"DAMN IT!" A man in a pompous chair struck the ivory table in front of him. Despite the distress on his face, he still looked somewhat composed. A large part of it, due to his attire. A thick, pitch-black mantle with gold embroidery fell over his shoulders. Pure-white fur cushioned its weight against his neck, making it incredibly comfortable. The golden crown atop his head and the scepter laid on the table also spoke of his ranks. The King of Capture, King of the Herklaw.

Once, he was a common man of the Hercalaian Neutral Zone, in between the two conflicting empires of Kaimon and Lerian.

But war struck.

Olmar was the man who merged the mercenary region, used their knowledge of the region to buy all captured slaves for dirt cheap, and used them for the good of his group, the Herculean Avanade.

But the war ended, and so did the captures, and the influx of slaves. But when the men got back to their empires, there were not enough hands. And through the power of money, Olmar ascended, buying out every other slaver and mercenary companies who owned land, manpower, or both. And crowned himself the King of Herklaw. But all of this was over 30 years ago, back when he was just a 16 year old kid.

But he never forgot the face of the woman who humiliated him, who turned him down.

Nahaimondake Haya

And she was not more than a mere consort of the princess.

And to further humiliate him, she even managed to somehow become the queen... and take herself the name of the previous Queen, Kaimondake.

'What a cunning bitch, she probably got the royal family out of the way and took the kingdom to herself,' he thought when he heard of the news. But a couple years later, someone appeared on his doorstep. A mere wolf, who just so happened to have the means to get the throne for himself. A swindler at heart. But Olmar fell for his own ploy of revenge, tapping from the treasury to support the coup in the neighboring country.

"My Lord, what happened?" a man in noble bowed before the distressed king, before sitting on the table, across from him.

"That imbecile dog! What the fuck happened to the men he sent?! She should've been here already!" with no formality whatsoever, the king immediately started rambling.

"My Lord, it's a long journey, they may have found some issues on the—'' Trying to appease him, the minister tried his best to bring sense to the man. He knew all too well what the king was talking about.

"Nonsense! They are yet to make it past the Narrow Pass, we have people there. That imbecile bought cheap mercenaries that betrayed us!" yelling, the king retorted back.

"But My lord, those are the Bloody Maniple..." Recalling the name on the letter and their deeds in the last war, the minister frowned. The king was being way too precipitated.

"Yeah, a decadent group of hot-blooded retards. I should never have put my woman on the hands of that dog!" But the king would have none of it. His opinion was already set in stone.

"But his highness!" Pointlessly, he still tried to calm the king down and find an actual solution.

"Do you know how many years I've waited to put that filthy whore under my feet? And now that they finally did my bidding, after hundreds of Gold coins wasted on that retard, THEY LOSE HER!" Olmar banged on the table, with even more force than last time.

"My Lord, we still—" interrupted, the poor minister, also the King's right hand, bit his lip.

"They lost ALL OF THEM! I paid more than an army's worth to get those three enslaved and sold to me!" In a fit of anger, the king screamed, loud enough half the castle could hear him. He was talking about that woman, and her two daughters.

"But My—"

"Shut the 4hell up, Vanthar! Send me five of your finest slaves. I need to let off some steam tonight." The minister sighed after he heard the king change topics. This would give him at least another day to figure this whole ordeal out.

"Acknowledged, My Lord. I'll send you our f—" relaxing, Vanthar spoke the obvious sentence, being interrupted once again.

"Don't send me my favorite ones. I don't wanna damage them." The king shrugged.

"... Understood," Vanthar understood what this meant. He'd have to run over to the maids and make sure they were ready for the fallout tomorrow morning. It was always a hellish task to clean after... but he was but a servant, and so were they. And, in the end, the slaves belonged to the king to do whatever he pleased with them, be it life or death.

In silence, he left the room, only hearing the last couple bemoanings from the king.

"Damn it... I shouldn't have trusted that lowly dog." After the minister left, the king let himself the leisure of taking a deep breath, before sighing. "It's just as the priest said, never trust animals..." His trust in the priest renewed, the king lowered his head, putting it between his hands. "Alhur, you're still there, aren't you?" he asked the shadows around him.

"Always by your side, Oh, God's chosen." Almost as if materializing from the depths of hell, a person walked out from the shadow of the gonfalons hung on the wall. Dressed in white robes, lines and embroidered in gold, it was fair to assume his high rank and nobility. Althur was an Archbishop of the Holy church, the highest rank of the church in Herklaw.

"Assemble the Red. Tell them we got a manhunt." In a low and respectful tone, unbefitting of a king, Olmar spoke to the archbishop.

"Yes, Your Majesty. So is the will of God." The priest nodded, a wicked smile plastered on his face.

"So is My will." The king raised his head, smiling from ear to ear. "It's time to hunt some animals."