August 11th, 678 AD.

  "Aim and fire!"

  The officer's order echoed out, and at once the archers drew their bows, carefully taking aim at the enemy so far away. In no time, they loosed a deadly volley, filling the air with the strange whistle of more than 300 arrows. The enemy forces, caught off guard and distracted by the approaching knights in armor, were helpless against the onslaught.

  The archers kept their bows low, as they waited for the knights of the 1st and 2nd battalions to enter the battle and bear the brunt of the fighting. The archers beamed with delight at seeing the enemy crumbling under the unrelenting onslaught. The enemy could not defend themselves with inadequate armor as the storm of arrows battered them.

  From a vantage point on a nearby hill, a commanding figure watched the scene below. The general's view allowed him to witness the full scope of the battle, where thousands of men in the rear ranks watched as the front lines clashed with the forces of Gallimard. The general's men, protected by their heavy armour, easily overpowered the poorly trained enemy soldiers. As he watched the battle unfold, a smirk spread across his face, and he chuckled, knowing victory was within his grasp.

  Beside him, his officers also watched the battle with satisfaction. They saw the Gallimard forces begin to retreat in disarray. Soon, a messenger from the frontlines climbed the hill, breathless and eager to deliver the news of their victory.

  "General Lazarus! I bring tidings—the Gallimard army retreats to the deep forest. Demand for—"

  He hardly let the messenger finish speaking before General Lazarus's firm gesture cut him short.

  "There is no time to chase after fleeing villagers. Our soldiers must be rested, and fast. We advance on their capital tomorrow. Order the 1st and 2nd battalions back now. The battle is won."

  Without another word, the messenger sped off to report the order to the battalion commanders. Feeling quite certain of their success, Lazarus stood up, stretching after sitting for so many hours to watch the battle. Turning back toward the rear of the hill, he began the walk to camp, accompanied by his officers. Some of the lower-ranking officers lingered behind, watching as their forces started to regroup and retreat from the field.

  With the battle won, General Lazarus knew that by dawn, his forces would march toward the kingdom of Gallimard. The earlier clash had been a decisive victory, but he was acutely aware that reinforcements wouldn't be coming. He faced a daunting challenge: Gallimard's royal guards were renowned as the toughest in the southern continent. With only 30,000 soldiers under his command, Lazarus knew that one wrong move could result in a bloodbath. Defeat would mean severe punishment for him and his officers. The general argued whether he should plan the next battle with meticulous care or whether he should strike quickly, hoping to catch the enemy off guard. "Victory or death," he muttered, recalling the motto that had guided him since his days at the Officer Academy. He had risen through the ranks, and fame was now attached to his name because of his victory over the kingdom of Leilo.

  As he moved to the rear, the smell of rotting bodies hung in the air, a remnant of the earlier battle. The soldiers hadn't bothered to clear the dead, leaving them to rot under the cries of circling crows.

  As they approached the camp, behind them, the sound of marching feet echoed. Then Lazarus turned to view the 1st and 2nd battalions returning, exhausted. A young runner approached them, breathless but very eager to deliver his message.

  "General! The 1st and 2nd have come back. Reports are coming in that over a hundred men were killed on our side, and nearly a thousand on Gallimard's."

  Lazarus smiled faintly at the favorable report. "Good, that's one less worry. You may go now."

  Hearing the general's satisfaction, the messenger quickly joined the ranks of foot soldiers behind him, understanding his lower status meant he couldn't walk with the officers. As Lazarus glanced at the officers by his side, he took pride in having such capable and loyal men. Noticing their exhaustion and hunger, he smiled and announced, "With this victory, we'll soon have a grand feast. I hope you're all ready for some giant boar."

  His words raised cheers among the officers, and their spirits revived at the thought of the meal promised. Even the soldiers from the nearby battalion, upon hearing the news, stirred with eagerness. He then turned to his deputy, who had approached for orders. "Make sure the soldiers get better rations after this. They've earned it."

  He knew that his men deserve a reward, especially after their key role in the victory. With the orders given, he rushed off to tend to the weary battalions. The sun began to set and draw the day to a close as Lazarus reflected on the long day that lay before them. Tomorrow they would march toward the inner border of Gallimard. He sighed, looking up at the stars rising above him, relieved so many of his men returned safely. With a satisfied smile, he turned and walked back to his tent.

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  Royal palace chambers

  August 12th 678 AD.

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  11:00 PM.

  Lightning crackled across the sky, sizzling in violence as it struck the ground and a small portal materialized. Through the swirling vortex stepped the elder mage and Queen Galadriel. When the portal closed behind them, the queen sensed that the atmosphere had shifted at once; the air was fresher, and the surroundings were unmistakably different from where they had been. It was nearly midnight.

  Galadriel felt the dizziness of time, following down the hallway she had earlier passed along with the mage. Questions filled her head regarding the city they left behind: the city had no walls for protection; forts and castles seemed invisible, and how quick the journey back to their land was. Unable to hold the thought, she asked her questions.

  "Elder, I must ask: why did we return to the capital so abruptly? We only had a brief glimpse of the city."

  The question was valid; after spending such a short time in a place that seemed so intriguing, the queen was naturally puzzled. The elder mage, continuing their walk without turning to face her, responded.

  "Your majesty, the situation is quite surprising. The world we visited had very little magic—none at all, in fact, for a nation with such impressive architecture."

  The queen was taken aback. The idea of a technologically advanced nation with no magic was perplexing. "How could such a society achieve such technological feats without the aid of magic?" she asked, her mind racing to reconcile the discrepancy.

  The mage nodded thoughtfully. "It is indeed extraordinary. Their advancements are the result of an exceptional mastery of technology and engineering, a testament to their ingenuity."

  "But Elder, it is impossible for a city like the one I saw to be without magic at all," protested Galadriel. "Even our cities rely on magic for construction and daily life. How could they build such towering structures, including that enormous bridge, without any magic at all?"

  The elder mage, momentarily at a loss, replied, "Your majesty, I understand your confusion. From what I know, visitors to that world have never reported any visible flow of mana. We returned to the capital because staying there longer could have trapped us; without the flow of mana, my spells and magic would become ineffective."

  Galadriel listened to this explanation, but her curiosity was not satiated. She could not help but ask, "If there is no magic on their side, how were we able to open a portal so easily?"

  The mage sighed, acknowledging the complexity of the question. "The answer lies in the ancient texts I studied. More than 300 years ago, mages from our world discovered this land. Back then, it was just a barren landscape of sand and trees. They noted that although there is no active flow of mana, two ancient mana stones are buried underwater. These stones enable them to create a portal, and some residual amount of mana remains from those stones."

  "But if these stones are good for only so far, and if they have been placed for concealment, how have we reached out to use them to such an extent?" The queen's inquisitive mood deepened.

  The elder mage continued, her tone resigned. "The ancient mana stones can indeed open gates but are not suited for combat or extended use. Their range is fixed and limited. As an elder mage, I was able to tap into this residual mana for a short time, but it's not a sustainable source. The flow of magic in the stones is minimal and cannot support prolonged magical activities."

  She nodded, though her mind remained engrossed in the riddle of this world's magical imbalance. The elder mage's explanations helped clear a few things, but so many questions remained as to the nature of this fantastical land.

  For question given, Galadriel looks front to see the hallway to be almost at the end, and seeing that more questions can be given, he immediately wonders about the mana stones and looks back at the mage to see the fate of these mana stones.

  "And the stones?"

  The elder mage turned to Queen Galadriel with a serious expression. "As I said, these are no ordinary mana stones. They're ancient, capable of enduring for centuries if kept in good condition. According to the old texts, they could last over 400 years. However, newer research indicates they might only have about 50 years left before their mana becomes too weak to use effectively."

  Galadriel's eyes widened. "400 years?! I thought these stones were just regular magic stones. I assumed they'd be similar to those we use in our own country. Why haven't we utilized their technology?!"

  The mage took a deep breath. "To explain it better, the country we were to is called America. On our first encounter with that place 400 years ago, our mages found it astonishing in its massive structures. We attempted to copy their technology, and we failed. The histories showed that the tribes and creatures there were much more inferior than those in our world. Although we were amazed at their advancement, we could not understand how they constructed such magnificence without magic. Research concluded that if it wasn't for their way, we couldn't possibly copy those achievements."

  Galadriel's frustration mounted. "So all we did was admire their technology? We're facing a war, and our enemies will be at our gates within four months. How does this help our situation?"

  The queen's agitation was rising as she sat down, burying her face in her hands and sobbing. "It's hopeless! We've tried everything and failed. We've lost allies, and now we face defeat. What can we possibly do?"

  The elder mage noticed the queen's despair and reacted immediately. She tapped Galadriel on the head with her staff, and the sound of it was quite sharp in the hallway. "Enough! Your crying won't help us. As Queen Galadriel the IXth, you must show strength and resolve. Your people need a leader who will fight for their survival."

  The queen looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and determination. "Thank you, Elder. It's the first time someone has spoken to me so directly."

  The elder mage saw the change in the queen's demeanor and smiled. "What's your next step, Your Majesty?"

  Galadriel took a deep breath. "We don't have many allies. What we need now is a country that can assist us in this war and protect our people."

  The mage thought for a moment and then suggested, "Your Majesty, what if we contact the nation we visited through the portal?"

  The queen's first reaction was skepticism. "You want us to contact them? How can we do that? Our magic doesn't seem capable of opening a gate to their world."

  The elder mage stepped closer, her expression thoughtful. "I know the locations of the remaining mana stones. The ones used to open the portal are hidden, but we can utilize them. We could send a message through these stones and request their assistance."

  Galadriel's interest was piqued. "Where are these stones located?"

  The elder mage replied confidently, "The stones are near the structure you saw, known as the Golden Gate Bridge."

  Galadriel's eyes lighted up at realization. "The Golden Gate Bridge? So we can actually contact them?"

  The elder mage nodded. "Yes. If we can use the mana stones there, we might just be able to seek their help and turn the tide of this war."

  The queen's resolve hardened as she prepared to act on this new plan, hopeful that it might be the key to saving her kingdom.