I am Rodrik Grand, Captain of the seventh knight regiment within the empire of Japan. Former member of the first guard division of the United States president.
I hope this message is received safely. The discovery of an island wasn't that surprising, but what we found on that island can never be described. I know not if we will make it off this place. Which I have come to call the world's end island.
Its size is big, almost the size of all japanese islands combined, it has a mountain set in the middle. That's not the issue, the issue is that the lowest ranking monsters are Leviathan class, with multiple Angel class monsters spotted. Lost two good knights to them, both of which were lord ranks. Yes you read that right, two lords, the best scouts in the whole damn army, dead. It makes me want to laugh just thinking about it. Hell if you, whoever's reading this was wondering, I'm a grand king and I am doubtful I'll make it off this island. Thus as you already know I'm sending this off in a bottle.
The coordinates for my rescue are 4°58′S 158°45′W.
The waves are so blue,
My hands are so red,
May I live forever unless I'm surely dead.
Your lostward captain Rodrik.
The pencil lines started to trail off at the end.
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Hank's POV
In a small town on the coast of the atlantic.
Hog village.
I hate this village.
I leave my house. Walking through the village is like walking through shade on a really hot day. Nice and refreshing. One might say too nice, too refreshing.
"Good morning, Hank." The grounds keeper patted me on the back.
I couldn't even force a mumble. The grounds keeper being a fifty year old man, was talented and loving for his craft living each day in total jubilation. Not just him but the rest of these fools all wish to drag me down with their gleeful exuberance. Perhaps it's just there thanks for my protection, but I wish to know nothing of it. I entered the barracks which was too small to even be called a shed. I slide on my favorite and only uniform. Its black and blue greatness jumped at your eyes. A nice sword hung from my waist, it was an eastern blade known to most as a katana, except calling this outrageously good blade anything but its name is ludicrous. Horises bane. Horises being a lesser worshiped god of the monster cult, he to some was known to be the creator of most monsters.
I massage my loose but full mustache, it was one thing I was proud of, maybe as much as my family's sword. Upon the uniform I slide on my samurai armor, though awkward to wear, and some even laugh, the armor was enchanted by a skilled mage. It was another family's artifact, its name is Iron hill. Ironic considering it didn't have a single bit of iron in it.
56
The days are bland, odds are low that these items are ever put into use. At least that is what the villagers think, some nights I'm left without sleep, casting my blade through monster after monster.
Tonight was another one of those nights. A horde of twenty monsters all rank three Chimera.
These are poison hounds, creatures like dogs, however they are mostly slime-like beings. The poison they make is strong enough to put them into Goliath rank, however their speed and power are lacking being far behind a true wolf.
I once heard someone complain. "So let me get this straight, these hounds are poisonous. They can't even be killed without the use of magic, and yet they're only Chimera rank?"
What the man said is true, without magic your weapons will go straight through their poisonous exterior. This made them an unsavory choice for a hunt. What added to the fact, is that they leave nothing but their thick almost useless poison behind after death.
I unsheathe Horises bane. The sword even without my help oozed magic. One of the twenty took a step back upon seeing the blade, as if it could see all the monster souls clinging to it in agony. In Fact many fear the sword saying the crimson blade is stained with blood.
A monster with poison for brains, charged. It etched the dirt with its mighty crawls. The beast, without insight of the combat of man, leaped into the air. With one foul swoop, like a batter hitting his thousandth baseball, the gleaming edge took the beast's head. Its body falls like rain hitting the ground with a splat. The monsters looked a bit threatened, but numbers are their advantage. Not of course that they have any clue what numbers actually are. Five charge from the front, well the smarter ones attempt to flank. One of which draws my eye as it chooses to run. The five beasts in the front Soon found the sky to be the ground, as their heads went flying. The rest of course wouldn't go down without a fight. Weaving in and out of the beast attacks, taking openings to cut them down one by one. Within just thirty minutes the nineteen of them were dead.
To those who could have witnessed it they would question why the man only ever aimed for the neck.
The battle ended and one got away. It was surprising that a monster would even run, but still not out of the norm. Returning to the village it is as silent as the moon up above, some would call it peaceful.
Why a man with the skill to kill nineteen beasts of Chimera ranks stays in this small village is beyond the knowledge of the villagers. However with each day the urge grows, to return home, to see his son who would have now become so old, to see his father, one of strongest fighters he has ever met. But now was not the time, the beast has yet to die.
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