Numerous crops were planted here and farmers were mustering their cattle. Blacksmiths and merchants though, resided another level above them. Thus, they were in the Second Ring. Inner Circles though, were truly elegant, much like paradise compared to pandemonium to the Outer Circle. Nobles were well shielded by Avasgaroth’s intense security, and it was nearly impossible to siege the ruler’s compound since the Fifth Circle was built to conceal the homes of the higher classes as well as aristocrats.

Military projects that recently succeeded augmented the power of Avasgaroth. Merchandise continued to flourish and many neighboring nations signed contracts for trading. Avasgaroth needed to depend on its friendly alliances to prosper. The ruler must have been planning to raise funds to improve the standards, Frasken assumed. He was aware that his homeland needed time to progress, and the hunter wanted to eliminate the system of class hierarchies that existed. Frasken wished that changes had to be altered, but patience was the key to do so.

"Welcome home, Frasken!" Frasken was instantly recognized by one of the town guards patrolling the area. The hunter spun around and nodded in turn. They were dressed in typical red armor wearing a brazen helmet that glittered in the sun. Each soldier wielded their weapon of choice and had the protection of a light scale mail. Frasken rushed into the compound to revisit his home, which was truly in the Third Circle. Before that, he was troubled by what he saw though, as a wandering barbarian, who were often referred to as forest folk or highlander by the townspeople, was not permitted to gain access inside. He wore a forest green cloak interspersed with light green stripes. Perhaps it was a traditional cape from his clan or perhaps he favoured it. The brawny fellow was ready to draw his weapon.

"I must speak to the ruler of the city! I seek help, no war!" the barbarian protested. Perhaps the arrogant demeanor he showed concerned the guards, clearly they were backing him away by violent shoving. Lawmen were drawing lances, aimed straight at the highlander’s abdomen if he continued his rage. Feuds erupted on and Frasken was aware that he must terminate this dispute. He approached near the guards and as subordinates, and they bowed in the presence of a knight. Frasken commanded them to unsheathe their armament with a series of hand codes.

Frasken had pitied the man, for he knew the prejudices that a barbarian faced in the Realms, as they were often called brutal savages. The hunter needed to intervene, he needed to help. Knights in Avasgaroth were not really considered high ranking in the social hierarchy, but one as Frasken had gained considerable respect from the normal soldiers. Power did not come easily in Avasgaroth, especially since it was a newborn empire, and many ambitious low-ranking officials were hungry for their rank ascension.

"We have to ensure that you will not harm us, your weapon must be seized!"

"I will keep my most trusted companion to myself and only death will separate it from me," the barbarian replied coldly. Fires burned in his eyes, revealing the full wrath of the muscled barbarian, and from the many legends Frasken heard, even a single warrior was skillful enough to fend off an entire band of city guards. The hunter took measure carefully.

Approaching the watchmen, Frasken demonstrated hospitality to the troubled wanderer. The barbarian locked his eyes towards the hunter, a gaze that showed a knot of anxiety. His very dark brown eyes fell on Frasken with the force of a sledgehammer. Confusion took place and the hunter was not sure if he was doing the correct duty to help the stranger.

"Let this man in, I feel that I might be able to deal with him," Frasken interrupted. The watchmen acknowledged. The barbarian flashed a faint smile, his distress seemed partially gone, and he admired the hunter’s generosity. Frasken glanced on the highlander’s right mighty right bicep, marked with a wolf clan tattoo. Moreover, his forearm had a symbol of a mystical dragon breathing gulfs of flame on it. According to mythical beliefs that Frasken learned, barbarians employed tattooing as protection to ward off evil spirits. Tattoos that ranged from hallowed champions to monsters from the abyss all had magical properties, only if one was a Lonewolf clan member.

"All right sir," the head of the patrols replied. The barbarian watched warily for hidden hazards in this unfamiliar territory as well as eyeing Frasken’s weapons back and forth. His anger began to lessen, as peace found him at last. The hunter was prudent, eyeing the barbarian warily with his brown pupils. Frasken assumed that the highlander would be mute and serious. The warrior was feeling hesitant in addressing himself. Why was he even helping the stranger during this time of crisis?

"Have we met before? I feel that your eyes resemble a person I know…" Frasken initiated, feeling a little nervous.

"Maybe so, I am Torepol, a barbarian from the Lonewolf clan. I am here to seek work, for my kinsmen are suffering out there in the woods. Unless I make enough money, there is no way we’ll escape the dreaded environment. Our clan had been facing vile conflicts during the past years, and I don’t know what caused these foul events to happen," he replied in a confident tone.

"Well, what do you actually specialize in? I can recommend you to Lord Trias because he’s the ruler here. I have just returned from an exhausting trip in the Lower Plains desert. Have you heard about it before?"

"Lucky you, you city folk don’t know what we face out there. Yes, I have heard about such a desert where the mysterious ninja clans reside, and where the necromancers hide. People call our forest to be tamed, less dangerous than the ones in the outlands, but I strongly debate that. Our members are skillful in engineering and most never returned. They live in the finest cities! Avasgaroth, a nice place… Not as elegant as Atlantean though… A pearl of the South…"

"I will recommend Lord Trias to find a job for you. You seem troubled, anything I can help?"

"Last night, there was something terrible, something that will haunt me until the day I die," Torepol mumbled coldly. He observed Frasken’s reactions and saw that he was a bit shocked by the words and expressions. Torepol also noticed that the hunter was worried too and perhaps he was not having an opportune moment also.

"Tell it to me, I can keep secrets."

"Must I? If so then you must keep this do ourselves," Torepol claimed. The barbarian explained in great detail what happened during the last two days since he left the clan. Of all the terrible moments, his voice was shaking like a dry leaf. Koreg, the scouts and the mysterious entity were had all been mentioned and Torepol seemed afraid to talk yet was eager to inform Frasken. Frasken nodded in reply many times, he felt convinced Torepol wasn’t making up false, supernatural deceptions. In turn, the hunter extinguished his painful memory, of Onikung and of the important token his mentor gave. Frasken reported about the assassin and both listened carefully to each other’s stories for several minutes. They formulated a plan that would solve their dilemma.

"Foul magic is here, perhaps a Dark Lord had once again arisen," Frasken stated.

"Our cases might be linked together, I have forsworn in killing the entity to avenge my brother’s death, but I absolutely have no explanation why he would be doing the same to you," Torepol stated.

"Yes, I totally concur, but what is he? You described him as if he’s a master imposter, a druid able to morph into the form of any human?" Frasken was puzzled.

"Barbarians have a long tradition of believing such arcane arts, you city folk don’t understand of our doctrine surpassed through generations yet."

"Many mages and clerics fell to my blades before, and I know what powers they employ. I believe you, Torepol. How strong he is we do not know yet. All we know is that he is trying to prevent us from reaching something by harming our loved ones…"

"Possibly, but I request one thing: I feel that our fates are shared, it would be an honor to accompany you. We will journey together, if you don’t mind," Torepol mentioned.

"Absolutely, we now share a bond. Welcome, Torepol, my new companion. First, I shall report myself to Lord Trias, ruler of Avasgaroth. By evening we will discuss this matter. Now, feel free to rest in my home," Frasken suggested.

"Frasken, I admire your broad-mindedness.”

Frasken navigated Torepol inside Avasgaroth’s Third Circle, and to his bewilderment, much changed since his two-month departure. Multi-storied monuments towered, representing the holiest shrines where faithful devotees pay homage to their religious mentors. Two fierce lion statues defended the entrance, shielding the temples from any unholy spirits. Skillful artisans also carved breathtaking bas-reliefs in the form of celestial beings and legendary figures, an art form that was truly unique in Avasgaroth.

Delving deeper, Frasken spotted pyramidal-based buildings, adorned with mysterious symbols and painted with pictures of monstrous beasts. They were not arcane sanctuaries however, but schools for warriors where the mightiest mortals were trained to serve as protectors of the city. Noble knights though, had special arenas of their own and thus were located in the Fourth Circle. Close by, a library for scholars where only the wise could unravel the riddles behind the sacred scriptures and tomes there. Frasken dropped by occasionally, not to study politics, but to discover more about history and religion, fields of interest for the hunter.

Numerous marvels emerged quickly and Frasken was startled. Torepol’s eyes showed sparkles of light and vividness. Homes in the Outer Circle even showed signs of progress and soon there would be no class division and everybody will thrive, Frasken assumed. Merchant stalls were near the Market Square, where foreign folk and Avasgaroth’s denizens frequently gather to purchase goods from far and near. Bulbous, rotund tradesmen constantly yelled and pleaded for travelers to stop by as they passed. Frasken though, had been too fond of the food here, and the hunter wished for something more appetizing – perhaps a special meal from the outlands.

Halo’kur, the main mausoleum of Avasgaroth was a few distances away and the hunter noted several black robed men, caretakers of the morgue. Monks occasionally gave blessings during holidays and festivals at Halo’kur. Frasken bowed at the holy structure and knew that corpses were to be embalmed and mummified there, to preserve the deceased ones. Fluids were drained from their body and their organs were kept in special chambers. According to the traditional beliefs, this medical procedure played a key role in order to let their spirits be free from their body to find ultimate freedom.

Burning bodies however, was a rare occurrence, according to the precepts of Demerein’karum or the Religion of the Light. Without a physical form, it prevented the resurrection of the spirit, an even rarer case for the clerics to bring back the dead. Frasken believed in reincarnation or the process of being reborn. When the bodies start to decompose, the souls would go to the afterlife and wait for their judgment based on their actions during their former life. The next life would either be rewarding or damning. Heaven and hell did not last for eternity but rather, a substantial amount of time.

The minutes of exploration soon ended and the hunter reached his home, just on the opposite side of the mausoleum. Classified as moderate, it was an unremarkable wooden structure. He never fancied or valued such decorations anyway, as the house was built of simple wood with a small garden around it. Inside however, it provided a safe haven for the hunter. Frasken’s home was specially built, designed to mimic the likes of a small art studio.

"Here it is… My humble shelter… Not quite elegant though…" Frasken remarked.

"This placid place has a lot which the forest doesn’t. We don’t deserve such a living of value like this but at least we expected that we could coexist peacefully, for once."

"I assume that you meant warmness right? What lurks in the forest? How does you clan make a living in such harsh conditions?"

"To your question Frasken, I cannot tell much about our homeland, our laws are forbidden. Secrets you must unravel. Barbarians like the Lonewolf clan never reveal them. Our kinsmen never talk much to the outlanders and common folk. We make our living through trade and employment for major cities, only then are we allowed in making contact with the outside world."

"Ah, skillful workers, as you mentioned before."

Frasken’s dwelling was serene, with few tables neatly decorated, paintings perfectly in place and small statues carved. He was also an artist and craftsman in profession. Frasken was beginning to build trust on the stranger he met a few hours ago. Torepol rested comfortably on a classical wooden chair, and ironically, he didn’t seem to be aggressive or mounting with anger after the loss of his brother. The barbarian explored the place a bit and piles of books were arranged in order across the room. Most dealt with religion and the principles of peace, but the religion known as Demerein’karum had confounded Torepol. To a noble knight, the barbarian assumed that Frasken should be more concerned about political matters but not at all.

"Wait for me here. Feel free to nab some biscuits or two. I have a few Moon-Cakes kept inside the kitchen," Frasken said.

"Thanks my companion.” The hunter bolted through the door with his two, brandished weapons kept at bay inside the scabbard, the Legend and the Tempest.

Torepol scrupulously heaved an enormous book lying adjacently after Frasken left, as it seemed to be a tome of magic capable to do great causes of destruction. The bone frame cover made the barbarian take extreme caution for he was concerned about the arcane arts. Why would a religious book have strange carvings in the front? Maybe the book has the will to change minds of certain individuals? Or was it a cover of disguise to foolish wizards and necromancers, in believing it was an arcane tome? Perhaps it was just a trick to fool an unwanted attention? Torepol pondered but with courage, he opened up the first page of the tome. He was never aware that Frasken was devoted entirely to religion.

"Hmm, Demerein’karum and the Four Virtues of Life? The Path of Light and the Eighteen Precepts, what do they mean? By reading this I will submerge myself deeper into religion which only confounds me. I think I better put it away." As Torepol was going to put it away, he was perplexed by the last statement at the back of the book and read it aloud to himself: "Attain Shi’an’kara, the state of salvation to achieve ultimate peace. Escape the wheel of rebirth by helping and making merits to the troubled ones. For the ones who violate the law and peace, may those sinners be cursed forever in Mala’kara, the state of eternal damnation, in which they would be tormented for eternity, never to be reborn." Torepol shivered at the last statement.

Lord Trias had been busy governing his high council members earlier. He was a middle-aged man ranged in his late thirties. Although his white hair was deceiving, it was obvious to tell that it was natural from birth and nonetheless he was a healthy man. Trias was a fit and toned man, vivacious and kind to the denizens of Avasgaroth who rules the land with justice. He noticed the hunter’s approach, escorted by two palace guards and raised his glowing blue eyes excitedly. Trias put his quill and paper down immediately, as if Frasken was some lost family member that returned. He ran in to embrace the hunter. The ruler was optimistic and energetic, but was dead serious when it comes to city projects.

"Long time no see! I am delighted to have you back! How was the Lower Plains? Not that amusing is it? Two months there in the sand dunes! What a life! What is it like to study the lifestyle of the Svakame and their rival, the Bunnkado?"

"It was not bad my lord, very interesting cultures they have indeed. Right now I have an important request if you grant my permission," Frasken’s voice showed concern.

"What is it? Hope you don’t leave again because it’s a real shame to lose a skillful warrior fighting along my side. You can’t leave for two months and then expect to depart again."

"I am afraid that’s what I request my lord, forgive me but…"

"For what reason? Another empire hired you as a mercenary or an elite commander with higher payment?"

"No my lord, I would never turn against you. I have personal matters to work on and didn’t you know that my mentor, Onikung, the revered swordsman was murdered? I have to solve this vile conflict by all means."

"What?! How long was it? Why didn’t any of my guards confirm it?!" Trias was shocked. He clenched his knuckles and turned them to a fist with rising anger, "They will pay for this. Onikung had been one of the most respected men in this empire!"

"He just died a few hours ago, nearby the woods outside the city gates," Frasken said.

"Well then I assure you that we will catch the culprit and mutilate him to pieces! It seems though, that you will actually have to leave this place…" Trias sighed.

"Why? Had there been something important delivered to me, my lord?"

"Yes, go fulfill your important duties. You’ve served us much during the last ten years. I almost forgot that a ruler from Atlantean left a message." Trias passed the parchment towards Frasken and the hunter sensed that it indicated an urge. The ink was still fresh as if the message was written recently.

"Maruk! He was the old wise hermit here! Had he been safe also?" Frasken said.

"Haven’t seen him for a decade, my friend. Go now, the Lord of Atlantean is a young but patient one. Approach him carefully and be supremely polite. Do not disappoint me, Frasken."

"I will not my lord, you shall not be shamed. My actions will prove it."

Torepol paced around nervously at Frasken’s small dwelling, a not uncommon gesture for a barbarian to show anxiety. Bittersweet was how he felt during the last few weeks, Torepol was contented to leave the forest to escape the conflicts and find a better future. On the contrary, those memories of him running joyfully in the wilderness and meeting friendly tribes still lingered within him. Perhaps Frasken was not so different to him after all, he thought. His new companion had been one of the most trusted friends that Torepol had so far.

The barbarian shifted around, he lapsed time by reading very few texts regarding politics, a subject a barbarian would find a hard time to decipher. Torepol slumped back lazily and put the text away then began to ponder what the future would hold. Love had once found way into the warrior’s heart. He recounted childhood experiences with a girl he had secretly admired, but now Torepol realized that she was gone, departed with her parents into the Southern Empires. How Torepol wished he could see her again! Chances of reuniting with his former love and friends though, seemed slim.

Three days lapsed by before Frasken could assemble pieces of the puzzle together, just only a few moments to resolve the curiosity why he had been summoned to the fair city of Atlantean. Frasken glanced over and touched the magical, bluish cloak – the Kindavil, and then felt a tingling sensation of numbness. He hid several weapons inside his trusted cloak.

"My friend Torepol, we will be heading off town the next day, so make yourself some preparations."

"Why didn’t you tell me so in the beginning?"

"For this matter, the Atlanteanian ruler asked for our aid. We ought to know the purpose once we arrive there. It is up to you comrade, that is just my advice, you can wish to remain here if necessary."

"No, remember we walk the same path? Through the light and beyond the shadow…"

"Certainly Torepol, we have promised allegiance. Let’s talk about your brother’s…"

"Silence! I do not wish to discuss about Koreg, don’t bring unpleasant memories to me again! He was the last of our remaining kin, next leader of the Lonewolf clan after me. Now I am the only remaining descendant of the tribe."

"Look friend, I know how it feels. Nothing burns in your heart like the feeling of losing something or someone. When you told me about that, I felt as if I lost pleasant things in the past too."

"Like what? Don’t tell me it was your family."

"Truly, my friend, I have no family. I was an orphan raised in the hive living in the Outer Circle of Avasgaroth. Luckily, Lord Kurin, Trias’s father selected me as a knight since childhood. Mostly nobles do it, but Lord Kurin pitied me, having to fight my miserable life all day long laboring. He kindly adopted me."

"So he felt there was a duty to be laid upon you."

"Yes, that’s how I ended up serving as a knight. I wanted you to regard me as the same stature as you Torepol. No difference, just live and endure to grow strong."

"Thanks Frasken, I shall remember your words of wisdom," Torepol ended.

Few days later Frasken and his new companion finished unpacking to fulfill their quest in searching the Atlantean empire. Concealed daggers, secret flasks and medicine were replete inside his Kindavil cloak and the hunter knew that he would employ those to his aid at times of trouble. Frasken heard numerous legends about Atlantean from his fellow knights that it was well known for its miraculous geographical beauty. The empire was located close to the Twin Seas, where merchandise flourished.

"Let’s go Forren," the hunter requested his trusted companion. Forren reared back and nodded as an agreement to Frasken’s command. Their friendship bond formed since childhood, and Forren fathomed how to communicate with his chief. Forren regarded Frasken as friend instead of master. Some folks in the town even gossiped that the hunter was strange and was even rumored to comprehend the language of beasts. Torepol had been served with another horse, a small lean brown stallion given by one of Trias’s men.

The duo navigated miles beyond the city of Avasgaroth, reaching the placid jungle areas. As a warrior, the hunter knew how to survive in such environments. He had no concern over perils. Trekking through the humid forest during late evening, the hunter felt disheartened as Forren galloped further from his beloved city. The surroundings changed, from broad city walls to the dense trees of the jungle.

"My friend I know it’s not easy for you to leave your homeland, but I feel that our quest must be something important. As mysterious as it is, I think that the one who requested our help must not be hostile," Torepol said.

"I am unconcerned of that, but I have a forethought that he is suffering from the same fate as us. From what I have heard, Atlantean is the epicenter of all wealth and power with a strong government. Nothing could match its power, not even the long revered empires we have heard long ago."

"Must be better than Avasgaroth then," he remarked.

"That is no comparison because Atlantean is ten times more powerful than our modest empire. Perfection comes through painstaking labor."

Torepol felt his stomach growling. "If we could only find food here, I will be at rest," the barbarian protested.

"Patience is a virtue here my friend." The companions spotted a shady figure shifting quickly nearby. With lightning reflexes, the hunter threw one of his swords, which impaled its stomach. "What is it? I wonder." Spotting the carcass of a deer, the companions decided to make a meal out of it.

Fog grown heavy this night. The two companions camped near a dry spot. They were sure that it was safe from danger. Day began to settle into dusk. Moist weather composed this area with a high level of humidity. In fact, this place used to be a trading route between the major empires. Jungle milieu was undeniably calm. Frasken only knew that now he would fall into a deep, restful sleep filled with vivid dreams within his wake.

Morning greeted the two. Torepol felt that he didn’t have enough rest, lazily slumped back to his spot but a hard tug from the barbarian’s shoulder prevented him to fall to slumber. "Time to move on now, we should be ready," Frasken said.

"Where is the correct passage then?"

"Follow me." Sprinting across the jungle field, mud had piled up so quick that the warriors thought it had rained last night. Rows and rows of coconut trees loomed ahead. Frasken, with his amazing sword throwing skills, had managed to nab one of them, pouring the drink to satisfy his thirst as well as Torepol.

"Do you hear something?" the barbarian asked. If Avasgaroth was located here, it would be a fantastical dream come true for Frasken, as the harmony of nature dwindled stress.

"Yes, looks like the sound of waves! Come on let’s check it out." Approaching the source of the noise, what they heard was the beautiful tide of the Twin Seas. Placid the current was, waves splashing along the shore peacefully. Purely clean, this location was an excellent source for importing goods such as marine fish. Torepol could see his reflection perfectly in the shallow tide.

Mystical place it was, truly astonishing and obviously they knew that they had reached the front gate of Atlantean. There was a high quality steel bridge built over the Twin Seas with extremely robust guards patrolling it. Beside the shore, a blue triangular structure was located – the harbor. Ships and vessels were deployed nearby, for fishermen that catch marine fishes in the deep ocean depths. Guards wore black suits and had the protection of a breastplate printed with an eagle emblem, it must have been the traditional symbol here. The elite commanders had fiercer looking weapons though, bearing wicked looking halberds and ferocious axes that were cruelly edged. Also, they were wearing Dragon Chain Mail, one of the most durable armors ever forged. Frasken and Torepol crossed a bridge leading to the city as well as being welcomed by the city militia.

"Greetings foreigner, I am Commander Ocitan Omnicre. How can I be of service?" a brawny elite asked, meanwhile taking off his helmet. He appeared incredibly firm and had shining black hair and was about at his late twenties or even early thirties. He was somewhat haughty.

Frasken showed his manners and introduced himself to Ocitan, "Well met Commander, I am Frasken Nightshade from the city of Avasgaroth, and I have been informed to see your legendary warrior leader known as Arone Wolf."

"State the purpose and then I will direct you to him."

"One of your messengers supposedly handed me a parchment saying this." Frasken gave the parchment to Ocitan, who also stumped at the message. From the hunter’s point of view, the commander seemed like a close person to Arone but certainly not. Narrowing his eyes into the text, Ocitan finally agreed to lead the duo into the secured gates of Atlantean.

"This seems to be a matter that requires great security and maximum caution. Come, follow me and I will direct you to him."

Looking through the powerful city walls, Frasken knew that the legendary warrior must be a really robust fighter and a mastermind of governing an empire. The fact that this colossal kingdom was not divided into circles clarified that every region was well developed and had no class division. Class hierarchy was perhaps an old concept that was abolished during the prehistoric times, according to the Atlanteanian folk. Undoubtedly, this empire had been wealthy and strong, a model Avasgaroth should strive to follow.

"My goodness, how rich are they? Even some of the walls have gold pieces adorned on them," Torepol wondered.

They were directed to a sports ground, a very unusual place to meet a city ruler. In the past, games were played for higher classes eager to compete in a contest. Prizes were bestowed to the winner by the ruler with a hefty amount of gold coins and the competitors received praise to fame. Arone Wolf momentarily appeared out of the mists, a handsome man with a flawless face. He was a casual leader who ironically wore a normal white cloak instead of decorated robes and garments, a notably fit and strong person. The cloak though, was perfectly snow white, reflecting his charm and magnificence.

"Greetings knight Frasken Nightshade; I am here at your service. I am Arone; the son of Aroze, my father had been of the mighty kings from the South."

"My salutations to you Lord Arone of Atlantean. Glorious empire it is…" the hunter remarked. Frasken though, was surprised how Arone came to know him so quickly.

"Indeed it is, but wealth and fame does not always guarantee happiness, peace of mind does. Forgive me for such an urgent message sir, but I am the one that you seek and this must be your friend – Torepol Aqines." Torepol was also amazed how Arone quickly came to know him.

"My greetings to you Lord Arone," the barbarian gave a slight bow.

"A former shaman of Avasgaroth by the name of Maruk journeyed here telling about the residents. He informed me about you briefly about your talents and skills as a fighter and I asked him politely in order to deliver this message," Arone went on courteously.

"I guess it would be better if we discuss this matter in private. Maruk must have been exhausted for my sake. By the way, I am curious, are you a paladin?" Frasken asked.

"What is a paladin anyway?" Torepol shot back.

"Very well. I will inform an escort. As to your question, yes I am. Paladins are servants that devote to the religious teachings and protect the land. We have a strict law code for devout disciples like me and violating it could mean rejection from the Order of Light or even eternal banishment."

"I see, like the Religion of Demerein’karum that Frasken follows," Torepol ended.

"Hmm," Arone eyes Frasken. "You are a disciple of Demerein’karum?"

"Absolutely, there is no God in the Religion of the Light but only a mentor who founded the religion and guides his followers to the correct path," Frasken replied. Arone nodded, admiring the hunter’s profound faith.

Atlantean was a celestial kingdom. Citizens passed by with friendly, affable approaches, sending their greetings even to the newest strangers in town. The hunter was overwhelmed by the polite manners, as he had never seen before back in Avasgaroth. Heaven could not even compare with this place, as there were hundreds of powerful guilds. Many well known mages and warriors all resided here, it was nearly impossible to bring down Atlantean. Being born within this kingdom was what most people in the Evolunion Realm would desire.

Temples and shrines loomed beyond Frasken, all representing the finest and holiest sites. Crowds gathered during weekends for worship. In the aloof corners of the empire, a cemetery was constructed instead of a mausoleum. From Frasken’s assumptions, it would be easier for to pay homage to their deceased ancestors in the open field. The hunter did not know whether the Atlanteanians practiced embalming or not. In Atlantean, every house had a religious symbol decorated on it at their front gates and those buildings had indeed flawless art.

Torepol could not stand the sight of Atlantean, how humble the forest had been! The barbarian retracted his painful past memories and wanted to forget all, wanted to spend as much time as possible here. Plenty of inns warmly welcomed foreigners from the distant lands and merchant stalls were copious here. The most prominent structure in the middle however, was the Palparia or the enormous Grand Hall of Nobles where social meetings of high council members, nobles and higher classes were held. How many generations would it take for Avasgaroth to become grandeur like this? Frasken could only imagine. Dreams could turn into reality someday, Frasken believed.

Atlantean had been the most powerful in the Evolunion Realm and they knew that it existed for hundreds of years or at least two centuries in order to gain perfection. Mists constantly swept past by, giving this place a cool environment to live in, everybody felt comfort. Frasken noticed that people were of equal status, and Arone undoubtedly did not raise much tax anyway. Now the hunter focused on himself and looked at the number of guards escorting the team, they were skillful and even one of them would prove to be a challenge for a dexterous knight like Frasken to deal with. They were led inside a castle, surrounded by a moat and had even more warriors. Arone guided them through the complex halls, each chamber notably large.

"Leave us, Jovius. Attend to your duties," Arone informed the head elite. All of them departed as Arone set foot inside his compound.

"Yes, my lord," he nodded. He gave a low bow and retrieved his massive polearm as he exited the castle door. It was a marvel, the castle was built with marble, a rare material found in the outlands. Medieval armor suits that resembled knights were displayed along the hallways. Frasken thought that they looked so real, as if they could be animated to lay a ferocious assault at an intruder any moment. Candles illuminated the corridors, criss-crossing through the chambers of the deep; it was a true mystery where one cannot find answers.

Finally, Arone indicated that his chambers were nearby and they were in no time at his private quarters. The team found themselves sitting on a royal table and Arone was beginning to explain about his purpose and why he recruited them here. The Atlanteanian ruler reached his arms towards a locked closet, pulling something out. To Frasken, it seemed like a fractured face of a person that he couldn’t determine. Torepol on the contrary felt that it was more of a broken relic with some great purpose.