before the assembled villagers: Erik with his lean hunter's build, Betty with her infectious enthusiasm, Angeline with her gentle demeanor, Adam puffing out his chest in youthful confidence, and Isabel standing tall with quiet assurance.
The judges comprised the village elders a.k.a Uncles Jonathan, Red, and Christopher and Aunty Theressa, the recently liberated former slaves—Donna, Andy, Adarna and Hiraya—along with August and Bren, who had recused themselves having already bonded with their own beasts companions.
Each contestant stepped forward to present their reasoning for why they should be chosen as the Grimfang pup's caretaker.
Erik spoke first, his voice steady. "The pup's keen sense of smell would prove invaluable when I go scouting through the dangerous territories surrounding our village. During hunts, we could work together to track game more efficiently, helping feed our growing community."
Betty stepped forward next, practically bouncing with excitement. "Just look at those eyes and that fluffy tail! It's simply too adorable!" she exclaimed, her genuine affection evident as the pup's tail wagged faster in her presence. "Kyaaa~!"
Angeline approached timidly, kneeling to the pup's level. "I believe it could help me when tending the garden fields," she suggested softly. "Its presence would keep pests away from our crops, and I would care for it with gentleness."
Adam strode forward confidently, flexing his young muscles. "Because I am strong!" he declared boldly. "Isn't that enough reason? The pup should choose me and grow strong like me!" His mother Theressa sighed audibly from among the judges.
Finally, Isabel presented her case with measured words. "I am the most suitable candidate—a well-balanced fighter though with still minimal experience tracking through various terrains. The Grimfang pup and I would develop incredible teamwork when hunting, benefiting the entire village."
Red, one of the village elders, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So what do you think of their answers?" he asked his fellow judges.
August tilted his head, considering. "I think Betty's motivation is primarily about the pup's cuteness, but I've noticed the animal seems happiest whenever it's around her. That natural bond shouldn't be discounted."
"I agree," Theressa added. "While the others make practical arguments, which have merit, there's something to be said for natural affinity." She shook her head slightly. "Except perhaps for my Adam's reasoning."
Jonathan, Angeline's father, straightened defensively. "My baby Angeline is always right," he stated firmly, prompting internal sighs from the other judges.
Christopher, a weathered hunter, interjected, "It should ultimately come down to Erik and Isabel. Both demonstrate understanding of the responsibility and present practical benefits to the village."
Andy nodded in agreement. "So we all concur that those two should be our final contestants?"
After unanimous agreement, August addressed the gathered villagers and contestants. "By process of elimination based on your answers, we've narrowed our selection to Erik and Isabel." He knelt beside the Grimfang pup, whose tail wagged excitedly. "But the final decision belongs to the pup itself. It must choose its own master—the person it wishes to follow for the rest of its life."
The wolf-like creature looked at August as if understanding his words, then turned its intelligent gaze toward the two remaining contestants. It sniffed the air, considering them both intently. Rising from its sitting position, the animal approached the contestants with deliberate steps.
After what seemed an eternity, the pup made its choice, bounding toward Erik and circling his legs joyfully. A shout of triumph and excitement erupted from the young hunter as he knelt to embrace his new companion.
"Congratulations," Isabel said graciously, hiding her disappointment behind a small smile.
From the sidelines, Adam's voice rang out in dramatic protest. "Ahhhhhh! Next time... next time it will be me!" he declared, already dreaming of his future beast companion.
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The End of Spring and the Start of Summer
And so as the wheels of time turned inexorably forward, the season of life and rebirth came to an end and now summer is just around the corner. While the continent edged closer to all-encompassing war. Some souls lived peaceful lives in remote villages, others suffered in solitary exile, while still others nurtured hope through experiments that might someday bear fruit. Each played their part in the tapestry of this world, unaware of how their individual threads might eventually intertwine.
The coming seasons would test them all, revealing which would endure and which would be swept away by the tides of change and conflict that loomed on the horizon.