Traveling from sector A to E was a relatively quick journey, taking no more than an hour. The sectors were strategically positioned on opposite ends of Arago, with sectors A through D located to the south, west, and north, while sectors E and F resided in the east. However, despite their strategic importance, sector F was a stark contrast to the grandeur and splendor of the other sectors.
As I stood on the parapet of sector F, a sense of disgust washed over me. The scene below was a spectacle that fueled my disdain. The sector, like a festering wound on the city's landscape, was filled with squalor and filth. It was a breeding ground for vice and debauchery, a place where the dregs of society congregated.
Pigs, in a metaphorical sense, wallowed in their own mud, indulging in their base desires and selfish pursuits of what they perceive as normal. The streets were littered with refuse and filth, with no regard for cleanliness or order. It was a place where the Albaniqe, the lowest caste of society, lived, engaging in their dubious activities. The atmosphere of sector F was thick with a sense of decayed morals. The stench of unwashed bodies and rotting waste mingled in the air, creating an oppressive ambiance that seeped into every corner of the sector, a place devoid of honor, dignity, and civility. I viewed the scene with a combination of contempt and a hint of sorrow. Sector F was a reminder of the darker side of Arago, a reminder that even in the heart of a great city, there existed pockets of despair and desolation.
"How sad…"
The sectors the Albaniqe's occupy are one of the smallest in Arago. The other sectors are the same size as small towns, and the Albaniqes are about half of that. Poor construction and neglect plagued these areas. As opposed to strong buildings and well-kept infrastructure, the Albaniqe lived in flimsily built mud huts and decaying wooden shacks. The land beneath their feet was uneven, with patches of dirt and no sign of paved roads or proper lighting. The inhabitants themselves were clad in tattered rags or ill-fitting patchwork garments, barely providing any protection from the elements. Their appearance matched their downtrodden demeanor, as they carried themselves with slumped shoulders and shuffled about listlessly, akin to the walking dead. Their sunken cheeks and dirt-streaked faces further stressed their weariness and hardship.
The air in the Albaniqe sectors carried a distinct odor, a mixture of fragility, and the pungent stench reminiscent of skunks. It was a smell that permeated the surroundings, further adding to the sense of desolation and neglect. Even a slight whiff of the air was enough to induce a gag reflex, a reminder of the dire conditions the Albaniqe endured.
I understood the dilemma I faced regarding the Albaniqe and their living conditions. Despite my awareness of their plight, the allocation of resources in Arago had been primarily focused on defense, the royal sectors, and the common folk. Maintaining the city's defenses was a costly endeavor that consumed a significant portion of our resources, leaving little left for improvement in the Albaniqe sectors. While I empathized with their situation, I recognized the limitations imposed by the city's priorities and financial constraints. Even if I were to allocate some resources to ameliorating the living conditions of the Albaniqe, it was unlikely to drastically modify their reputation or bolster their standing in the eyes of others.
The Albaniqe had long been stigmatized and marginalized, and their reputation had become deeply ingrained within the social fabric of demons. Changes that are more than just material would be necessary to alter the perception of the Albaniqe and better their place within society. It is an issue that dates to the roots of demon history. It is indeed a heartbreaking reality that the Albaniqe face such discrimination and stigmatization. Their unique characteristics and appearance, which deviate from the norm, have marked them as outcasts from the very beginning. The prejudice they encounter is deeply ingrained, and it is disheartening to witness the perpetuation of such biases and the resulting marginalization they endure.
As a leader, I empathize with their plight on an emotional level. Both the Albaniqe and demons fight against a predetermined destiny, judged solely based on attributes beyond their control. While I recognize the limitations in addressing this issue in the short term, it does not diminish the importance of empathizing with and understanding the experiences of the Albaniqe. Their struggle for acceptance and equal treatment is a reminder of the broader fight for justice and equality in our society.
"Sadly, I cannot do much to put a dent in their situation. If I displayed partiality towards the destitute, then the aristocracy of Arago, and likely most of the populace, could lodge grievances. My authority would be put in jeopardy, and this must be avoided. I am tasked with meeting the same requirements as my predecessors. To protect Arago and do the bidding of the Marauders. You may call me a coward for my decision, but I have more important matters to attend to."
I tore my gaze away from the poor souls and walked further along the parapet. Up ahead were five guards stationed to defend the gate of sector F and the Albaniqe. If there was a disturbance that required everyone else's attention, they would run to a nearby calling bell and ring it, thus alerting the nearby sectors. Therefore, a series of notifications will begin, notifying the soldiers of the situation outside, and it will result in me being aware.
A female guard noticed my presence and alerted her buddies. They all tore their gaze away from Talik Gorge and saluted. Acknowledging their salute with a nod, I approached the group of guards stationed at the gate of sector F. They were a sturdy bunch, their armor gleaming under the sunlight. Each one stood tall, their gazes alert and focused on their duty.
"Good day, soldiers," I greeted them, my voice carrying a tone of authority and respect. "How are the defenses holding up?"
The guard who had initially noticed my approach stepped forward and said, "All is well, sir. We've been maintaining a watchful eye on the outskirts, ensuring no unwanted intruders make their way inside. It is our duty to keep all civilians safe."
"Excellent," I commended them. "Continue to be vigilant and remain prepared for any potential threats. Your duty here is of great importance, and your efforts do not go unnoticed."
The guards held their heads high, pride shown on their faces as they were honored for their efforts. It was essential to inspire and motivate them, ensuring they remained committed to their responsibilities.
"If there is any sign of disturbance or unusual activity, do not hesitate to sound the alarm," I instructed firmly. "The safety of the civilians and the security of Arago are of utmost importance. Together, we shall ensure their protection."
"Sir yes sir!"
I briefly nodded. "Before I leave, I would like to ask you a question. Has there been anything suspicious, as of late? Any little details will suffice."
The female guard glanced at her buddies. "During the last few days, there has been an increase of screams and howls from the Wandering Woodlands. Animals that were often seen roaming around the Wandering Woodlands have been absent. The place has also been quiet. Way too quiet. Almost as if there was no life within them. Just now, we've been talking about its unusual activity. In fact, once our patrol was over, we were going to alert the commander."
Deep concern etched across my face as I contemplated the unsettling silence that now shrouded the Wandering Woodlands. It was indeed unusual for a place teeming with life and perilous creatures to fall into a vacuum of stillness. The absence of familiar sounds and the lack of wildlife activity raised a multitude of questions. However, one glaring problem needed my attention.
"I'll have to increase the security around these sectors," I said under my breath.
"…Pardon me, sir?"
"I'll be sending more guards over at sectors E and F. Keep a watchful eye for any… wanderers that could potentially walk up to the gate. You know what to do if that situation were to arise."
"We will not let you down, sir!"
Before I began to take my leave, one other guard called out to me.
"There is one more thing we forgot to mention. Five days ago, two of our comrades were found dead while on guard duty. It appears the cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage. The medical examination had found out that there was a loss of blood, yet there were no visible head injuries. The medical experts have yet to uncover what caused it."
"…Is that so?"
Lost in my thoughts, I made my way back to the palace, each step carrying the weight of my contemplations. The possibility of the Liberators exploiting the unsettling silence of the Wandering Woodlands loomed large in my mind. It was a strategic move that seemed logical, given the circumstances. Nevertheless, due to the lack of verification from our scouts, the Liberators may be uncertain to act on this information, apprehensive of the repercussions of disturbing the beings existing in the Woodlands.
Nonetheless, I couldn't afford to dismiss the potential threat. It was better to err on the side of caution and strengthen our defenses in those sectors bordering the Woodlands. While I couldn't divert significant troops from the main sector, a moderate reinforcement could help deter any unexpected incursions. The key was to strike a balance between maintaining a powerful defense in the main sector and preparing for potential attacks from the opposite ends.
"The problem lies on if there are guards who will take their posts seriously when it comes to the Albaniqe… No, I shouldn't worry. No one is foolish enough to slack off on an important day like this."
Chuckling to myself after such a preposterous idea, I entered my palace, preparing for the upcoming assault.
****
As the moon's gentle glow bathed Talik Gorge in an exquisite light, the tension among the soldiers atop Arago's walls reached its peak. The sight before us was both mesmerizing and unnerving. The Liberators, a formidable force in their own right, stretched across the landscape, their numbers appearing daunting despite the vastness of Arago's defenses. Each soldier on our side could feel the weight of the impending battle, the stakes higher than ever. The Liberators may have been outnumbered, but they were renowned for their skill. Their reputation as powerful warriors preceded them, instilling a sense of caution and respect in even the bravest of Arago soldiers that were waiting behind the gates.
Clad in armor adorned with the symbols of their cause, the Liberators stood united, their formation disciplined and unwavering. Banners billowed in the night breeze, proudly displaying their allegiance to a cause we opposed. The cloth featured a figure of a demon kneeling in worship of a deity with wings. Among their ranks, Linark and Nastro, the esteemed officers, exuded an aura of authority and power, their presence looming dangerously. Those two in particular will be difficult to deal with. I and Belmo will have to deal with them…
Belmo, commander of Arago's soldiers, stood unwavering by my side. The man was responsible for training every soldier present in this battle. He wore an entire suit of iron, carrying a sheathe on his hip and his closed helmet under his arms. The cold air breeze tickled his scalp, and his remaining eye twitched as he felt my lingering stare.
"Is something the matter, my lord?"
"Linark and Nastro have arrived, Belmo. Defeating them in combat is not a simple task, as they are well-versed in Qi. You and I will deal with them together."
He donned a smirk as he says, "With pleasure."
I ensured that every strap of my plate armor was securely adjusted and fastened. This piece of armor held a deeper significance—it was a cherished relic passed down from my predecessor, a symbol of the lineage and authority I now bore. Forged from the metal known as Matorenite, my armor boasted incredible strength and durability. Matorenite was a rare and costly material, accessible only to the affluent and influential. Its scarcity made it a status symbol among the elite, a testament to wealth and power. The sturdy foundation of Matorenite provided formidable protection, capable of withstanding many forceful blows. Even a steel blade would find no purchase against its resilient surface.
In a departure from tradition, my armor had been adorned with a shiny gold coating instead of the customary black. This vibrant hue served as a visual declaration of my position as a Warlord, a distinct mark that set me apart from the rank and file. It was a statement of authority and prestige, drawing attention and demanding respect. But despite the formidable nature of Matorenite, I knew that there were a select few options that could surpass its resistance. A metal of equal or superior quality could potentially breach its defenses. And then there was the rare alternative… Using that option, even a wooden sword, seemingly innocuous and unassuming, could slice through Matorenite as effortlessly as a knife through butter.
"Here they come, my lord."
At Belmo's warning, I caught sight of the Liberators marching forward, signifying that their siege had begun. There would only be one victor standing at the end of this, and it would not be the Liberators. Arago will once again claim victory.
"Prepare for battle, my soldiers!"