On the morning of Uien 11th, instead of succumbing to the familiar comforts of my office chair and the monotony of paperwork, I chose to step into the dawn and explore the freshly reshaped landscape of my domain. The air was brisk with a promise of transformation—a palpable excitement hovering over the newly established counties. I had longed to witness firsthand the metamorphosis of our lands, and today, my feet carried me towards Alryne—the closest and, by all accounts, the most vibrant of these nascent urban centers.
As I strolled through the winding streets of Alryne, I was immediately struck by the visible signs of renewal and progress. The roads, once rudimentary paths lined with dust and neglect, had been repaved with smooth, dark asphalt, gleaming under the early sun. Food stalls and vendors now peppered the sidewalks, their colorful tents and banners fluttering in the gentle breeze. The unmistakable hum of commerce and community filled the air; each stall beckoned with promises of savory delights and artisanal crafts, creating an atmosphere both festive and hopeful.
A particularly rich and enticing aroma soon diverted my course. It seemed to beckon me, drawing my gaze to a modest food stall with a distinct blue roof and walls that matched perfectly—a striking splash of color amidst the urban bustle. Behind the counter, I observed an older man, his face etched with the lines of experience and quiet concentration. With a gentle yet deliberate motion, he prepared what appeared to be an egg dish reminiscent of a well-crafted omelette. The steam rising from his creation danced in the light as if celebrating its own emergence into the day.
With an easy smile that bridged the gap between authority and familiarity, I approached the stall and inquired about the dish. "How much for a Raggeon?" I asked, using the local term for this specialty creation. His eyes crinkled in mild amusement as he replied, "One Raggeon costs 748 Mills—that's 0.748 Credits." The precision of his words meshed with the artful skill evident in his cooking, as if every ingredient had its own place in the culinary equation of our revitalized city.
Reaching into my pocket, I produced a combination of currency—a 500-Mill coin, two 100-Mill coins, and a gleaming silver 50-Mill coin. With practiced ease, he accepted my payment. In return, he counted out two small copper coins, each worth a single Mill, and passed them over as my change. The interaction was brief yet warm, a subtle nod to a community where even small transactions echoed with trust.
Moments later, the man carefully placed the freshly prepared Raggeon into a simple yet elegant paper wrapper. I cradled it in my hands as I took my first bite. The texture was soft and invitingly fluffy—a culinary whisper that promised comfort and nourishment. The blend of eggs, freshly chopped vegetables, and a mixture of seasonings harmonized into an unforgettable flavor that lingered long after the bite was gone. It wasn't merely a dish; it was a celebration of new beginnings, a symbol of the revitalization that I now witnessed in every corner of Alryne.
Enlightened by the simple joy of that exquisite meal, I continued along the bustling street. Every stall and vendor seemed to have a story to tell—a story created from endeavor, hope, and resilience. I marveled at the vibrant arrays of foods, the glistening trinkets on display, and the gentle murmur of conversation that filled the air like background music to the symphony of urban life.
Yet, as is often the case with change, not every corner of transformation was bathed in light. My leisurely wander led me, unbidden, down a narrow side street where shadows clung stubbornly to every brick and crevice. It was here, tucked away in a forgotten alley, that I encountered a sight so jarring and grim that my heart quickened in dismay. Before me lay rows of cages, each one housing scores of individuals. The cages were filled with not only ordinary humans but also demi-humans whose features betrayed a rich, albeit tormented, heritage. It was a clandestine slave trade operating beneath the veneer of our progressive society—a stark, searing contrast to the vibrancy seen just moments before.
The shock of this discovery struck me like a bolt. For years, I had prided myself on the thought that our territory was evolving into a just and prosperous realm, but now I was forced to confront a rot festering deep within its underbelly. This revelation reshaped my entire perspective, igniting in me an urgent and burning desire to abolish slavery in our lands. Yet I also knew that sweeping reform could not be built on hasty legislation. True change required a careful reckoning with costs and consequences—for both the enslaved and our society as a whole.
Rather than rushing up to the castle to dictate edicts and laws that might flounder without thoughtful implementation, I decided to take immediate action where it mattered most. I resolved to bring aid first to those who were most at risk; those fragile souls too weakened by neglect and abuse to survive the wait for formal legal protection. I had to act, to pull these individuals from the jaws of despair before any further harm could be done.
For roughly ten minutes, I watched the grim spectacle with a heavy heart. I identified around 35 individuals who appeared to be on the brink—not only adults but even children, both humans and beastmen—whose eyes spoke of despair, and whose frail bodies hinted at imminent danger. Their conditions were so dire that every moment wasted felt like a personal failure on the part of their ruler. With solemn determination, I approached one of the slave sellers. His very presence set my blood to boiling; every word he uttered resonated with greed and callous disregard for human life.
I enumerated my selections in a firm, resolute tone, demanding a price for these souls in desperate need of salvation. The vendor's eyes narrowed, and with a tone dripping with avarice, he sneered, "These 35 slaves, in their current weakened state, will cost you a total of 7,340 Credits and 462 mills." Although my attire was plain—nothing to suggest opulence or extravagance—I was no stranger to weighty matters of state and morality. I wasted no time: from my satchel, I produced seven 1,000-Credit bills, three 100-Credit bills, two 20-Credit bills, and finally a 500-mill note, equivalent to 0.5 Credits. The sum, staggering in its cost, was roughly equal to over six years' worth of labor at minimum wage—a price that underscored the depth of humanity's degradation.
After a brief but overwhelming moment of internal reckoning—a calculation of loss and redemption—the vendor grudgingly handed me a small collection of coins: a 25-mill coin, a 10-mill coin, and two 1-mill coins. More importantly, he produced a set of 35 slave papers. Each paper was a legal certificate that now, with bitter irony, signified my new ownership and responsibility over these lives. With a cold, lisping proclamation, he declared me their master, and with that, I departed the grim alleys with the newly acquired group slowly trailing behind me on the uneven road.
As the weight of the morning's discovery and transaction settled upon my shoulders, I steered my steps toward a glimmer of hope—a newly opened Apollo Apparels store on the heart of Alryne's bustling avenue. Its sleek glass façade and modern design were in stark contrast to the squalor I had just left behind. Inside, the vibe was one of understated luxury and precision. I strode in confidently, my Apollo Black Sun Bank Card glinting subtly in my hand. The attendant, impeccably dressed, greeted me with the professionalism and courtesy that one would expect at an establishment synonymous with high quality and exclusivity.
Without hesitation, she verified my credentials. Flicking through the Apollo Bank log on a sleek, embedded terminal, she scanned for its unique mana signature—a digital mark that had become a seal of authenticity in our era. Once confirmed, she led me past an array of store displays into the exclusive VIP section. It was in this refined inner sanctum that I met Linsey—an astute and determined manager whose eyes reflected both the pride of her accomplishments and the urgency of our shared mission. After a brief exchange of nods that spoke volumes of unspoken understanding, she assured me that she could procure the high-quality clothing necessary to uplift the spirits and dignity of those who had suffered so much.
While Linsey set off to search for suitable attire, I lingered amidst the murmurs and whispers of the newly acquired group. Their conversations were hushed—a mixture of astonishment and a cautious hope. They muttered among themselves, questioning whether they would indeed be graced with apparel from the illustrious Apollo brand. I overheard snatches of their incredulous chatter: "They say the Apollo garments range from as little as 20 Credits to as much as 200 Credits for the most luxurious items, and there's even a month-long waiting list for some…" Their voices, trembling with uncertainty, painted a striking picture of a society where quality was both a privilege and a distant dream.
The tension in the room eventually broke when one bold soul, with a quaver in his voice yet eyes filled with hope, asked, "So, who exactly are you?" I met his gaze with a calm and almost nonchalant tone, replying, "I am, in fact, the founder of all the Apollo companies—a responsibility and honor that allows me to spend a few thousand Credits so that everyone here can live with dignity." My words, though matter-of-fact, resonated deeply with the assembled group, and in that moment, a seed of hope was planted.
Before any further questions could disturb the fragile equilibrium of our gathering, Linsey returned accompanied by a cadre of her trusted assistants. They carried more than a hundred carefully curated outfits, each one reflecting the refined aesthetics of the renowned Apollo brand. The group's attention swiftly shifted from me to the vibrant displays of garments, and an air of excitement began to replace the earlier despair. Over the next three hours, amidst spirited discussions and meticulous fittings, it became clear that every individual would be restored a measure of pride. In the end, our collective efforts led to the purchase of exactly 105 outfits—an impressive total amounting to 3,450 Credits and 650 mills. With my bank card swiping through the sleek payment terminal once again, we finally departed the store. Each rescued soul carried two freshly acquired outfits and proudly donned a third, as the staff of Apollo Apparels bid us farewell with warm smiles and sincere thanks.
With new garments in hand and a dim glimmer of restored dignity among those I had rescued, our next destination loomed ahead—the castle that served as the epicenter of my realm. The journey back was a quiet procession, a stark counterpoint to the exuberance of Alryne's streets. As we neared the castle, familiar questions began to surface from my retinue, echoing the uncertainties and hopes of those whose lives had been upturned by cruelty. I answered each inquiry with the same calm fortitude, my voice a steady thread in the mosaic of our story.
Inside the fortified walls of the castle, the air was noticeably cooler—a reminder that even within the sanctum of power, the realities of our world could seep through. I found myself once again at the center of deliberations and queries, my role as both ruler and reformer coming under unrelenting scrutiny. Yet as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, and the long shadows melded with the twilight inside my private chambers, I allowed myself a moment of reflective solitude.
Sitting by a narrow window that overlooked the sweeping vistas of my territory, I considered the day's events—a day that began with the promise of renewal and culminated in a stark confrontation with humanity's deepest failings. I mused about the responsibilities that weighed upon me. Every Credit spent, every coin exchanged, was not merely a transaction in the marketplace of power; it represented a step—a difficult, deliberate step—toward building a future where dignity was not a privilege of the few, but the birthright of all.
As the castle's grand halls slowly quieted and the murmurs of the day gave way to the night's reflective silence, I knew that my journey was far from over. The path ahead was strewn with obstacles—resistance from those who prospered from the old order, the lingering scars of injustice, and the immense challenge of reforming societal structures entrenched in cruelty. Yet in that quiet moment, I found solace in the knowledge that change was possible, even if it came one painstaking step at a time.
In the dim light of my study, I drafted preliminary notes for the reforms that would one day abolish slavery in my realm. Every word I penned was laden with the urgency of newfound responsibility, every idea a promise to those I had rescued. The journey of Uien 11th had forever altered my perspective, transforming the simple act of a morning stroll into an expedition—one that estranged the old ways and heralded a future forged in compassion, dignity, and unwavering resolve.
That evening, as I retired in the quiet solitude of my private quarters, the flickering candlelight danced softly over ink-stained pages filled with plans for a fairer, kinder realm. The voices of the rescued lingered in my mind—a constant reminder of the lives intermingled with mine, destinies intertwined by fate and choice. No longer could I, in good conscience, allow the dark undercurrents of exploitation to persist. The journey towards reformation had begun in earnest that morning, and as I prepared for the uncertainties of tomorrow, I resolved to champion every lost soul, every forsaken life, until our land was a true haven for all.
Thus, the morning of Uien 11th emerged not merely as a day of renewed urban vibrancy and culinary delights, but as a day of stark moral awakening—a day where the call to justice overpowered complacency, and the path forward was paved with both noble sacrifice and the promise of redemption. My resolve was steeled, and my heart was set on a mission that transcended politics and power—a mission rooted in humanity, integrity, and the hope of a brighter tomorrow.