The Imperial Federation, a lush and prosperous region located in the north of the Azure Continent.
Taking up about 56% of the terrain, it is easily the largest force in the continent. The rest of the continent is dominated by private organizations that share a loose alliance with the Federation.
With a territory covering about fifteen million square kilometers and a population of about two billion people, the Federation prides itself in the fact that it controls nearly all of the continent's manpower and technological advancement.
That's right. The Federation not only has high advancements in the field of magic and the arcane arts, but technology as well. Apart from the usual Hi-Tech communications technology and technologies that have comparatively "lower" value that is usually spread around amongst the general populace of the Federation, most of the strategical technology is firmly held in between the "fingers" of the Federation.
And to most people, getting their hands on this technology require them to have performed enough merits for the "good" of the Federation. Ironically, the ability to do that mainly depends on the level of magic power an individual could utilize.
Which led to a popular saying that spread amongst the people of the Federation, "those that depend on technology in the Federation are usually the extremely weak ones, or the extremely rich ones."
The terrain of the Federation's land is split into 62 "cities" of which Salem is a part of. The cities are under the jurisdiction of the Six Families, with each of them occupying a certain territory.
{A/N: Cities here is a relative term. Take note that some of the cities here are as large as most countries on Earth.}
Of the nigh two billion people living under the Federation's skies, most of which are to utilize the power of mana to create extraordinary phenomena known to all as magic, there are roughly about 1,000,000 "elite" that serve under the lmperial Monarch's banner as part of the Imperial Court Guards.
{A/N: Cheesy name....}
The Imperial Court Guards possess a highly strict hierarchy but with a fairly loose organizational system, having few restrictions on its "soldiers".
At the head of the table are the Commanders, the best of the best, both in magical skills, combat capability and tactical knowledge. They are in charge of the Imperial Squad Units and are thirteen in number, directly correlating to the number of squads. Due to the level of their position, they take direct orders from the Monarch himself and answer to him and he only.
Next in line are the Squad Captains, who have varying numbers within a certain range depending on the squad, and report to the Commander. Squad Captains are usually considered tactical chess pieces, not too valuable but definitely not useless. In fact, to most, they are the most invaluable assets of the Federation.
Then there are the Tactical Squad Leaders, or just Squad Leaders to most. At the bottom of the ladder, just above the Guards, they mostly control the normal day to day affairs in the Federation's territory.
For those considered "untalented" (mostly grade 3s and 4s), to be part of the ICG meant being in this position for more than half their lives, if they were even lucky to even reach that point in the first place. So this position wasn't a very attractive job to people that dreamed "big". Nevertheless, it was still a job that most in the Federation strove to attain. They control specialized teams of Tactical Mini Squads, with at least 1000 Guards in each mini squad.
At the lowest of the low are the Imperial Guards. They expedite various missions for the Federation ranging from tactical support, safety, patrol, and guard duty to assasinations and warfare. The bare minimum to become an Imperial Guard was to have magic power fluctuations at the Advanced level. Not to mention all the other qualifications that may or may not be required to be chosen into a Squad.
Then one can only imagine the difficulty of being promoted to a Tactical Squad Leader or even a Squad Captain....
While the ICG adpots a relatively free approach to its members, with its semi-military style of its hierarchy and the deterrent of powerful magic users at the top of the food chain, it is easily the most coordinated and powerful force in the Azure Continent.
The thirteen squads are numbered squads 1 to 13, each with varying duties and methods of operation, but coexist together in a strange yet harmonious fashion to maximize collective interests.
Squads 1, 9, 11 and 13 are mainly responsible for the defensive and offensive capability of the Federation's warfare. The Federation's army, in a sense. This legion of squads is led by the Commander of Squad 1, who is also the head of all thirteen squads.
Squad 2 is known to a few as the Assasinations Unit. The squad breeds an elite group of assassins known as Punishers. They're known to be the squad that has the least numbers compared to the others. But there's no one who would dare underestimate the ability of this squad, as even the Head Commander (Commander of Squad 1) would not dare to fight the commander of Squad 2 in a head-on battle.
Plus the notorious squad is rumored to possess lunatics with no sense of life and death, as its members would do anything and everything to get rid of their target, even at the cost of their own lives. It made so many people wonder just what kind of training did the Guards of Squad 2 go through...
Squads 3 and 7 are known for their capability to gather intelligence.
Squads 5, 6, 12 and 13 are responsible for the management of day to day affairs in the Federation including but not limited to crime punching.
{A/N: I dunno, seems like a glorified police corps to me....}
Squads 4 and 10 are mostly known to all as the Medical Field Team. Its members are usually mages with high capabilities in healing magic. While they may not be the squad with the highest combat power, their notorious reputation is only second to that of Squad 2.
While the Squads of the ICG were not exactly peaceful, with each squad pursuing their own interests, the harmonious sense of balance behind the scenes deterred most unscrupulous characters from making too big a move. But this time, what would prove to be the beginning of a dark history stirred up the table...
***
Markov was a member of the ICG. While he was neither a Captain or a Leader, being just a regular run-of-the-mill Guard elite, he just accepted a mission; one that could prove to be the beginning of his "big break".
The mission details were pretty simple, an escort mission. His Guard Team had to escort a second generation young lord of the Dreylar family back to their Estate. While he had some reservations about this mission, he understood that he was in no place to complain since he had already accepted it. Plus this mission may be his ticket to a position as Leader, and all it needed was a favorable impression of him from this Dreylar family member.
But still, I feel a little uneasy. He thought as he looked at a luxuriously dressed young man with above average features. With fashionable looking robes and a noble demeanor, added with all the "heavy jewelry" on his face, one would easily mistake him for a female if it weren't for the most obvious signs of his male status.
Sigh. That arrogant look on his face makes me wanna beat him up so badly. I should probably not try that though. Markov continued to think to himself with a slightly wary look at his surroundings. The uneasy feeling he had was getting stronger and stronger. He just hoped that whatever shit might happen should happen after they had completed their mission.
Currently, he and his team were in a futuristic looking hoverjet that raced through the skies of the Federation at extremely high speeds. It was one of the latest models, with high performance and durability, or at least that was what he heard. He had never ridden in one before, and he was secretly in awe of it, but he dared not show it on his face.
He looked at the members of his Guard Team. Some of the were in the Federation's hoverjets escorting them from the rear. Guard Teams, in simple terms, are just a group of guards that can take on missions together, with a certain leader that most of them believe can be an actual Squad Leader. In short, a clique.
While they're not certified positions in the ICG, their positions are silently approved. It'd be too much of a hassle if a group of a thousand people would take on a mission such as this anyway. A Guard Team would usually have about 50 to 200 members at most, which makes things a whole lot easier.
But this time, Markov felt that he might not need that many people to carry out this mission. Thus, he only brought about 70 of his team members with him on this mission.
Then why do I suddenly have this bad feeling? He pondered.
Boom!
While Markov was lost in thought, a loud bang was soon heard from one the escorting hoverjets. Part of the hoverjet soon erupted in flames and exploded in midair. The hoverjet soon crashed onto the ground, but luckily the members of his team quickly jumped ship, escaping death at the last minute. Hmm...maybe not death, but the crash might leave some serious injuries, and they were pretty much low on cash.
Whew! Markov heaved a relieved sigh.
But the expressions of everyone present in the ship soon changed as the other escort spaceships soon crashed to the ground in front of their eyes.
But this time, the people on the escort ships weren't so lucky.
As the guards soon escaped their ships, diving towards the ground, thick and deadly looking spikes of ice soon shot towards them out of nowhere. While some of them were cautious enough and narrowly dodged the ice spikes aiming for their lives, the others quickly had their torsos penetrated by the ice. The ice spikes radiated a deadly gleam in the air, a stark contrast to the faint rivulets of blood that dripped from their tips. Those who were hit by the spikes soon dropped to the ground, lifeless.
Those who witnessed this scene were shocked.
But none in the luxurious hoverjet had the time to ponder about this situation, because an extremely strong pulling force enveloped everyone in the ship, dragging it towards the ground.
The hoverjet began to tremble.
"All of you, abandon ship! Now!" Markov managed to react in time and issue an order. He quickly grabbed the young man, who let out shouts of dissatisfaction, and opening the hatch, he leapt out of the ship, the boy on his shoulder.
The rest of his team reacted as quickly as possible, fearing for their lives as they hastily escaped the hoverjet which drew closer and closer to the ground.
Markov looked at the plains below. He had no doubt that everyone on the hoverjet would die if it had crashed from that height. Hoverjets were an extremely special kind of technology. While their ability to hold people was extremely limited, being able to carry at most 20 people, their mobility, speed and performance were off the charts.
Markov and the boy soon landed on the plains below. As he looked at the hoverjets that had crashed, turning into a pile of flames and metal, he groaned depressingly.
This is gonna cost me. A lot.... He thought.
"Hey, how dare you treat me like that? Do you think that I won't kill you for your disrespectful actions just now?" The boy said with an arrogant glare on his face.
Markov looked at him, heaving a heavy sigh.
"I apologize for my actions, but you have to understand, I did to protect—"
"Save it!" The boy arrogantly said with a humph.
'Jeez. Why am I stuck with these bunch of morons? Doesn't Dad value my safety at all?' The boy thought to himself.
"Argh!" A painful scream was soon heard.
"Old Blue!" Markov turned to look at the source of the scream and saw one of his team members with an ice spike lodged in his throat. He lifelessly dropped to the ground.
"Fucking shit! You coward! Show yourself! Or can you only fight behind the shadows like a rat?!" He shouted angrily, while secretly making a signal to his team. A second later, a tight circle was formed with the boy in the center.
Markov and his team members looked around with caution.
"Oh, you called me a rat. Didn't think that one of you had the guts to tempt fate— so much. So much that you'd play with your own life like this." A monotonous voice was heard.
Markov turned around to look at the source of the voice, and a purple robed female soon appeared in his vision.
He could feel it, the heavy pressure he felt, came from no one else but her.
Shit. We're screwed. He thought inwardly.