The engines hummed softly into the cabin as the jet soared through the sky. Freidlien Hunt looked past the condensation on the glass, down at the sprawling city beneath him. From his vantage point, history’s mark could easily be seen in the mismatched architecture and awkward planning.

The outskirts were short and uninspiring, blocky buildings haphazardly thrown beside each other. The closer it got to the centre of the city, however, the taller the buildings got, as did their elegance. Vibrant structures reached for the skies, glass shimmering orange in the glow of the setting sun. A towering spire stood at the centre of it all, casting a looming shadow that reached beyond the city limits. Freidlien drank in the scenery and his whiskey, the spire gradually disappearing from his field of view.

“We’re on our final approach, Sir.”

“Very good. Are they informed?”

“Yes, Sir. The Anatolian officials have been informed of your imminent arrival. Their envoy will be waiting for when we disembark.”

“Excellent. I’ll be meeting the King alone. You stay here and monitor the situation.”

“Understood.”

Freidlien cracked a smile at Secretary Darius, who promptly returned to his seat at the front of the cabin. The cityscape slowly turned green as the urban slum faded into the lush vegetation that surrounded the city. As the jet touched down on the bare airfield, Freidlien saw a convoy of sedans and a limousine parked on a concrete field beside the runway, waiting. The jet rolled to a stop beside the convoy. The side door lowered towards the ground, steps sliding out over the door.

As the passengers made their way down, the limousine door opened. A man wearing a silver-trimmed maroon trench coat alighted. He walked towards the guests with a wrinkled smile.

“Director Hunt!” The grizzled man opened his arms wide to receive Freidlien.

“Envoy Bradley.” He returned the greeting with a nod.

“Welcome to Bei Deng. I trust your flight was smooth?”

“Uneventful,” Freidlien chuckled, thrusting his hand into a firm handshake.

“I’m glad to hear that. Shall we make our way to the Royal Palace? His Majesty is sorely eager to meet you.”

“After you.”

The small party boarded the limousine and the convoy rode off into the trees. The tinted windows darkened the twilight sky as the vehicles made their way through the forest. Freidlien focused on the trees they were passing.

“Tell me, Envoy. Since when did Anatolis become so accepting to the use of magic?”

Envoy Bradley chuckled. “You have a keen eye, Director. What gave it away?”

“The trees. They’re repeating. I must say I am impressed. The magic done here is first rate. You must introduce me to the one responsible for this. I might just poach them.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. His Majesty may not like it very much. He is very protective of her.”

“This is the work of Her Highness?”

“Not entirely. It was with the help of her tutor, one of His Majesty’s Royal Blade.”

“A Magia? In the Royal Blade?” Freidlien was unable to hide his surprise at the news.

“Indeed, a Magia is a member of the Royal Blade. The first ever. Not many are aware of it. Not even the Blades themselves. To them, the Magia is simply an expert marksman and an exceptional swordsman who earned a seat in their ranks.”

“Fascinating. I would like to meet this person.”

“I’m sure you would.” Bradley laughed as the limousine door opened and the two gentlemen emerged.

As he passed the frame of the vehicle, his vision flashed white. Freidlien blinked repeatedly to allow his eyes to adjust. Once his vision cleared, he was greeted by a colossal palace. Three rows of tinted windows stacked upon each other, each taller than a mammoth. Spot lights lit up the grandiose ornate exterior. The enormous front door opened silently. A man wearing a trenchcoat with same colour as Envoy Bradley stood inside. His, however, was littered with medals and gold trim.

“Director Hunt, welcome to my humble abode,” King Luther greeted with gusto.

“I don’t know about humble, Your Majesty. But I certainly do feel welcomed.” Freidlien bowed, placing his right fist over his heart.

“Come, you must be starving. Let us proceed to the dining hall, I hope you like a good roast!”

“I’m sure I will.”

The halls boomed with the King’s laughter. They made their way through the corridors, their steps silenced by the beefy monarch’s roaring voice. Freidlien paid little attention to what the bulky monarch was saying and instead focused on the paintings that watched them. One in particular caught his attention. One of the royal family. King Luther in his decorated maroon coat standing beside an intricately carved chair, beaming. Sat in the chair was Her Majesty, Queen Lorraine. Her beautiful long titian hair flowed down her left shoulder. Her smile was graceful yet muted. Standing on the other side of the chair was Princess Amelia. She took after her father’s platinum hair, her sapphire eyes from her mother. Many have hailed her as the epitome of Anatolian beauty. Perhaps it was an understatement, Freidlien thought.

Before long, they arrived at the dining hall. Instead of a large extravagant room and a lavish dining table, Freidlien was greeted with a modest room with a balcony on the far end. An immaculate grill stood in the open accompanied by a table filled with a myriad of meats and vegetables.

“I thought you said we would be having a roast, Your Majesty?”

“Roasting, grilling, what’s the difference? What matters is the food and the company!” King Luther laughed, pouring three glasses of wine. “And please, call me Luther!”

“Well isn’t that the truth?” Freidlien chuckled. “And since you asked, I shall. But only if you call me Freidlien.” Accepting the drink the monarch offered him with a bow, the three men talked and laughed over the grill, eating and drinking to their hearts content. It is not everyday that one can savour food personally prepared by one of the most powerful men in the world. Hours passed and the ingredients on the table grew smaller as their bellies grew fuller. Freidlien and Luther sat on opposite sides of a table, an almost empty bottle of wine between them.

“…and then I told him, ‘Find me my headlight fluid!’ Poor boy must have been searching for days!” Luther roared with laughter, tears flowing down his red cheeks.

“Poor lad!” Freidlien joined Luther in his guffaw. He placed his drained glass on the table. “This has been a wonderful evening, Luther. But tell me, you didn’t invite me all the way here just for a barbeque, did you?”

“I was hoping to get you drunk before we talked business.” Luther’s laughter became subdued. “That is true. I invited you here to ask for your help.” His jovial disposition turned grim. “As you know from our history, Anatolis hasn’t been too friendly to magic users, to say the least.”

“I sense that might not be the case for much longer.” Freidlien tipped his glass towards his host before sipping from it.

“Indeed, great strides has been made in mending the rift between Anatolis and the rest of the global community. However, the same cannot be said for the relations with the magical community.”

“I concur. With a history as bloody as yours, it will be a daunting task to change the mindset of the masses.”

“I’m afraid it is. Everyday, I receive reports of magia being beaten, their shops vandalised, schools burned.” Luther shook his head and sighed. “It has been a difficult road. The hate runs deep and ingrained within our identity. Even as King, I cannot just remove the pain and brutality suffered decades and centuries ago. But it is my wish to open another door for my people, as was my father’s wish. Think about it, Freidlien. Without magic, Anatolis has risen far beyond that of others. Imagine what we could accomplish with it.” Freidlien could see the passion burning within his wrinkled eyes.

“It is remarkable, Luther. What your people have accomplished without magic. However, it was the pain and the humiliation suffered by your ancestors that drove them to achieve what they did.” Freidlien acknowledged. “But even so, how do you plan to get your kingdom to accept magic? As you said, the hate runs deep.”

“Amelia.” In one word, Freidlien could feel the swell of pride and regret in Luther.

“I see. Her being the heir to the throne, you hope for her to be the bridge between them and the magia.”

“Even when your stomach is filled with wine, your mind doesn’t dull.” Luther grinned.

“It is the nature of my job.” Freidlien replied matter of factly.

“Yes. She is my hope. Where my ancestors have cast out any royal blood born with the crest, I have chose to do otherwise. I have held her closer than ever, guiding her, teaching her, grooming her to be a Queen worthy of my people’s love. My regret is I cannot teach her magic.”

“Which is why the Royal Blade found a Magia amongst them. To tutor the Princess without drawing too much attention.”

“Exactly. The Blade will guide her in the art of magic while having a purpose to be in the palace and around the royal family.”

“Sounds like you have everything in place. How would me or my agents be able to contribute?”

Luther sighed again. “As skilled a magia as that Blade is, there is only so much one person can do to protect her. I have no intention of announcing it yet but it will not be easy to hide Amelia’s abilities for much longer.”

“So you want a security detail to be around her. But you also want the detail to be magia for her to continue her learning.”

“Correct.”

“You also cannot risk sending Amelia to a magic academy for tutelage without raising attention, no matter the location.”

“Correct again.”

“Colour me intrigued.” Freidlien internalized the information. His agents would definitely be up for the task but something was amiss. Something had plagued him ever since he received the invitation. “Before I offer my agents to you on a platter, answer me this. How did you find out about ArchAngels? We do not exactly promote our existence. Those aware are either working for us or dead.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I cannot reveal all my secrets, Freidlien.” It was Luther’s turn to tip his glass at his guest, giving him a cheeky smile. “I am prepared to pay a very handsome compensation in return for their services.”

Freidlien held his reply, contemplating. “Very well. Fortunately, I believe I have a detail that’s appropriate for the job.” Freidlien fished out a device from his suit and navigated among the files before handing it to Luther. “This is the Delta unit. They are the cream of our crop of agents. I reckon the Note detachment is well suited for your requirements.”

The king glanced at the performance profile of the agents presented in the device. “Interesting choice. I’m sure that they are very capable and fine individuals. But I was hoping you’d be offering me something else. Something…more.”

“More? I’m afraid I don’t follow.” His voice hid his curiosity.

“When ArchAngels were brought to my attention, I was told of a certain unit that was best and it is not Delta.”

“Then I’m afraid you were misinformed. Delta is our best.” Freidlien reached for his glass.

“Am I? Are they? Because I am rather certain there is another. Does the name Omega ring any bell? I already said, I am prepared to pay an enormous sum.”

Freidlien paused, his brow raised. “Now I am truly interested in the source of your information.”

“Alas, I cannot reveal the source. However, your interest in it tells me Omega is real. What would it take to hire them? Name your price.”

“Ah, but that is where you’re mistaken, Luther. Omega does not exist. They are but a phantom. A rumour.” Freidlien proceeded to drained the bottle of wine into his glass. “My interest in your source is merely habitual.” He swirled his wine before sipping.

“My offer is the Delta-Note detachment. I assure you, they are more than capable for the task.”

Luther eyed Freidlien. Staring. Trying to read him. “Fine. I’ll accept Delta-Note. They better be worth the price I’m paying.”

“They are worth every cent. You have my word. What about yourself? Do you not want a team?”

“There will be no need. I have full confidence in my Royal Blades.”

“I would like to meet with the magia in your service. To be skilled in magic in this country is unheard of.”

“I’ll see that you do. But more importantly, when can I expect the arrival of this Delta-Note?”

“Soon. I make the preparations once I’ve returned. My secretary, Darius will be in touch with further details.” Freidlien placed his partially drained glass back on the table.

“Very well. I look forward to hearing from you again.”

Freidlien and Luther simultaneously stood up and shook a firm handshake. The two walked through the same halls that led them to the dining room. Freidlien bowed in respect to the monarch and boarded the limousine back to the airfield. The moment he entered the plane, Darius was standing at the ready with a tablet in hand.

“Do we have any details on how they managed to track us down yet?” Freidlien asked as he was handed the device.

“No, Sir. But I believe we may have a starting point after tonight.” Darius answered. Freidlien scanned the tablet, reading the rudimentary profile on each member of the Royal Blade.

“It would seem so. I want a detailed report on every Royal Blade ready when we arrive in Olympus. In particular, this one.” Freidline pointed to one of the profiles.

“I’ve already instructed intelligence to do so during your dinner, sir.”

“Efficient as always, Darius.” Freidlien curved his lips slightly.