“Ah, may I speak to the superior commander of the party?” the soldier pointed towards the captain, that had bright red plumes on his helmet. He walked towards him, maneuvering trough the column of soldiers without daring to touch them. He approached the captain from behind and with on movement ended right next him.
“Excuse me, sir, my name is Nunzio, Nunzio Barthlometeus, and if I’m not mistaken, you are the main superiority in this group? And we are traveling to the Warfronts main base of military operations?” the general gave a sideward glance and answered: “Yes, I am Ambrose Julius, and if-I’m-not-mistaken; you are a prisoner, are you not?” Nunzio was almost appalled by the rudeness of the so-called, Ambrose, but realized that he was right. “Uh, y…yes sir, I just think I have a right to know were I am going and why” the general clenched his hands into tight fists and took a deep breath. “You trespassed, you’re an enemy, you’re a prisoner, and you’re going to our camp, and you are going to keep quit and not irritate or talk to my men unless spoken to!” Ambrose was almost screaming, but tied to set a good example for his men and lowered his voice. “You may talk to Private Cain since he decided you should live”. After the words Nunzio immediately retreated in search of Cain to get some answers.
Lucius was walking at the back of the column, hoping that his choice was the right one. He could see the little prisoner that wore little armor and ripped clothes asking his way past the soldiers. He did not look like a soldier, nor did he look like he had ever fought in a battle but something about him made him feel like a key part in the Vancan army. He was interrupted when the prisoner greeted him: “Excuse me, are you Cain?” Lucius looked down at the man and said “yes, and who are you, prisoner?” Nunzio extended his hand in greeting that was rejected by Cain. “I am Nunzio Barthlometeus, I.E of the Vancan forces. I got lost in this massive fore…” “I.E?” Cain interrupted. “Inventing Engineer. I have created many war machines. I can invent a weapon using only the most primitive equipment.” He said proudly. Cain had seen many of these machines that can kill at a amazing distance. “Like the ball-thrower?” he asked. Nunzio looked confused. “The ba… yes, of course. You mean the repeating catapult? Yes, it has four spoon-like throwers and gets loaded by a reloading system that gets filled up by the crew of the machine. This allows it to fire a constant barrage of…metal balls, which can be filled with almost anything from gunpowder to a solid center. Yes, very deadly artillery weapon indeed.”
The two continued their conversation: Cain with his war stories and battles, and Nunzio with his inventions. Cain learnt to talk with this Vancan without gripping his sword and wanting to kill him. “Why don’t you hate the Warfront? You talk to everyone as if they are your friends, yet they are your enemy.” Nunzio looked at the ground, and was thinking of all his memories that he had created over the years. “I was an adventurer. I originally lived in the Night-side but decided to explore the world. But instead of finding thriving civilizations and peace, I found shattered nations and war. I was captured by the Vancan when I was walking trough this very forest, and had to serve them as an I.E for three years until I escaped, and as luck has it, I got lost. You probably know the rest of the story.” While he was looking at the ground he noticed that it was becoming much harder. He moved his foot across the forest floor which revealed a road paved with smooth stones that connected like puzzle pieces with moss growing in between them.
“How long have we been traveling on a road?” Nunzio asked, since he may not have noticed it at first. “Not long. We are about to enter the farmlands.” Just then they emerged from the Forest, with the bright sunlight causing Nunzio to squint. Cain was right; they were looking at a peaceful setting of a typical day. An open plain packed with farms and houses. Farmers could be seen working and resting in the shade of a tree. The entire plain was cut in half by the road that stretched into the horizon, people pushing carts to the markets to get paid for selling the edibles that they had nurtured for so long. When they passed a civilian he would immediately salute them.
Nunzio noticed that most of them were elderly, which probably meant that they are the veterans of the Warfront.
They traveled for a two more hours and eventually exited the farmland area and they then found themselves surrounded by nothing, only the ground below their feet and the sky above their heads. War had not yet ravaged these lands and was probably the rarest of its kind. No birds flew overhead nor where their any animals. This made Nunzio feel alone in a large, uninhabited world, even tough he was surrounded by twenty armed soldiers of the legendry Warfront. He looked back only to see that the village had already disappeared beyond the horizon. He then walked towards Cain who had actually become a friend of his. If he had not told him that he wasn’t a true Vancan they then he would probably hate his insides. “Do you know…” he began, but Cain interrupted him by throwing a sharp “shhh” his way.
Nunzio hadn’t even noticed how all of the soldiers were observing the surrounding area. He caught a movement in the corner o his eye and quickly grabbed a War-powder rifle and aimed to the ground. They could hear a silent whisper, and Cain pulled the trigger that fired into the ground which cried out of pain and rolled over, revealing a Vancan soldier. All know that they are masters of camouflage, but they would never travel alone. Cain and Nunzio knew there were more, just staring at them and waiting for the right moment to attack. It was quiet. Nunzio could not see a drop of fear in the soldier’s eyes. They may be outnumbered and they may even have war machines, but they’re just a small patrol of 20 men, not the emperor’s convoy! Nunzio’s brain was working overtime.
A shot was fired and a soldier fell to the ground. More shots and more casualties. The order is given to return fire, but is interrupted when the bullet met its target. A battle cry. Nothing.
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