, the Freelance Kingdom. The youngest known nation in Luan, and a land filled with all types of people. It wasn't the biggest kingdom, nor was it the most prosperous, but the hierarchy have to doing their best to make their people's lives happy ones, and they've been doing this since the nation had been created. The people, in return, love their leaders, and celebrate their visits to their towns and villages with grand festivals.

One such festival was taking place now, in a port town. All throughout the town, people made the sounds of bright music, loud cheers, laughter, and everything else that meant they were having some good, clean festival fun. The most exciting games, the most delicious food, and the strongest drinks were all provided. No one was left out, and no expense was spared.

At the center of all this, guarded by their personal guards, King Pico and his daughter, Princess Leona II, stood and watched their subjects enjoy the festival. In turn, they too enjoyed it, though they were limited in what activities they could participate in. Despite this, Pico had a worried look in his eyes. A look that his daughter could not help but address.

"What is wrong, father? Is the festival not to your liking?"

The King chuckled a bit and shook his head. He turned to his daughter and said,

"No, Leona. The festival has nothing to do with my

"Then what is wrong?"

The king returned his gaze to his kingdom's people.

"A great many things, Leona. Our is small, but it is growing. It may not be long before another nation targets us. I've also heard rumors of a group causing trouble about the lands. I fear that we are not outside of their range of activity."

Pico was silent for a moment to allow his daughter time to let his words sink in.

"Look how happy our people are, Leona. I wish for them to remain this way, but dark times are coming. I can feel it. What horrible timing too..."

Pico saw his daughter

"Do not be saddened, Leona. These are just the thoughts of an old man. I'm sure they're nothing to worry about."

Though this did not assure his daughter of anything, she accepted it for now, and looked back to the festival. The festival continued with its merry atmosphere, no one person knowing of the event that will take place soon.

---

As arrows soared through skies, ultimately ending in colorful umbrellas of fire that drew out awed gasps and sighs from the observers, a lone swordsman stood among the people who were entranced in a drunken stupor of euphoria and bliss. His eyes observed the merriment of the people, sneering and scoffing at their blatant disregard for the Blessed Sleep. All of them always preferred to live for today, not wanting to think about tomorrow. This kind of thinking is the cause of all strife in the world, so the cultists would say. There was no point in dallying any further in this section of the town; every single man, woman, and child were as oblivious to the realities of the world as they danced and laughed without a care for what was coming. In his mind, the swordsman knew that he would never accomplish his mission here.

---

"Brother Az," Vulnark, one of the elder cultists, began. The shroud of night and the veil of shadows hid the two figures from prying eyes and sharp ears as the only thing that stood between them was an altar whose carvings were that of a benevolent deity who has made it its mission to change the world. "The Heralds, after a decade, will now execute its plans. But, first, we need you to scour the lands of any prominent and potential individuals who may or may not be a hindrance to us. Find out what the people know about our brotherhood, and of our goal. For this mission, you will need to be strong and determined, brother. It is a must that you are to suppress your righteous urges to worship the Destroyer for we do not want enemies to take us down as early as now; we are too few already. Pretend that you are a heretic, but, slowly, as you gain their trust, convert the people into the true path. Grant them salvation, brother Az. That is the least we can do for them."

The hooded lad bowed as his eyes lifted up to the elder. "Where am I to be sent, elder Vulnark?"

"To the Freelance City; the youngest of all the countries: Mokokin. They are planning to have a revelry within the next month. I am sure that it will attract potential brothers and sisters." Vulnark replied. "Be safe, brother. May you be safe from evil. Remember, this is what we have been working for."

---

Azmodin snapped out from the memory, lifting his head just in time to witness a majestic firework waltzing through the night sky in a plethora of flashes that lit the heavens with much grandeur and grace. However, he merely pulled down his hood and went on his way-- hoping to find worthier individuals to serve the Destroyer. The lad weaved through the streets, trying his best to go unnoticed. The town, in itself, was easy to navigate through. There were signs and arrows everywhere, and thus, Azmodin tried his best to search for potentials, but all his efforts were in vain. As the moon's caress began to envelop the entirety of the town, Azmodin was already thinking about throwing in the towel, and just returning to Ordan. However, his ears caught wind of an interesting news. Apparently, the king and his daughter had joined in the festivities. With this information in mind, the swordsman rushed towards the location, and lo and behold, he saw the king and the princess. The two were very much alike in physique, but it would seem that the daughter shone more brightly, especially under the light of this particular crescent moon.

If I could convert the king to the true path, it is inevitable that the denizens will be influenced. Saving the entire country of Mokokin would have never been easier! Still, the question remained as to I could approach them without a spear gutted into my side. Azmodin thought to himself before he felt the Prophecy being slowly stolen from his back. At this sudden violation, the swordsman spun around as he gripped a rather scrawny man who was caught in the act of holding the Prophecy's Caress. The agitated thief, in a fit of confusion, slashed at the swordsman who merely maintained a bored expression; Azmodin strafed to the side before kneeing the man in the gut before throwing him to the ground as the crowd began to be aware of the commotion.

"Brother, you should know that stealing is a crime. And, you even tried to injure me." Azmodin tilted his head, bringing his boot to the man's neck, effectively restraining him. "Well, even if this sword..." he held up the Prophecy's Caress. "... were to have made contact with me, I cannot die from its slash." Azmodin smiled as he sheathed the Caress before drawing out the longsword. "You chose the wrong person to steal from tonight, brother. You have never been more mistaken in your entire life than you are now."