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Chronicles of the Sword
Attractive, brilliant... the brightest student at the Grandall Academy.
No one doubted her skills as her aptitude became more and more apparent under the tutelage of her soldier father.
Ever since she can remember, she was called an "elite," the constant object of everyone's envy and admiration.
She gradually came to expect this, and she did not feel discomfort.... rather it pleased her.
She would stand tall and proud, lending a hand to the weak and breaking the will of the strong.
She came to believe that that was her reason for existence, her rightful place in the world.
Until the day he arrived.
He was in the same class at the academy as her, but he had no exceptional talent or sophistication. He was beneath her.
Yet he possessed an unknown appeal. A certain charm that could not be taught.
Abelia felt a force trying to steal something within her heart.
At the same time, she realized that her sense of justice which was the supporting force of her brilliance, was merely a feeling of superiority and the pleasure of recognition.
A voice spoke to her from nowere:
"Who is this that threatens me?"
She took her sword and shield to defend her own justice.
She headed to the battlefront of her own will, where greed and conflict embraced.
"The justice that protects this land was the justice that protects me..."
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Chronicles of the Sword
"Happiness" could be a fearful word.
If someone had designed humans to pursue happiness, there should have been limits set to the means of doing so for this woman.
The woman who mourned the death of the King Dalkia could not hold her laughter once she entered the secret cell in her room.
Her peers trusted the proud, resilient and beautiful woman, unaware of her arrogant and greedy true nature.
If anybody knew of her true personality, it was Roin, the military commander.
When she took the throne, many objected for she was just a concubine and not a real heir to the throne. However, it was welcomingly accepted by the military the clenched the real power.
Ascending to the throne while poisoning was still not ruled out as the king's cause of death, brought suspicion on her, but it was again the king's guard that testified for her.
A possessor of unmatched intellect and leadership, she did not have to hide her true personality for long
Withdrawal from the peace treaty with Halteese and declaration of war against Grandall.
Such eagerness to go to war, what would bring happiness to this woman?
The poisonous fangs that she bears searches for the next "happiness" to thirst on.
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Chronicles of the Sword
"If a prerequisite of desire was purpose and motive, then it could be said that I was a person without desire.
If pleasure was defined as an emotion that was charged by desire, then I might be a person that cannot feel pleasure."
He pondered such thoughts next to a corpse that was human a few seconds ago.
Duels, gambling, fraud, murder, women, nothing seemed to satisfy him.
At times he felt satisfied, but the feeling was always immediately followed by emptiness.
The only moment he could feel life was when his life was on the line, the final moment between black and white.
He had stopped having a purpose, having desires.
Even if he fulfilled those purposes to satisfy his desires, they would all turn to emptiness.
He was able to, more or less, obtain everything he wanted. But it all got old too quickly.
...Was it right after the war?
As he prowled town where flames were kindled, he saw a child with a doll crying.
He remembered how he used to play with dolls when he was young.
Dolls have no soul and could be controlled to one's every whim.
At times, there were dolls that would not move exactly how he wanted.
But the dull sound which resulted from applying more pressure satisfied him just as well.
It was these moments, perhaps, that he enjoyed more.
If he was going to have fun, why not do it with live dolls.
If he was going to have fun, why not have a stage as big as this continent.
Why not make them act out an epic drama full of life and death, tears and inspiration.
He started humming.
He closed his eyes and delightfully waved his knife like a conductor's wand.
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Chronicles of the Sword
The mystic water shined in the moonlight as the trees and wind played a soothing melody.
As he savored the fine wine harvested from the fertile land, he was drunk...
The wine took his mind off his empty stomach.
Demuth was the third heir to the Halteese throne.
The man approached him while he was still living in the Halteese castle.
The man eloquently explained the situation in which Demuth is placed and the future that lies ahead of him, and what he needs to do in order to change all that.
Demuth was third in line to the throne, which meant that without an "unfortunate event," his chances of becoming the king were next to nil.
There was no way for a local lord of a small province to ascend to the throne over his two older brothers.
As Demuth was contemplating the assassination of his brothers, the man simplistically told him,
"If you want to be the king, become one."
It was indeed simple.
Demuth claimed independence from the Kingdom and began rule of the province for himself.
Everything happened exactly the way the man had explained.
The castle, town, people, and services were all developed at astonishing speeds. The Halteese army, said to be the mightiest on the continent, fell one after another.
It did not take long before the Halteese recognized the Maletta as an independent kingdom.
As Demuth finished his wine, he remembered that he was hungry.
He was craiving for a huge piece of meat.
Tomorrow, the kingdom will probably expand.
Demuth was sure that a big chunk of Halteese would satisfy his hunger.
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Chronicles of the Sword
In the stillness of time, he bequeathed the name "Absolution" upon the lance that possessed a part of his very being
As a soldier, he did not have a specific means for winning, rather he was simply driven to win.
This gratified him, and as well, he believed that this honored those who risked their lives for their country. Ambushes and stealth attacks at night, his tactics were considered almost ruthless--but in such a time of chaos, victory was the only justice in the world.
Girardot of Grandall.
There was once a time when he was accused of selling his soul to the accursed sword that had been passed along throughout the land.
Despite the shower of accusations and countless arguments made against him, there was nothing stronger than his will to overcome such a tragic fate.
When he came to be responsible for his underlings at the Academy, self-doubt began to grow.
One after another, his pupils would be sent to war, vowing to return to his guidance but not a single one being fulfilled.
He came to realize his sins, when he received news that the young girl that he'd regarded as a daughter, was killed in action.
Girardot was fostering death.
His pupils' lives had become instruments of war, and in turn he was instructing them on how to die.
His very position as an instructor was founded on the corpses of his young students.
He had to face reality and stand firm.
He would become the shield and lance for the country and its people; this was the path of atonement that he chose to follow.
Standing on the very line between reality and ideals, he faced a battle that he'd never experienced before, and vowed unto the lance that possessed his very being, never to make the same mistake again.
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Chronicles of the Sword
She could still hear the shouting
"Take your sword if you want to live, you worthless scum!"
As the tears swelled from the pain, she had nowhere to hide and no peace in sight.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, give me another chance. I will not disappoint you again.."
She had heard of kindness and warmth, but had never experienced them.
Her natural talent as well as her gruesome past was how she reached her present level of brilliance.
Self-defense instincts, survival instincts, that was all it was.
No one protected her.
No parents that cared and loved her.
No friend to have emotional ties to.
Only a single sword.
She had to be stronger.
There could not be anyone stronger.
Today, she flies across the battlefield.
She cuts through the enemy like a flash of light.
She feels no mercy to those that flee, that surrender, that beg her to spare them for their family's sake.
She feels no mercy because she does not know how.
She was never given the chance.
All this to simply to exist, that was her only reason.
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Chronicles of the Sword
On that day, Strife took the Emperor's throne.
At the age of 10, not even a hint of a smile was to be seen.
For days after, he did not eat.
For days after, he did not sleep.
For days after, he concealed a dagger.
His own kin had made attempts on his life for the crown.
Trust was nowhere to be seen, and betrayal had become a daily routine.
The vile avarice of humans and fear of his own brutal death, slowly ate away at his sanity.
One day, a voice was heard from deep within the castle.
This voice was heard each time he sat at his throne.
Gradually, this voice became a part of him. He began to speak these words as though they were his own.
From that day forward, he would be a different man. He would execute anyone who dared oppose him.
He would ruthlessly torture anyone who aroused his suspicions.
He would wield the very symbol of Empirical power, "Ambition."
He would declare non-intervention in other lands while expanding his military.
...Today, a cadet visiting the Academy caught his eye.
Something in his demeanor was unsettling but it was just for a moment.
He did not realize at the time that this cadet possessed what he has long sought after.
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