Volume 2: Chapter 4: Headhunter - II
Originally Drafted: August 13th, 2022
Originally Uploaded: August 28th, 2022
Updated On: November 13th, 2022
【 Howland Palace, Londinium | November 30th, 2558 】
Inside the halls of Howland Palace, situated in southern Albion, in the capital city Londinium. A meeting, one that had been occurring semi-frequently since the change of government, was about to take place.
As the heart of the "White Country," the aptly named White Hall remained one of its most important points.
There was something impressive about the place, so called as it was painted entirely in white. But the history it carried with it as well.
The ceiling that hung above the hall was supported by sixteen columns. The rooms, kept illuminated by their magical charges, courtesy of the mage garrison.
Following along the way were paintings, ones depicting ancient Kings and conquests adorned the walls it guarded.
But a recent addition took the place of the one that previously held the portrait of the last King of the Tudor bloodline. One depicting the new Lord Protector of the Holy Republic of Albion.
Change wasn't easy to come within the land, but when it did, it came in force. And, just as violently as the new comes and overthrows the old, the tension felt within the chamber as they awaited the arrival of Lord Cromwell was palatable.
The ministers and generals of the Holy Albion Republic gathered around a rock "Round Table" in the middle of that hall, waiting for the council's meeting to begin.
It was here where the ministers gathered around the king until roughly two years ago to control the country. But despite the change of leadership, they still kept the tradition of holding the meetings here.
Those who participated in the revolution and overthrew the monarchy took top positions in the country as expected.
But, as for the person that, until two years ago, was a simple local bishop… one who used to have a lower social status than everyone here... even the members of the protection squad standing outside...
The two protection squad members opened the hall's door.
"The Holy Republic of Albion's noble government congress chairman," the Speaker gave out a gasp, "Oliver…"
Cromwell, raised his hand, interrupting the voice…
"G-Gasp?"
"Shouldn't we remove this useless tradition? Because amongst the people that have gathered here, none stands above another!"
Cromwell proclaimed as he stepped forward to sit at the chief's position.
The private secretary of Cromwell, Sheffield, walked behind him as usual. Her gait as she walked could be described as stiff and unladylike, but the woman didn't mind. Coupled with her own strange appearance, she was usually disregarded by some of the people in the council.
Added as some sort of eccentricity to the room. But her position as the second for Cromwell left little to doubt her abilities.
But she herself didn't hold any loyalty to Albion, so the opinion of the local nobility mattered little to her.
Despite all this however, it was thanks to her efforts that this motley group hadn't fallen apart at the seams already. Though Cromwell knew little of it.
He was more of a figurehead than an actual leader at this point. But, she still let the man believe he was in charge.
The meeting continued on for several hours, each member of the newly founded government gave their reports and went over the state of affairs.
The current military operations to mop up the remaining Loyalists were discussed and strategies were decided upon. However crude they may be.
As most of the competent ones had ended up either dead, having stuck by the Tudor's side, or too old to care about the nation's state of affairs. Most of the planning fell upon those who would have been considered expendable in the hierarchy of aristocracy.
The spares, the ones who didn't have the same amount of education and finesse that the eldest members of their family line usually had.
Thankfully for them however, the Revolutionary War, as the rebellion came to be known on Reconquista's calendars, had upended the former status quo. Making them the ones in charge now.
The meeting was painfully long and dreary. It was a far cry from the meetings of the past. The meetings where the ministers and generals debated and fought over the direction of their country.
The meetings where the people of Albion would argue over what is best for them as a whole.
Still, most of those present grit through it and trogged along, with some of the less experienced ones drifting off into the bliss of sleep at the boredom they experienced.
However, soon that would change, when it came to reporting one specific aspect of their plans. As the speaker was unusually anxious. Though, they hadn't realized as to why it was at the time.
"In regards to our invasion plans for the Kingdom of Tristain..." The young noble inwardly gulped as he was about to continue the report before being interrupted by Cromwell.
He was the seventh son of a local lord in the outskirts of Londinium, near Rosyth, where the Royal Air Fleet had been stationed. It was his duty to oversee this station, and he seemed miserable the whole time the meeting took place.
"Ah, yes. Of course! The invasion. How could I forget?" Cromwell exclaimed. Completely unaware of the man's mood. "Tell me, how goes our preparations? I trust you have it handled well?" He gave a mischievous grin as he spoke.
Despite being in a non-aggression treaty with the small kingdom, Cromwell and his like among the council seemed eager to break it.
Their new Albion would usher in a new era after their subjugation. Some would think them madmen for agreeing to such a thing. But who would question the orders of the new ruler of Albion?
"About that, Lord Cromwell." The noble couldn't help but be worried, he knew he had to get this over with. "There have been some setbacks..." He reported before slinking back down in defeat.
Raising a brow at this, Cromwell asked. "What kind of setbacks?"
"Our air fleet, Lord Cromwell. A significant portion has been crippled beyond repair."
Silence fell upon the room at the man's words.
/ Outskirts of Londinium, Rosyth | November 28th, 2558 /
The Albish air fleet was located just outside of its capital, Londinium, in the town of Rosyth. Prior to the revolution that overthrew the previous government, the place was formerly known as the Royal Air Force's arsenal. Because of its importance, the place was dotted with many buildings used for their considerably impressive aerial industry.
Numerous factories aligned a district of the area, with massive chimneys billowing smoke, signifying their use for manufacturing iron. Beside them were piles and piles of timber used for ship constructions and repairs.
An impressive display, as would be expected for this world's expy of the British Empire. Whether or not these people were on the brink of entering it from their own efforts, or outside interference though, remained to be seen.
Overlooking all this, was the lone Spartan sent abroad for this mission. Still clad in his signature black coated SPi armor, he watched vigilantly for any vulnerable areas he could exploit.
Using a pair of binoculars he had procured for this reason, he scanned the area around the air fleet moored nearby.
It was a strange sight to David. The appearance of archaic looking designs floating freely in the air was a new one to be sure, but he kept his curiosity at bay. He'd have time to look over those later on after all.
David set his sights on a large red brick building near the center of Rosyth, it appeared to be a control center of sorts. The three colored flag of Reconquista could be seen fluttering proudly on a flagpole beside it. While this certain building was important, it wasn't as grand compared to what was docked nearby.
What stood out most in that section of the city, was the large battleship nearby, its size, relative to the surroundings, seemed to reach the skies.
Measuring at just a bit over two-hundred meters in length, was the Lexington, the flagship of Reconquista's air fleet. With just a single glance, he could tell that the ship would have been armed to the teeth. As rows upon rows of cannons were lined up on both sides of outside of the, admittedly, rather large vessel. Based on this world's standards at least. Comparatively, however, the native vessel was just two-hundred meters shy of being able to contend with even the smallest of UNSC Frigates in size.
Suffice to say, in a measuring contest, he was sure the UNSC wouldn't lose. Not that he'd voice these opinions to anyone else.
He noticed that the flagship was anchored and covered by a cloth, similar to a large tent to protect it from rain and was placed on top of a large wooden board so that it could be remodeled as soon as possible.
Given how recent the conflict had been going, the symbols of the Tudor's still hung proudly on sections of the vessel. Betraying its current allegiance.
Wordlessly, he took out a small camera he had on his person and began taking photographs of the composition of the enemy forces nearby. Reconnaissance on the Reconquista air fleet wasn't high on his priority list, but he'd decided to get it done now. Considering his next target was close-by.
His visit to Rysoth was a stepping stone to his next target.
With his Active Camo enabled, David had easily managed to slip past many of the Town's guards. None of them noticed the slight shimmering of the air that moved around them as he went.
His quiet footsteps were barely audible as he made sure to cover his tracks. Active Camo may be good, but it wasn't foolproof. The last thing he wanted was to be spotted as he went on his way to conduct some sabotage.
Upon entering the town proper, David was met with a sight that wouldn't look out of place in the many refugee camps that were made during the exodus of Human colonies during the war. With the downtrodden civilians left in poor spirits and always under the watchful eyes of the garrison to prevent any misdemeanors from occurring.
It carried a somber tone to it when he gave a quick scan of the surroundings he was now in. Rosyth, being an industrial town made to support their aerial fleet was no stranger to the thick billowing smoke of the forges from afar. Its thick plumes smothering the sky. A visual reminiscent of the early-industrial age.
But, despite their technological advancement, the decrepit state of the town around him was becoming more and more apparent as he entered what appeared to be the slums.
The quality of life here was almost as terrible as it was during the early days of the industrial revolution. The black smoke spewing from the factories and the roaming patrols of guards made the place feel hostile to any sort of happiness that could be found.
But David had a job to do. It wasn't his place to worry about the state of affairs in the civilian world. He could do that later when he was finished.
His Active Camo was still enabled. Upgrades to his SPi Armor had allowed for longer usage of the feature and let him stay hidden for longer. Something which was helping him tremendously at the moment.
A passing guard nearby barely batted an eye as he slinked into the dark and damp alleyways that dotted the city. Inching ever closer to the docks where the fleet was moored.
"Loose lips, sink ships."
【 Rosyth, Docks 】
Another day, another boring posting. Peters of Rosyth, a local Guard thought to himself.
Ever since the Reconquista had overthrown the previous Monarchs and established the Holy Albion Republic, or was it the Holy Republic of Albion? His life had pretty much been mind numbingly dull.
It didn't matter what they called themselves. It was all the same to him anyway. Only the banners differed, but it wasn't much different in practice.
Unlike many of his peers who joined in the Revolution. He didn't sign up to actively hunt down the Loyalists. He was sure they were going to be defeated anyway, so he decided to stay here at his hometown. Only to realize he'd just be stuck here doing nothing.
Gone were the days of excitement. When the people had given those corrupt nobles what they deserved and a quiet lingering melancholy replaced the atmosphere in its wake.
He'd now spent too much time alone with his thoughts. Wondering if all this was even worth it. From what he's seen, they could have atle-
His thought was left unfinished. Before he realized it, his gaze was turned away from the city's streets and out into the dusk sky above.
A stranglehold was upon him and he felt himself gasping for breath with every minute movement he had done in a pathetic attempt to pry himself free.
He tried grasping at anything to hold onto, even the air around him, hoping to get at least some leverage from his mysterious foe. But it was all in vain. He couldn't even see the damn thing!
His eyes frantically began to scan around before he felt his vision darkening in a vignette of black. Only to abruptly cease as a voice spoke to him.
"Don't do anything rash. I just want to ask some questions." The voice spoke. It sounded oddly filtered. As if coming from a heavy mask that obscured their voice.
Peters halted in his movement. Now fully aware that his life was in the hands of a mysterious stranger. He wasn't sure what to do now, especially since he wasn't even aware what this assailant looked like.
If he squinted, he swore that he could see a slight shimmer in the air around him. The only indication that he wasn't alone.
Before he could panic even further at the thought of invisible assailants, the Stranger began to press on with his questioning.
"First off, I'm not going to kill you unless you give me reason to." The Stranger clarified, "Second, you're free to go when I'm done with you. As long as you turn around and don't look back after I'm done here. Understood?" He spoke with a tone of authority, inclining Peters to agree.
"Good. Now, how many men are on guard around the ships?" The Stranger asked.
"A few dozen, at least." Peters replied rather hurriedly. "But, we've reinforcements from nearby on the barracks to call upon should trouble arise." adding that last bit as he remembered that fact.
"How many?" the Stranger asked again. This time, pressing something sharp and pointy on his skin.
A bead of sweat threatened to drop from his forehead as he realized the implications. The knife pointing at him had an unreal sharpness to it. Even that simple poke was enough to cut into his skin as he felt trickles of blood seeping out from the pointed area.
"I don't know!" He almost blurted out before being shushed by a hand on his mouth. As soon as he calmed down again, he answered. "I don't know… Perhaps around a hundred men or so. Maybe more. I'm not very good with numbers, you see." He answered truthfully.
"That'll have to do." The Stranger said with a sigh of exasperation.
"Alright, next question then. I've noticed that some of the ships seem to be covered up. There's crew all over them working overtime as well. Why is that?"
Peters racked his mind for any sort of explanation. He wasn't important enough to know about what goes on in the minds of those above him, but rumors do circulate around the grapevine. And the latest one was all too juicy to miss out on.
"Refits most likely. They've received some sort of new technology from Cromwell's advisor. Rumor has it they're repurposed from old Elven designs from Rub' Al-Khali."
The Stranger seemed to tense up at this as he felt his hold on him getting tighter.
"What kind of technology?" He demanded as he pressed him for further details. The very mention of technology seemed to put the Stranger on edge. Evident by his tightening grasp.
Thankfully however, the Stranger realized that he wouldn't have anyone to interrogate if he did so any further.
Peters struggled to breathe for a moment before the stranglehold on him was loosened.
He groaned out in relief. "I don't know! But I bet it had something to do with those new cannons they were trying to install aboard the Lexington!" He said as he panted, struggling for air.
The Stranger went eerily quiet. As if he was contemplating on whether or not he would be left alive by the end of this. Peters thought up a silent prayer in his mind, hoping that whatever god was out there, would give him mercy in this moment. He soon felt the color from the world around him begin to drain. Becoming devoid of vibrancy as it settled into monochrome. The allure of unconsciousness beckoning him.
"Alright. That's all I needed to know." The stranger spoke his final words to him before he drifted off into a deep slumber.
David looked down at his handiwork. An unconscious guardsman laid in front of him.
It was a sloppy interrogation at best. Something he would have been chastised about if his instructors ever found out. He could imagine the smug faces of one of his former squadmates at that. People like Kylie on his team usually were the more subtle type compared to his brute force nature.
He hadn't thought about his old team in years, but he'd worked alone all this time to not be bothered by it. Although he was silently unhappy with the outcome. He was still glad to have obtained some intel.
The upgrades sent to the Reconquista Air Fleet was a worrying prospect, and would probably prove too much to handle for the Loyalists if left be. Especially with the claims that man made. Even if they were only speculation. He couldn't leave it up to chance.
After putting the unconscious guardsman in an inconspicuous position - having splayed out the body to make it look like he'd just fallen asleep after getting into a drunken state, he promptly exfiltrated from the scene.
Slinking into a discreet alleyway. The kind that not even the seediest of people amongst the low-lives would bother with. David had decided to do a check-up on his current equipment, considering it a good a time as any.
He slowly went through the small compartments on his person, checking the charges he'd brought with him. A complement of at least a dozen charges of C12. The handy explosive proved deadly enough to burst through even Starship quality metal, and would prove more than worthy against the wooden vessels these people fielded.
It was overkill, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He always did like the look of explosions that it did. Having some sort of satisfaction at watching the golden red and blue fireballs expand and spread shrapnel and debris throughout the area as it went.
Though, he was disappointed that what he brought wasn't enough. He didn't have enough charges to destroy all the ships that were docked in place, but it'd be enough to put a dent in the operations they were planning at least.
With that in mind, David set out to work as he snuck up on the cordon of guards that patrolled the area. Easily sneaking by the night patrols.
An easy enough feat given his stealth abilities were leagues above anyone they've encountered so far on this planet.
Entering the restricted area, he'd given a small whistle at the craftsmanship on display when he first saw the lines of ships throughout. Though these ships wouldn't stand up to par to sustained plasma fire against a Covenant vessel. They were intimidating and impressive in their own right.
They harkened back to a time of Empires, of navies sailing the old world and expanding to find riches. Seeing such history in front of his eyes almost made it seem such a waste to simply let them become smoldering embers. Almost.
It didn't prove too much of a challenge to scale the sides of the ships. A great boon as David could just climb onto the ships themselves.
One-by-one, he went through them all systematically. Placing the C12 charges on areas he surmised would cause the most amount of damage as he recalled which portions of the wooden vessels were most susceptible to a little explosive persuasion.
By the time he was done, his actions still went unnoticed. None of the men on guard ever noticed his skulking about.
As soon as he'd finished with most of the minor vessels docked in port. He'd turned to the biggest of them all. The pride of the Rebel fleet would no longer be a threat when he was done.
Under cover of darkness. His feet landed with a soft and subdued thud as he made his way down towards the interior of the vessel.
What greeted his sights when he entered, was the regalia of what he assumed to be officials from Reconquista. They lined the walls of the interior, along with the symbol that defined the Revolutionary Government. The sight of garish colors and awkward designs was an affront to his sense of sight when he saw it.
"Guess these guys don't have a sense for aesthetics." David mused.
It was as if it came as a mockery of any and all rules to good design. But, he was put at ease when he remembered that it wouldn't be able to haunt this world any longer when he was done.
Moving past this section, he'd found what he was looking for.
The quiet thrumming of the windstones that held the ship aloft could be heard reverberating. If David were to compare it to something, it was as if it was an engine had an affair with that of an elevator. The noise it generated wasn't grating, but neither was it endearing to listen to.
David had a mild sense of discomfort being here. Like the very presence of these things disturbed him on the inside. The only thing keeping him from leaving immediately, was the weight of the remaining explosives he felt hanging by his waist.
"At least you'll be put to good use." David muttered to himself.
Darkness soon fell and enveloped the city in the cover of night. Their only source of illumination were the many torches and the dim lights of the twin moons above.
The perfect conditions for a saboteur to strike, though he thought it would be just his paranoia acting up.
Such thoughts plagued the Chief Rigger of the Lexington, a man by the name of Bowood as he made his way to the docks.
He had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that something wasn't right. Like things were about to get much worse for them, though he couldn't imagine how exactly.
In his mind, he knew that there wasn't a force on Halkeginia that would match the might of the Royal Sovereign Fleet, intentionally calling it by its old name.
He held little love for the new government. At heart, the man was a staunch Royalist. Having only joined up due to his military nature. When his Commander joined the rebels, so did he. That didn't mean he had to like it one bit though.
For him, who had exerted his utmost for the sake of upholding Albion's tradition - Noblesse oblige, a noble duty, Albion was still a mere kingdom. Cromwell was someone despicable who had just seized power and the throne.
Knowing all this though, he supposed he wouldn't mind too much if the fleet fell out of Reconquista's hands.
Shaken out of his thoughts by his arrival, Bowood was greeted by several guardsmen. Obviously confused at his appearance so late into the night.
"What seems to be the problem, sir?" One of them asked.
"I remembered I had some work left unfinished. I just needed to check up on it, that's all." Bowood lied. He didn't like doing this to those he worked with.
"I understand. But it is the dead of night. Would you like us to accompany you?" Another asked in turn, looking visibly tired. Bowood shook his head.
"That will not be necessary." He replied.
"Very well, we'll leave you to it." They bade him farewell as he moved past.
Upon coming up to where the ships were moored, he felt a sense of relief. But also a slight hint of sadness at the sight.
Relief that they were still intact, but sadness at how much of the heraldry that symbolized their Royalist allegiance had been completely stripped now. Bowood felt bitter at the thought.
As he was about to go home satisfied that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, he was interrupted by a strange beeping noise; which was soon followed by a loud explosion.
For a split second. A deafening roar followed by searing hit and the shockwaves could be felt. Before he knew it, Bowood was knocked flat into the ground. The force of the blast blowing away several of the nearby people who were unfortunate enough to be close to the source.
Realizing that the fleet was probably under attack, he scrambled to get back up as fast as he could.
The sound of the ships creaking and groaning as burnt pieces of lumber began to break off resounded throughout. Followed by what seemed to be the loudest snap the man had ever heard.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing next.
The Lexington roared defiantly as it began to break apart. Seemingly only being held together by the sheer stubbornness of it. The force of the explosion ignited the gunpowder inside her as it cascaded into several miniature explosions that followed after the first.
It held firm for a few moments before it slowly began to finally destabilize.
Bowood stared at the sight for minutes as he watched the locals around him scramble to hurriedly put out the fires, futile though some of that effort may be. As some of the ships had been beyond saving, their windstone deposits underneath made the ships too dangerous to approach as it exploded in waves of magical energy, launching shrapnel at extreme speeds. Wounding anyone that dared to close in.
Most people sat in muted horror at the sight because of this. Unable to do a thing.
But to Bowood, he wasn't as angry as he thought he would be. He knew only one person would be daring to do something like this.
With an inward smile he thought to himself, So, the Prince still fights on.
Situated atop the tallest structure he could find, an old clocktower overlooking what seemed to be the main road into the city, David looked on as the fires burned ever brighter into the night.
Orange flames licked the darkened sky above them in a vibrant light show visible for miles around.
He had to give himself props for that. Especially since he didn't need to resort to going through everyone inside this time around.
In his mind, he was glad that he didn't need to go around killing his fellow humans again. David sat in silence as the scene played out.
People ran towards the nearest sources of water. Carrying them by the bucketload as they attempted to douse the flames and recover what they could.
If only my other missions went as smoothly as this. He thought to himself.
With a hum of contentment, he watched his handiwork play out.
The noise of shouting and the crackling of burning wood sounded out through the night.
【 Howland Palace, Londinium | November 30th, 2558 】
"How did I not hear of this until now?" Cromwell demanded loudly.
His outburst was seemingly uncharacteristic of the man, but with the recent uptick in victories in skirmishes against those who were still loyal to the Crown, that much was to be expected.
Instead of good news, it was the opposite that seemed to be piling on in recent weeks.
Among these reports were those of their colleagues dying from some unknown assailant. The most they could even gleam were descriptions by frantic bodyguards who witnessed the so called "Demon" in action.
Thinking such things to be made up, they paid little stock to it. Until it reared its ugly head in their faces at least.
The Lord of Rysoth began to apologize. "That would be my fault, Lord Cromwell." He spoke up through gritted teeth.
"I wanted to make sure to investigate every single avenue on how such a thing could occur, but my men have turned up nothing! It's as if the ones responsible vanished into thin air."
Cromwell glared daggers at the man in turn. "Then you seem to have done a miserable job." He said sharply.
His face showed a bitter frown before sighing in disappointment.
Cromwell sunk into his seat. His eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above. Were the lights always so blinding in this room? He bitterly thought.
He wasn't happy with these state of affairs. Not one bit. His gaze came to settle to the anxious looks of some of the noblemen around him. His comrades in the revolution. Such a pitiful disgrace to their lot in society. He mentally made a note to himself to have the others be watched closely to prevent such a thing from happening again.
"Leave us." Cromwell ordered.
Hushed whispers broke out at his short command. Not knowing whether or not to take it seriously.
"My Lord?" Another noble asked.
"I said: Leave. Us." He repeated, louder this time.
Taking this as some sort of dismissal, everyone else began to disperse, leaving only Cromwell and his secretary behind, along with the Lord of Rysoth.
Silence reigned for a few moments before Cromwell spoke up.
"Who do you think was responsible?" He posed a question. The Lord of Rysoth was now even more in distress, as the visible signs of sweat were beginning to drop from his frowning face.
The other noble seemed hesitant to respond, his face contorting into a nervous grimace.
"Now, don't be shy. Speak up." He ordered.
After anxiously swallowing the saliva he had in his mouth, the noble responded. "I believe it to be the work of the Demon, my Lord."
Cromwell gave out an exaggerated humph, clearly disinterested in fanciful tales of one-man armies that could do such a thing.
"No, you are wrong." He simply replied.
"My Lord?" The noble asked, worried about the response he would get in turn.
"You, my friend, are the one responsible for this. I'll have you stripped of your titles and property for this blunder." Cromwell spoke bitterly, much to the dismay of the noble who simply shrank in defeat at that remark.
"Now, leave us. I have no room for incompetence in this council."
The now former Lord of Rysoth began to pack his things before leaving. Tears threatened to well up within him as he made his way out.
Cromwell and Sheffield were now the only ones left behind in the now vacated council room.
The former looked to be deep in thought, while the latter was still as impassive as always. Her stoic demeanor, a stark contrast to his.
"Tell me, Mrs. Sheffield." Cromwell asked his colleague. "Will this complicate matters?"
She spoke up after a moment of contemplation. "I don't believe they would undertake all this cloak and dagger business unless they had a good reason to. Our new enemies might be making their move soon."
"Why? What makes you so certain?" Cromwell asked, worried. Especially since he wasn't aware of their new enemies' nature. Even worse, Cromwell had no proper frame of reference for what the Loyalists were even up to.
"Because it's exactly what the UNSC would do." Sheffield replied.
Author's Notes: I would like to point out, before anyone calls me out on it. I have been lifting sections of this story from the baka-tsuki translations of the Light Novel.
Mainly to get a reference on certain aspects of the story, as I'm too busy to watch the show or read the entirety of the novel to scout for references. I give full credit to their team for their work and I am in no way affiliated with them. I'm just a fan. I do apologize if they take offence to this, but I do try to change it up a bit to fit my narrative I'm trying to tell.
As for the reviews. I've read all of them since I started the rewrite and I appreciate all the inputs y'all gave. I'm going to try to keep them in mind, but I'm sorry if I can't reply to you personally.
With that out of the way, I am glad to have finally worked on a new chapter after a long while. Feels good. As for the recent reviews since my revision, I do apologize since I won't be able to answer all of them. Had a lot of those on my email and they were usually a delight to read. I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me this far, and I hope I won't disappoint as I go along.
Update 1: Just some slight additions to the scenes. I don't know if it flows better this time.
If you have any suggestions or comments. Feel free to join the Discord server: /sDgJN8F4tY
Thanks for reading. And as always. I'll see you in the next one. じゃ、またね