— ARTHUR DAMM —
Arthur slowly stirred from his short nap.
He had made himself comfortable in his quarters, leaning back in his chair with his boots resting on the desk. Technically, he was supposed to deal with a stack of documents—important to their senders, perhaps, but utterly trivial in his eyes.
Yawning, he ran a hand through his black hair and stretched his lean, gracefully muscular body. Still, he remained seated, staring up at the ceiling.
Seventeen years had passed since he had joined the army of Preußtland.
Now, he occupied his post within the colossal stronghold known as the Fortress of the Crimson Blade.
His room, located deep within the fortress, was small—but every wall, every corner, bore marks of his passion: swordsmanship.
Training diagrams, etched symbols, and weapon-related insignias filled the space like a silent testament to his discipline.
Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed against the door. Whoever stood outside was clearly impatient.
Arthur didn't bother getting up. He didn't even turn his head. Instead, he looked into the mirror opposite him—watching as the door opened and an older man entered, breathing heavily.
"G-General Crimson Blade Arthur Damm?" the man stammered. Sweat ran down his face, white bandages wrapped tightly around it, hiding his nose. Broken, perhaps?
"I—Commissioner Siegmund Herz—report the successful arrest of the Bernheim family, as well as the capture of a beastfolk!"
Arthur's expression didn't change.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the man through the mirror.
"Siegmund Herz? That Siegmund Herz?"
"Yes! Exactly!" Pride lit up the commissioner's eyes. The recognition pleased him immensely.
"I don't know you," Arthur replied flatly, shattering that pride instantly.
"But I did receive a report recently. Something about an idiotic commissioner who commandeered my city guards without permission—and managed to get two of them killed. His name had something like 'Sieg' in it."
Siegmund's face drained of color.
Moments ago, his voice had brimmed with triumph. Now, he looked smaller—shrinking under Arthur's presence.
Arthur didn't move. He simply exhaled slowly.
I should knock him flat, he thought.
But someone else had already done that, it seemed—so he restrained himself.
"So," Arthur continued coolly, "what about the prisoners? Did you execute them?"
"N-No…" Siegmund stammered.
"T-Tonight… an execution is scheduled, and—"
Arthur cut him off.
"And you intend to execute them tonight? That was your decision?"
The commissioner nodded weakly, bracing himself for punishment.
Arthur sighed, clearly annoyed by the entire farce.
"Commissioner Siegmund Herz. Tell me—are you the general here, or am I?"
Siegmund no longer dared to meet his eyes.
"You are," he whispered.
"Exactly," Arthur replied.
"Which means I decide what happens—and what doesn't. And setting aside the fact that there is an execution scheduled today… I decide who is executed. Is that clear?"
The commissioner nodded again, pale as a corpse.
Arthur studied him in silence for a moment.
"Good," he finally said.
"In that case, bring them to the scaffold as well."
Siegmund nodded mutely and turned to leave.
"Commissioner Herz," Arthur added, stopping him. He turned slightly and smiled—satisfied.
"The bandages suit you very well. You may go."
The door closed.
Footsteps faded away, followed by a distant, furious shout.
Apparently, the commissioner hadn't appreciated being toyed with.
Arthur turned back, placed his boots on the desk once more, and stared at the wall ahead. A massive map hung there—depicting his homeland, Preußtland.
His gaze lingered on one small mark: the city of Straßn, deep in the southwest, several hundred kilometers away from the enemy nation Einheit. The rest of the country no longer mattered to him.
It had always been a mystery to Arthur how such a gigantic fortress had been built in Straßn. Folklore claimed it was constructed over a thousand years ago to protect humanity from demons. Yet Arthur had never seen any—and doubted their existence entirely.
The history books mentioned little.
The fortress seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
A structure one kilometer long, five hundred meters wide, fifty meters high—and fully roofed.
Such a colossus could not simply be built without reason.
And Arthur was certain: the people of that era had not possessed the technological capabilities of modern Preußtland.
He longed to uncover its secrets. To dedicate himself to research rather than blood and duty.
But his role as General of the City Guard demanded otherwise.
Internal security.
Order.
Executions—human or beastfolk alike.
No matter how much pity he felt.
Finally, Arthur stood.
"Duty calls," he said quietly. "I can dream later."
He opened a metal locker.
Inside stood a heavy, galvanized red plate armor. Embedded in the center of the chest was a crimson energy core—a powerful resource possessed exclusively by Preußtland. It was the foundation of all their progress, enabling advancement without electricity, coal, or conventional power sources.
Arthur smiled at the sight of his armor.
"Alright then," he said.
"Let's get moving."