Fly the Flag of Fire!

A piece of parchment was decorated.

With a smooth, shiny sand brown background, several black lines stretch and overlap. It is a letter and a sentence, but there are ten kinds of handwriting with a lot of personality, all of which try to convey the same content. Words are different. There is only one thought that has been put into them.

Bless your birth.

Happy for your future. [M]

At the end of the warm wording there are also enough names, and those are the ones that make future generations of historians roar. Let this one be preserved as extremely valuable, let it be touched, let it be seen, let it be carefully watched.

Various records are kept for the five members, who are half.

Accelli Arnell.

He is the head of the Kingsguard Corps, who presided over the military of the Kingdom of Asuria. Wartime heroes played their part in everything after the war, and their wives and talented four sons and daughters also played a great part in various fields. He said he lived to be a hundred and six years old.

Lauri.

He was promoted to Secretary of State while he was a civilian and had a wide influence on the political economy of the kingdom. The job and personality were loved by the great nobles, including Uncle Sihou, large, small and small businesses and even the villagers on the border.

Oiva Otara.

He is also regarded as the most powerful soldier in the kingdom. After resigning as Deputy Commander of the Kingsguard Corps, he left anecdotes all over the kingdom as a drifting swordsman, eventually disappearing. I will also tell you that I was involved in the Far North development project on the Hiltura Frontier Uncle territory.

Vilma Cantra.

He is the forerunner of female military personnel in the kingdom. At the time of the resumption of the demonic cleansing business, he became sixty years old, became the queen's nominee and fought the Dust Dream Forest, making the world widely aware of the significance of man's resistance to demons.

Paulina.

He is the most important person not to mention. He took office as queen during the reform period of the Kingdom of Asuria and continued to reign east of the continent for more than sixty years. Throughout his lifetime of celibacy, the throne was inherited to the lineage of Birgitta, his niece.

There are no extra records for the remaining half.

Is it because of the loss of life, or the disappearance, in the midst of the war? Or would it be a difference in importance? Either way, it may be said that it made a difference whether or not we were able to live the world after the Holy King's War.

Yarucco.

Ancient soldiers in the war said they did not join the Kingsguard with the Third Princess SS as their last military history, but lived the rest of their lives secretly without them. There is some myth that he has become the queen's escort, but his credibility is uncertain due to lack of material.

Kuster.

Raising his martial name in the Cavalry of Fire also killed him in battle with a false brave witch. It was also allegedly related to horse thieves who vandalized the north of the kingdom and the so-called Salomon army during King Wilhelm's time, but the details are unknown.

Elvi.

There is no record of the merits, nor is there a record of the person's whereabouts, and only by investigating the documents at the time is it known that he was a slightly clerical person. Does it make sense to be identical to the name of Axeli Arnell's eldest daughter?

Dikilrosa.

It is not even certain of its gender, even if it is transmitted with the origins of minorities. He fought as deputy chief of the Cavalry Regiment of Fire, but the Regiment was dissolved after the Holy King's War was settled. All the members are missing. Supposedly participated in the Far North Development Project.

And...... Marco Hahato.

At the age of thirteen, he joined the Third Princess SS, a man who has always won in important battles and has had a tremendous war effort that does not allow other followers. He also held a special position as General Ryu. He was a hero among heroes.

But he disappeared.

After the formation of the Kingdom Defense Forces by Lucas Uliharsilla, his news has not been on record as just one. No records of alleged war deaths, no documents mentioning missing persons. Even though the showdown between the Kingdom and the Church was fought under the command of another hero, it is an inexplicable story that none of the upsets and effects of that abrupt disappearance have been felt.

As if it had never existed since the beginning, Marco Hahato disappeared from history.

There are also some historians who question his reality. It is a theory that, from the beginning, it is nothing more than a fictional figure created by the Kingdom as a symbol of prestige.

Isn't it Marco Hahato who took all the good and good deeds of the time into human form, as the demon Joaquim Beck is told as an anthropomorphic being of all the bad and evil deeds of the time? Didn't you create such a hero to strengthen the legitimacy of the kingdom? What is considered a heroic feat is also, in fact, a collection of the feats of multiple persons active in the same period?

No one can call that theory absurd. Because Marco Hahato's feat gives rise to doubts because of its splendour. Genius, luck, destiny, and ideals… are frequently used words in speaking of Marco Hahato.

So, what about the parchment of blessings with his name on it too?

Is that a fabrication? Was it prepared to create the hero Marco Hahato among the heroes?

Whether judgments were divided in future generations, at the time when they were written, only the truth would have shined as the reason in heaven and earth did. There would have been no wear, dryness or burial in the course of time, and with the luminosity of the flesh, the true presence would have been shown to the world.

Where was that piece of parchment decorated?

It is on the walls of the deep study, the territorial capital of Count Hackinen's territory in the southern part of the Kingdom of Asuria.

To whom was that piece of parchment given?

It is to Daniel Hackinen, the person who was begged for the countenance by reason of his desires and abilities.

Whom was the parchment of that one?

He is the first son of Daniel Hackinen, wife of Amalia, daughter of Klaus Yurihalsila.

His name is Julius Hackinen.

I have one travel book he wrote down when he was fifteen. Just before he inherited his title, he was ordered by the father of the hospital bed to travel the kingdom. Few researchers see it as having a first-degree value as a material that communicates what was going on at the time to future generations, as well as containing content approaching the identity of Marco Hahato.

Because the destination of the journey was Kiko Village, on the northeastern border of the kingdom.

Those who are blessed with the birth of Marco Hahato do not take the grand nobleman's son or the majority of his offerings, but travel the kingdom from the southwestern edge to the northeastern edge to visit where Marco Hahato comes from… there is some special purpose and it is natural. The damage to temper would have increased, because whoever it was would not turn to the north at the time.

If you read between the lines, even if they are not clearly described, that is where the truth may be hidden. If you drool and immerse a drop of imagination in a dry past, a strange landscape may rise from it.

Give thought to the blanks there and give fresh moisture there...... now, get your sight.

With the power of the story, you can see, hear and experience it now and not here.

Think of fire first.

Something that represents light and heat together in this world.

What inspires the power of courage by opening up the human world in the dark night and warming and unwinding the frozen self.

Sora... the color of the fire rises.

Firewood is crushed inside the stone fireplace, and hot and bright forces stand swaying at night. It's the fire of life. It's a fire for people to spend the night. It's a fire to carry on your life into a new morning. The exploding sound of the firepowder is also as patchy, emitting light and heat.

It is a rustic but carefree looking middle-aged woman who was illuminated by the darkness. I tie my habitual brown hair in one piece.

"Boy was born at the end of the memorial when he was wanted and wanted"

Though thinly unclean and tedious, there is shown the temper of those who live in the land of the north. Any harshness is patient and has the strength to do what needs to be done.

"Both Herman and his wife worried long and long about not giving him a child... and even if he finally gave it, stillbirth went on twice... and he really, really suffered... and it was something he kept praying for so much that he finally invited the horrible. On the night of the windy moon..."

The woman's voice sounds like she dreams, just as she is smeared with fatigue, and that's how sweet it is at night. If you touch it, you're comforted by the sway of roasting meat, telling a tale of demonic, strange things.

"That it was like a lump of night, that person... it was... maybe a witch. Because that's what I thought, he said that both Herman and his wife kept that night a secret. Even if that's what you think... that night, they signed a contract."

There's another one in the shadows, listening to the woman. The glimpse of the fire is neat. The beautiful boy, who is still obscuring gender differences, finds that the outfit is the precious identity of what is pedestrian-style. The silvercraft shines on the pattern of the protective knife placed on the waist. Show me the family crest of the Earl's house, even if it is small.

Strange things happened.

"Let's put more life into the womb, a mighty life."

The voices of women were strangely plundered. There's something wrong with the tone.

"This is a life cursed by many humans. Don't suffer, don't die, don't perish. That's why I turned it down and stuck it to the meat. I'm the one who tried to be that way... but it's the humans who made it that way."

Who is this?

Another illusion appears so that it overlaps the illusion in front of the fireplace, making them hear the words of another time. The place is just as good. It's more a scene of the past. Signs of enchantment blur history and soak up the colors of fantasy.

"Difficult life to raise, huh? How much love I have put into it is not enough for this. Burned to bitterness. It is useless to give admonition with parental authority. Keep your wisdom. It's a dead end. Besides, let's hate this world. Grow up and be the son of a disaster that will harm the world. Or maybe they're going to be called demons too."

A witch. This is a witch's voice.

Not as a historical fact, but as a dweller of the fabled world, a magical servile voice is heard from nowhere.

"Do you still want it? Do you wish to have children and raise them? We're gonna make it happen, right? If you add this special life I have brought to the life there that is about to disappear without giving birth... if you" pour soul ”on him... life will mix up and make a voice for the world. You can be parents."

What is a demonic temptation?

The paranormal asks. The answers of those questioned are not heard, but all delightful words continue.

"What kind of parent and what kind of child would you be... hehe... you wouldn't know if you didn't try,"

Did the witch laugh? And the voice sounds far away. The sound clears up far and high. Like a mysterious wind blowing between the moon and the stars.

"Know. If you make life a continuous attempt with cotton and just don't repeat the same once, you braid a variety in the void with infinite street trajectories impacting each other... one yarn at a time with different colors and lengths... the closest and most impacting relationship is the parent and child. If you do, you will have a special life and you will not be spared the influence of the Lord. That is the truth about the life of parents and children. Or you might unexpectedly become a brave man... yes... or grow up beyond my expectations into something unknown."

And something was taken out and handed over.

There's a genuine witch's spirit medicine, small and spectacular.

"This is what they gave me."

It is the voice of those who live on their feet on the earth. It is the successful voice of those who, with patience, are the only means. The demonic illusions are scratching away. The fire in the fireplace is rocking trolls. Two gazes are poured into one place.

It's a vial.

It can be inferred that even in the sky it is unusual. It's an unusual sign. Small enough to ride flat, yet as robust as a castle fortress. There is solemnity as if it were a grave.

"Your wife drank the contents in one breath... and because of it, my boy... and because of it, your wife..."

It appeared between a fire lit by unspoken thoughts and a shaky shadow, drifting and eventually disappearing.

"Take it"

That's what the woman said and gave the vial to the boy.

"Both Herman and his wife are dead. Fang won't go back either. You don't have to leave that in this house anymore. So is my memory. I gave it to you. I'm going to forget everything I ever told you. I think you'll soon forget it. Master Hellman entrusted me... so I just couldn't remember until today."

She exhaled, pulled out her shoulders, smiled at her sleeping beard, then... the woman turned her body toward the fire. Make sure that the burning condition of the firewood is even important, and I won't turn my face to the boy anymore. I have already thrown the vial out of my consciousness so that I can't calm down without scratching out the ashes. I'm trying to immerse myself in my real life.

What's the matter, isn't the fire still going out? Wouldn't the brightness and warmth go away?

No... no.

It's actually a long way off.

The landscape in front of the fireplace disappears again into the blanks of history. I guess that is an illusion that will never appear again. Without a record, it would be natural. For there is no hope for future generations that a mediocre woman living in a peripheral village would know the truth about a hero.

That's what history is all about.

“Now” is constantly driven to the “past”. As human rationality and irrationality are difficult to understand and intertwine there, only a reasonable choice can be used as a method of retrospective untying. Besides, even that logic is what transforms in time... sometimes I dream with a historian. Support your passion.

Truth about history and how.

If you think of time and history quietly... you'll feel signs of something dramatic. That looks like water flow. The water volume is enormous. It's the Great River. It pushes everything away. Beyond the endless.

Did you hear the water?

That's the sound of a wave hitting the ship. A ship down the Great River is waving a wave on the dark waters at night. There are no villages by the river, and rocky soil and grass trees do not interrupt the strange landscape beneath the moon. Nature is huge and artificial. It's so small. The onboard lights are also somewhere strangely awed.

A night breeze stroked such a ship... and a night shadow appeared in the shape of a man.

A witch.

Though he puts his dark colored clothes together and wears a headscarf deep in his eyes, he has a woman's mouth behind him to breathe the night air. And walk on deck. There's no one there by any chance. Proceed there without any footsteps and descend into the cabin.

There is no one in the narrow hallway either. Has the sailor, the guests, everyone and he all fallen asleep on this strange moonlight night? Then the ship will also be in an accident.

Maybe none of them exist and don't see them. No wonder that happened. The night is walking in human form. Whatever wonder it may be, let it happen.

The witch opened the door.

It's a small cabin. I have a cramped bunk bed and a small table. The corner is loaded with luggage.

A white hand reached out of the shadow of the dark suit and removed the small box in the backpack. Open it. Inside it was wrapped in a cloth and one vial closed. Take it.

"How old are you when your soul burns... and your soul is gone..."

Is it a song? What started spinning in a plundered voice.

"Hidden is a ghost... Hope is violent... Reason is behind... Thoughts are contentious..."

Every time they sing, the vial changes shape. Distort the contour. It melts. But that doesn't drool. It flows through the white palms, wrists and elbows. Night disappears into clothes that can be neither darkness nor shadow.

"But dreams are dreams... like illusions"

Eventually the song was over and just white palms remained.

It's gone.

There's a vial that could have been an important clue to who Marco Hahato is.

It disappeared.

As if nothing like that had existed since the beginning.

"One more thing… mission, fulfillment"

A moisturizing voice squealed as opposed to the song. I'm not listening, so that's good.

The vial. The vial is the problem.

No... is that okay? Is that what Sole is? Should it be?

If we sought resoluteness in human history, then perhaps Sole should not be left behind.

Sole who sealed the life of a hero cursed by man and mediated the appearance of a hero among the heroes.

Heating the world hard, melting the ice of the giving up, darkening the despair...... the sole from which it began.

With Sole being lost from the ordinary world, this story closes the curtain.