EngelReise - Prologue

**| > Chapter 1**

In a land of honor, tradition, and respect; the Empire of Imperyea finds itself at war with the horrendously powerful Swatslandic Empire from Svatpa. The samurai fight to the last drop of blood to keep Swatslandic invaders from conquering their great land, but alas, sheer strength and superior technology decides each battle in favor of the Swatslandic armies. Forced to accept defeat, Imperyea now finds itself serving their new Svatpean overlords. The farmers of Imperyea are the true victims, as the Swatslandic crown dictates that any Imperyean worker of agriculture may be seized and brought back to Swatsland to work under free labor. This is especially concerning for the Angel family, among which the youngest member of the family, Tomako Angel, finds her dream of prospering with a farm of her own threatened by the Svatpean invaders. This is the story of Tomako Angel, a pious farmer trained in horseback, destined to make the effort of a 'Fool's Quest' to Swatsland...

## Chapter Reading

== Prologue =

“By the gods…” an Eastern man muttered under the thick of night and rain, “What is that vile man doing out so late? Under the thick of storm, no less.”

This man’s beloved wife stepped out onto the house’s decking and dropped to her knees to join him. Out in the dark and flooded streets of a city known as ‘Korion’ came a special red horse carriage. This was not the carriage of a commoner nor one of Eastern craft, rather, it was of the bureaucracy and Western craft—from the far western continent of Svatpa.

His wife dared to ask in the coming moments, “Who is he?”

“The very ‘viceroy’ who violates us.”

The carriage passed by as the woman gradually lowered her jaw in shock. The man, meanwhile, gave the carriage a scornful glare before looking back into their home.

“That fool is with little protection and the weather slows him down; I have a mind to grab my sword and -”

“D- Don’t..!” Her pleading was enough to relax the man’s shoulders, though his agitation remained visible. “You were lucky enough to have exited the war with your life. I beg of you…”

These words of hers only restored some of the frustration, ultimately, leaving him with a sound growl…

:: Several months prior… ::

“Samurai, soldiers, allies!” an armored commander shouted. “The Holy Lands of Imperyea have been besieged by the Swatslandic brutes of Svatpa! We *must* overcome their aggression and preserve the Imperyean soul and way of life!” He waved his sword in the air with great passion. “The gods of Imperyea mandate us to protect their ancient societies, no matter the cost! Together we stand in the face of an army of evil, the gods blessing our resolve and our spirit unbreakable!”

Thousands of warriors equipped in steel and leather—black, blue, and gold—stood ready as many sailing ships approached the shore of this massive island. Each ship displayed a red and black flag to represent the Svatpean power in which it came. The flags displayed four black cubes in the top left corner and two horizontal black lines near the bottom. These ships belonged to the known world's most western empire, sometimes referred to as the 'Western Empire,' but better known as '*Swatsland*'.

Thousands of miles east of continental Swatsland, in the eastern continent known as Shimua, was a nation of five islands—the only *recognized* empire throughout Shimua. Many throughout the world similarly knew it as the 'Eastern Empire,' but most knew this empire as ‘*Imperyea.*’ Despite being as distant from each other as could be, the event to define a generation was at hand as the Swatslandic Empire found itself in a state of war with the Empire of Imperyea of all places.

Behind the thousands of samurai archers, the Imperyean commander stood ready with a hand over his two-handed blade. The Imperyeans had never seen such monstrous sailing ships before, each one able to hold hundreds of men and each equipped with experimental explosive cannonry. Compared to Imperyea’s meager light frigates, armed only with archers and light cannonballs, it was clear as day that there was no contest on the naval front. Even worse for the Imperyeans, these massive ships were surrounding the empire by the hundreds.

Behind the many rows of archers were swordsmen and behind them was cavalry. The Swatslandic invaders would need to charge up the shoreline and best the archers if they had any hope of victory. The Imperyeans had high morale despite the total naval blockade.

Seven ships were moments away from dropping anchor, their sides facing the beach. Behind these ships came much smaller vessels, these vessels had roofs, walls, and windows. Essentially, they were floating houses. These ‘floating houses’ were bound to hit the sand and deploy Swatslandic troops.

Standing bravely, the Imperyean commander gazed upon these mysterious ships with nothing more than curiosity. It was a long-known fact that the Swatslandic navy was to be feared worldwide, but for the Imperyean commander, the bigger question was if their land forces were similarly advanced. This was the test they were soon to take.

The commander's concentration was soon disturbed as a fellow army leader stepped up beside him. “How do you suppose they survived the long trip from Svatpa?”

No emotion came with his response, “We are fighting demons. Demons are resistant to abrasion.” He crossed his arms and continued. “Still, their military must have been traveling for months and have planned for this long ago.” He dipped his head to the approaching ships and concluded, “Fire be upon them, yes, of course. At the same time, I must admire the enemy’s patience, if they have truly come from Svatpa. Nevertheless, I will not treat them with the same forgiveness that their stomachs have…”

:: Present ::

The red Svatpean carriage stopped before a stone bridge leading into Korion’s provincial castle made of wood and smooth stone. Despite how close the carriage pilot got to the bridge; the man of the hour still ended up dropping into a deep puddle of rainwater made even worse by the muddy surface it formed over. The puddle went far beyond the height of his ankles and had him taking a deep sigh, as well as a hand to his expensive seeing glasses.

“Splendid,” he said in sarcasm. “Moments away from greeting the Emperor’s top envoy and now my feet are ruined.”

The carriage pilot trembled with an apologetic hand up, “A thousand regrets, Sir Viceroy.”

The viceroy was dramatically thrown a bronze cane by his personal diplomat, who then exited the carriage as well to accompany him. The carriage departed and the two Svatpeans moved forward onto the bridge, the rain striking them relentlessly.

He who walked to the Imperyean castle of Korion was perhaps the most controversial in all the Imperyean lands, only second to the Svatpean emperor he served. A tall and strong figure, yet very scholarly in presentation, this bronze-haired man was the Viceroy of Swatslandic Imperyea—or rather the Viceroyalty of Imperyea—he was Viceroy Harling of the Swatslandic Empire. Knowledgeable as he was in the Imperyean culture he now commanded; he was anything but a friend of the Imperyeans. From the common Imperyean point of view, Viceroy Harling was a slayer of Imperyean culture, the messenger of an alien faith, the practitioner of incompatible foreign law, and a vile warlord who hailed from the other side of the world.

Truth be told, Harling was merely the best candidate in his emperor’s court to take charge of this occupation. He is only a viceroy by means of circumstance. Regardless, he was not without aspirations and ideas unique to him.

“Sir Viceroy,” his diplomat spoke, “How should the Emperor’s envoy be approached?” Harling gave the diplomat a skeptical look as they walked. “Should you have me speak by your words while you intervene only to express your will, or, shall yourself be the primary presenter?”

Harling was fast to answer, “My friend, I have no need for you past fact-checking.” The diplomat nodded with nothing to add. “Although, do realize I may add flavor to less significant numbers—that is, certain exaggerations—in hopes of impressing His Majesty.”

Surprised, the diplomat slowed down and replied, “I am confused. You wish not for me to correct these exaggerations, yet desire my fact checking?”

“E—Eh…” Harling adjusted his glasses and with a small smirk elaborated, “Only correct my words if they benefit the Viceroyalty of Imperyea.”

“Very well.”

:: Several months prior… ::

The housed ships struck the sand alongside one another with more to soon arrive. Imperyean archers on the hillside readied a barrage of arrows. From stories of the battles to have already occurred throughout Imperyea, these men had a general idea of what they would be facing, and it would not be good.

The landed ships dropped their doors, which brought out shielded men with Western swords and spears. Most men were equipped in full suits of armor and granted large rectangular shields for protection. This was a type of force Imperyea had not yet discovered technologically—heavy infantry. Though not significant in numbers, these heavy Swatslandic knights in presentation came off as natural anti-archer units.

Between the rows of Swatslandic heavy knights was a commander of their own. The man had a cape and red feather plume above his helmet to distinguish himself from the rest.

He raised his shield up and yelled, “Advance! Choke their arrows!”

Challenged by this, the Imperyean commander sent his finger forward and shouted, “Bury the demons with arrows!”

Imperyean archers fired arrows into the sky by the hundreds. Each arrow reached a high point in the air before diving down toward the marching knights. To counter this, each knight raised their shield and knelt.

Those ensuing seconds had sounds of thunder echoing for almost a mile. This was not thunder though, rather, it was the sound of arrows clashing with shields. The barrage failed for the most part but did have some Swatslandic knights falling dead. The majority who bested the archer offense marched onward.

“By the gods…” the Imperyean commander muttered.

Witnessing the failed attack, the Imperyean commander looked back to review his cavalry but refrained from sending them forward. A simple man could be knocked down by an efficient horse charge, but these heavy knights were practically made of metal. Ultimately, he decided to give the archers a few more shots.

The Swatslandic commander raised his shield and blocked a significant number of arrows as many had coincidentally come for him. The outcome of the attack was similar to the last, with about twenty knights falling to missile fire, the majority continuing forward with no damage.

“We face an army of cowards!” the Imperyean said critically of the shields. “Those who hide from battle embrace their low character without shame!” Suffice to say, these heavy knights would not fall to arrows, no matter how much they send. He rested his faith in the archer scheme.

“Archers, form up behind the infantry! Infantry, take the line!”

Upon giving the order, the archers making up the Imperyean line packed up and moved to the back. In their place came Imperyean samurai and other infantry equipped with swords and pikes. Despite the Swatslandic strength, these knights would not get through a line of men so massive.

The change in formation on Imperyea’s part caused the Swatslandic heavy infantry to slow down cautiously but continue to march forward regardless. Behind them, five more housed ships landed and opened. This proved to be the greater threat to Imperyea, for these ships produced regular light infantry and even some archers of far greater numbers than of the heavy infantry already deployed. These soldiers did not come nearly as equipped as the heavy knights but still contributed to an already threatening presence by numbers alone.

The Imperyean commander gazed upon the Swatslandic infantry—both light and heavy—with a sudden sense of shock and confusion. Now they were faced with regular infantry that *could* be easily damaged by arrow fire, but with heavy infantry still on the beach moving forward, he was unsure of what to do. At the end of the day, this was a military conflict like no other for the Imperyean strategist, for their Swatslandic foes came with strategies, morals, and weaponry never before experienced by the Imperyeans. Clearly, the Swatslandic studied hard for this conflict, but the Imperyeans did not. They never had the time nor source material to study for such a bizarre conflict.

“Infantry… advance..!” the Imperyean cautiously ordered…

:: Present ::

Viceroy Harling and his diplomat reached the Grand Hall of the castle in Korion. They stopped in its center and when faced by an envoy from the Swatslandic mainland in Svatpa offered each other mutual bows, arm to waist.

“Peace from Great Swatslandia,” the envoy greeted.

Harling tried topping this with, “By the grace of God, hail Swatslandia and His Majesty.”

This exchange was honorable and appropriate between two Swatslandic persons, but offensive to the many paintings of past Imperyean emperors and great lords situated throughout the castle. Even if Harling was of unspeakably higher rank, he still hosted the Emperor’s envoy with unmatched kindness and respect.

“My friend, I pray this wretched rain does not make you ill.”

The envoy shook, “Thank you for the concern, Sir Viceroy, but I came in a cloak.”

Harling beamed, “Ah, you knew to expect rainfall?”

In a somewhat pretentious tone, the envoy explained, “No. His Imperial Majesty, *Emperor Bownwitz*, warned me that I may come under attack during my visit should an Imperyean see my face. It has long been suggested that you would be unable to tame the Imperyean population, despite your talents.” Harling immediately gasped with an open mouth to defend himself, but the envoy continued. “I can attest to this over the fact my carriage’s wheels were mysteriously loosened before leaving for here. No doubt the reverse handicraft of some Imperyean… critics.”

“Well, there has been some minor… setbacks… in appeasing the Imperyean population...”

:: Several months prior… ::

All sense of organization faded for both sides as Imperyeans and Swatslandic—both heavy and light—met in a savage fight. It was black and blue samurai against black and red knights, the mutual colors ultimately being black armor and red blood.

In one instance, a samurai and knight fought in the immediate range of the other, the former being empowered with unspeakable passion, hatred, and rage for the Svatpean opponent. Like some kind of animal, the samurai hacked away at the knight’s shield while at the same time avoiding the strikes of surrounding foes and allies.

“Begone, foul demon of the West!” the samurai barked.

The samurai and knight crossed blades for a moment, but immediately after this, the samurai found someone else’s blade crashing through his back and out the chest. Wood, metal, and blood came out the other end as the samurai cried in agony, yet, he persisted. Even with this Swatslandic blade coming through him, the samurai channeled what energy he had left into a swift and might swing, destroying the defensive resolve of the knight he was fighting before ultimately decapitating him with a quick swing. He claimed victory over the knight by kicking his headless body to the ground, after which, a second sword came through that same samurai, effectively killing him as well.

:: Present ::

“But regardless, the Imperyeans are very much growing fond of their new Swatslandic masters. Every day that goes by we see progress in assimilating them.” The envoy skeptically hummed. “The Imperyean is like a child, you see. A child is resistant to change, and even following the change they will remain resistant. This is the mind of the Imperyean as it stands, but like with every child, they will eventually respect their authority figure and adapt.”

“Very well…” was the envoy’s concluding comment to this. “Well, then, let us speak of the Viceroyalty.”

“Indeed.”

The three took their walk down the Great Hall and past various pieces of Imperyean art, all of which the Swatslandic occupiers happily preserved, save for some specific pieces that had been shipped off for mainland Swatsland.

On their walk, Harling directed the envoy’s attention to the art pieces and happily explained, “As you can see, when you dig beyond the militaristic culture of the Imperyeans, you will find they are an artistic people just as we. They are especially fond of their wood workings, taking pride in making sculptures out of a single log. The less wood used, the more impressive. The Imperyeans are passionately against modular parts when it comes to weaponry, structure, and arts. In fact, this entire castle is impressively built with very little modular -”

“With all due respect, Sir Viceroy…” the envoy closed his eyes with a smirk, “His Majesty seeks a report on the affairs of the Viceroyalty, not a cultural case study.”

“The Viceroyalty of Imperyea has reached a golden era in economic efficiency.” The envoy was quick to turn a glance onto Harling’s diplomat, successfully catching a brief expression of disagreement. “As I said recently, every day the Imperyean people become more and more accepting of their Swatslandic masters. At last, respectable wealth through taxation exists throughout the Viceroyalty as the Imperyeans come to respect our authority. Likewise, Imperyeans now *optimistically* purchase from our very own Swatslandic traders, even agreeing to work in regional trade companies. No doubt, we will sooner than later approach a milestone achievement of Imperyean men willing to serve in the regional army.”

The envoy’s eyes widened after hearing this. “I beg your pardon. You aspire to arm the very Imperyeans we conquered?”

“Yes, absolutely!” The immense disapproval of the envoy mixed with a frantic face from his own diplomat led Harling to think this through a little more. “Well, err… not exactly, no.” On the spot, Harling played off the awkward moment with a confident grin and felt the envoy over the shoulder. “What I mean to say is that the most *elite* of Imperyean loyalists to the Viceroyalty will be encouraged to join the ranks, provided they convert from their native religion and swear an oath of allegiance to Heavenly Swatslandia.”

“Ah, I see.”

Harling’s damage control succeeded, and so they proceeded into the former military strategy room of the castle, now serving the purpose of a diplomatic room in Swatslandic Imperyea. The room had a very large table appropriate for such a conference, yet the envoy was startled to find very short table legs and no chairs.

“I- I apologize. Where are the -”

“Chairs?” Harling guessed, “The Imperyeans see chairs as impractical and uncomfortable. They are nearly non-existent in these lands.”

Harling came to the table and dropped to his knees with a somewhat cute smile, though the envoy would not do the same.

“I will stand.”

Getting right to the point, Harling explained, “As we speak, each island of Imperyea remains under the direct control of the Viceroy—yours truly. I daresay it should not be argued that my direct control of Imperyea is superior to the idea of assigning governors to each island. Under my personal direction, we have seen a rise in economic efficiency and a greater rate of assimilation.”

“No insurgencies?”

Harling fluttered his eyes for a moment in a soulless manner before quietly muttering, “No.”

“No unrest of the rebellious nature?” before Harling could answer, he closed an eye and added, “I remind you that the wheels of my carriage were mysteriously loosened…”

The Viceroy conceded, “As I said, there is resentment from the more childlike Imperyeans. But what more can they do other than give us a hard time? The Empire of Imperyea is no more. The Imperial dynasty has been exterminated. Its ‘Great Lords’ have all been deposed and sent into exile.”

This startled the envoy, “Beg pardon. *Exiled* or *executed*?”

Harling blinked a single time, no expression to show. “W- W- B- Well, you se- I don’t -” The Viceroy thought for a few moments. “It makes no difference if they were exiled or executed. They’re gone.”

The envoy glared, “Eh!? It most certainly does make a difference! What role did these ‘Great Lords’ play?”

“They were the governors, per se, of the islands.”

“But they still live?”

More stuttering came from Harling, who proceeded to display some frustration in replying, “They very well may have died in the Swats-Imperyean War. This was a very, very violent conflict, you see. Whatever Great Lord survived our blades and arrows surely was wasted away by our naval firepower.”

:: Several months prior… ::

The Imperyean commander placed both hands over his head and panicked, “Wh- What is happening!? We are being destroyed by… by…” He watched as bits and pieces of his men were thrown around by explosives on the beach, caused by the cannons of Swatslandic vessels. “Are they firing lightning bolts at us!?”

The cannon barrage ended, and the Imperyean soldiers once more charged toward the enemy, but the explosive cannon fire had now done its damage to Imperyean morale. Shaken as the Swatslandic infantry were of these explosions, most fought on with faith that the admirals would direct accurate attacks on the Imperyeans.

A second barrage of cannon fire came. Any reinforcing Imperyean forces came to an instinctive halt upon seeing Imperyeans and Swatslandic alike being blown up. This bombardment inflicted mental damage to both sides but left the Imperyean forces completely distraught. Not a single Imperyean reinforcement moved after this attack—they were frozen in shock.

All in all, the cannon barrage had dealt its greatest effect—crushing morale. No one wanted to fight this battle, not even the samurai in the back who had yet to fight the battle. They did fight, but with blown up limbs and fierce Swatslandic morale about, it was understandable that the Imperyean enthusiasm was low. The Imperyean commander could not believe what he was witnessing.

:: Present ::

The envoy closed one eye and said, “There are concerns—or rather rumors—in Svatpa that income sent from the Viceroyalty to Svatpa is lost in transit.” Harling raised his shoulders and with arched brows. “The fear is that somewhere between Imperyea and East Pepperford or perhaps our Legolan colony, money intended for the mainland disappears.”

Harling inquired, “What has you believing that?”

“Emperor Bownwitz has heard rumors.”

“From whom?” The envoy raised a brow. “I am not withholding mainland tributes if that is what you are claiming.”

To this, the envoy said, “The concern is only that money may be disappearing during the journeys. Perhaps piracy, perhaps bribery, perhaps certain admirals stealing. Or, perhaps it is only rumors. Money *does* come from Imperyea, the concern is only if a consistent amount is received each time. Our treasurer believes it is inconsistent, the Emperor simply wishes to know if you have any input.”

“They are only rumors.”

“Very well.” The envoy moved around the room whilst rubbing his chin in a train of thought. “As that is the case, let me ask on the Emperor’s behalf if there are any requests you have for him.”

To this inevitable question, Harling showered himself with praise in the form of a gleeful smile and requested, “As I am the direct controller of these Imperyean lands and have demonstrated great competency in my position, I humbly request that His Majesty—Emperor Bownwitz—bless my title with extended autonomy.”

The envoy grew unsurprisingly concerned, “Autonomy? What rights do you speak of?”

“Very little. Very, very little.” That said, Harling opened his eyes into slits and removed his glasses. “When you tell the Emperor of my immaculate deeds to the Swatslandic Empire, I wish for him to consider granting me the freedom to perform my own military operations as I see fit, so long as they correlate to the will of the Swatslandic Imperial Crown.”

In a mistrusting and almost mocking tone, the envoy inquired, “Are you requesting authority to conquer more of East Shimua, Sir Viceroy?”

“Oh, no, no, no! Well…” Harling rolled his eyes up and shrugged. “I do feel that it would be in the best interests of the realm if I am *permitted* to take expansionary actions, should an opportunity arise. Say, if an uprising in Krucifix were to start that might leave their armies distracted.” The envoy blinked a few times, no initial response to give. “I believe His Majesty would agree that the integration of Krucifix and Kinchon into this Viceroyalty would be to our best advantage, should the opportunity present itself.”

“I suppose you would expect direct control over Krucifix and Kinchon, as well as your current lands of Imperyea?”

To this, Harling dropped his jaw a bit, “U—Uh…”

“I will make this request for you. I only feel a desire to inform you that this sounds like more or less a plot to craft an independent empire for yourself than it does to expand Swatslandic interests.”

Harling scoffed, “Unspeakable crime. Unspeakable and unrealistic to imagine.” He further rolled his eyes at the envoy. “After the destructive superiority of the Swatslandic over the Imperyean in the recent war, do you honestly believe I would ever so much as *think* to trifle with the Swatslandic Empire?”

:: Several months prior… ::

“Cavalry! Close the gap so as to dissuade them from blowing us up any further! Ride!”

The horsemen at first hesitated to move but soon moved forward with their swords out. It was as they began to gallop that a horrendous event occurred; more cannon fire. This time, the explosions mostly struck the sand around the battlefield as a mean of scaring the Imperyeans. This proved effective as the Imperyean forces were easily intimidated by the nearby explosions. This was perhaps the final strike needed to turn the tide as much light infantry of Imperyea began to break down in fear and flee.

Their commander stepped forward and shouted, “Cowards! Where is your pot of honor!? Our country is at stake and you flee from mere explosions!?” He stared down a particular fleeing man to personalize his lecture. “You would not have lasted a day fighting the soldiers of Krucifix! Not a single day!”

His words were meaningless to the soul. At this point, even archers were beginning to flee in great numbers. With every soldier who turned to retreat, another would follow. This pattern continued until, unbelievably, the entire block of archers found themselves fleeing as if given an order to do so. The commander, shocked and saddened by this, turned to face his fleeing men who marched away from the battlefield.

“Where are you going..!?” he muttered. “Do you fools not realize what is at stake!?”

Soon after shouting this, he was discouraged by the sight of several cavalrymen rushing past him in retreat. Shortly past this, light infantry fled as well. So many would continue to die on the battlefield with grace, honor, and unmatched patriotism for the Imperyean Empire, but this battle was long over.

The commander, speechless, dipped his head down in shame and humility. The final blow for him was the sight of a final fresh deployment of Swatslandic infantry landing on the beach—all fresh with morale and strength. There was no path to victory remaining, even if the retreating men were to find their honor and return.

Distraught, the commander soon turned his back on the battlefield as well and caught up with two surviving officers who had been in charge of leading sections of the archers and cavalry.

With a hand up, the commander explained, “No doubt there have been similar occurrences all throughout Imperyea, all of which with similar defeats.” Both officers raised their brows in shock, yet not surprised. “Never before has the island of Dayaking been claimed by an enemy—not even in revolt.” He looked away from the battlefield, instead looking toward the retreat. “We must garrison together at the Emperor's Royal Castle and protect the heart of our empire...”

Only minutes later, the last drop of Imperyean blood spilled in the sand. Any remaining Imperyean soldier was now traveling up the hills in retreat from the Swatslandic invaders, to go and protect the heart of Imperyea…

:: Present ::

“Sir Viceroy, I have saved the greatest topic for last.”

“Oh?”

The envoy put great strength into his jaw as he announced dramatically, “An edict.”

Harling and his diplomat exchanged looks, the former replying, “What sort of edict?”

Even more dramatically than the last, the envoy stated, “A *prepared* Imperial Edict.”

The Viceroy’s brows raised, “Prepared? From the Book of Potentials?”

“Quite so.”

Unusually relaxed, Harling sat back comfortably and smiled, “Very well, which Imperial Edict does His Majesty wish to canonize?”

The envoy was especially cryptic and dramatic in his answer, “The proposed Mandate*: People of the Crop*.”

This was a response that had Viceroy Harling slowly widening his eyes but his own diplomat left confused by an unfamiliar subject. A mere diplomat, after all, would not know of the inner workings of the Royal Family of Swatsland, let alone their *proposed* ideas. Harling, however, knew what he heard.

This announcement convinced Harling to get up from the floor, “I beg your pardon… You said… *People of the Crop*?”

“Now officially known as *Imperial Edict Seventeen*.”

Hearing this only further put a shock down Harling’s spine, who now stood with great fear of the possible ramifications of such a radical edict. While his diplomat was mostly in the dark with what this meant, the Viceroy’s shock perhaps made it too clear that it was an edict which targeted the Viceroyalty of Imperyea first and foremost.

Harling would confirm this aloud, “That cannot be. *People of the Crop* was more of a desperate thought if anything. A hypothetical, an experiment, a last resort -”

“Now canon in Swatslandic law, and you are in charge of overseeing its execution.” Harling dropped his arms and with eyes wide. “By the will of the Emperor, you, Sir Viceroy Harling, are tasked with the *strict* control of Imperyea’s agricultural base. In the Viceroyalty of Imperyea, there should be only one class of farmer working the fields—the humble. The farmers of *wealth* and *poor*, meanwhile -”

Harling interrupted frantically, “I have received this edict on too short of notice!” He walked right up to the envoy and grabbed him by both shoulders. “I need ships. *Big* ships. Ships with slave compartments, great quantities of food, great security.”

“I assure you that as we speak, the Emperor has slaving vessels en route to these very islands.”

Slightly reassuring as this was, Harling continued, “I need soldiers, many more soldiers. Soldiers that are familiar with the sounds and ways of Imperyeans.”

“That is your responsibility.”

The Viceroy took a deep breath and spun around, “The Imperyean people will not tolerate the abduction of poor and rich farmers, nor will the Swatslandic tolerate their presence in Svatpa…”

“I will be sure to relay your concerns to the Empe-”

“N- No! No! No!” Harling panicked. “If it is Imperyean laborers he wants, it is laborers he will get, and I will send him *only* the best and worst these lands have to offer.”

The envoy bowed, “He will be very pleased to hear this.”

With this, Harling gazed deep into the eyes of the Emperor’s most trusted envoy, knowing deep down that a mistake was being made.

“I do have my concerns, though, that pursuing *People of the Crop* will be our first, and last, mistake…”

To be continued!

**| > Chapter 1**

## Author Notes

#### Rewriting the Prologue

The first version of the Prologue contained only the battle (an extended version of what is currently present) due to an initial philosophy that readers would familiarize themselves with Imperyea and Swatsland, as well as be entertained with constant action. My respect for this version quickly withered as I came to realize that EngelReise was not a story that contained frequent military and battle, thus this prologue did not appropriately tease what kind of content one could expect in the much larger story. As a result, I would years later revisit the Prologue (following a Siontix Realm Senate vote) with intentions of rewriting most of it. Elements of the battle were maintained through flashbacks, but now the attention would primarily fall upon Viceroy Harling, more faithfully representing the drama and culture one can expect from the story. I had at one point meditated on whether to introduce Tomako--even if just barely--at the very end of the writing, but decided against it in faith that the suspenseful closing would be enough to carry newcomers' interest.

#### The Swats-Imperyean Character

One of my central focuses when writing the Prologue (namely the rewritten version) was to put on display a fact that these are two empires of similar prestige, yet technologically distant from one another. The idea proposed in this beginning is that we are essentially witnessing a very romanticized and even fantasized reality where Late Medieval European armored knights storm the beaches of feudal Japan. Outside of the battlefield, I took my first shot at expanding upon these very different cultures by depicting the Imperyeans as a very nationalistic people who are compliant with their Swatslandic occupiers only for as long as the Imperyean spirit remains tattered. Although perhaps too subtle in execution, my intention was for the reader to leave the Prologue practically knowing that the Imperyean defeat is only temporary, for this is a proud population who cannot stand their situation. As for the Swatslandic, having never for sure known which European cultures exactly I base them upon, I have always taken inspiration from Western European cultures, especially those of whom went on to erect colonies. I portray the Swatslandic as a similarly proud people, but also with a touch of respect for foreign art and tradition. I definitely wanted to portray certain characters of Swatsland as glory hounds and trophy seekers, communicated through Viceroy Harling, who is just proud to be the new owner of Imperyea's most sacred treasures. The one important thing I wished to establish with the Prologue--in my mind a bit unsuccessfully--is to show that neither the Swatslandic nor Imperyeans are morally shiny, and that in many ways, they are merely two sides of the same coin. While I feel I did not demonstrate this too well with the Prologue, I do feel the negative aspects of the Imperyean character becomes more than apparent as the story continues.

## Chapter Illustration

The first ever chapter illustration for EngelReise was created prior to the actual writing--a rare instance; however, even rarer was that the illustration was also made before final plans had been developed for the writing. As a result, the illustration depicts the Angel homestead, making this a much more fitting image for Chapter 1 than the Prologue.

The process for this illustration involved sketching out the scene, scanning it, applying color digitally, and finalizing it with a oil paint effect. This would be the only time that this method was used in the creation of an illustration.

## Characters Introduced

#### Viceroy Harling

Viceroy Harling, the Season 1 antagonist, is introduced as the first character of EngelReise as he greets an envoy of the Swatslandic Emperor. Harling at this point carries the immense burden of governing the Swatslandic occupation of Imperyea following Swatsland's victory in the Swats-Imperyean War. Harling fashions himself as an ambitious but dishonest sort, with the faux strength of his character challenged when he receives word that the Swatslandic Emperor expects him to carry out a highly risky and controversial order to have the best and worst Imperyean farmers abducted and exported to Swatsland. Knowing full well that this will provoke the humiliated Imperyean spirit into rising up, Harling leaves the chapter certain that trouble awaits the Swatslandic.