The capital of the Kingdom of Lions, Lion City.
Among rows of neat, square Western-style houses stood the occasional collapsed building, while scorched traces left by great fires still remained on the streets.
Although neither the Legion nor the Kingdom of Falcon had fought their way here, the scars of war could still be seen in the ruins that had yet to be cleared away.
Both sides of the main road leading from the northern gate of the river embankment to the royal palace were packed with people, stretching into a vast sea of heads as far as the eye could see.
Men, women, the elderly, and children alike—farmers, craftsmen, and fruit vendors alike—all stood on tiptoe, craning their necks toward the city gates.
In just a few days, life had visibly improved.
The roaring bombers were gone, and the piercing air-raid sirens had faded from the lives of the city's residents.
People no longer had to be jolted awake by air-raid alarms, no longer had to huddle beneath their beds with their families, trembling and praying their names would not appear on the casualty lists.
Of course, it was not because the enemy had suddenly grown a conscience.
It was because The Alliance had arrived.
Having heard that the Storm Corps, pulled back from the front line for rest and reorganization, would be passing through here, many people had rushed over at dawn just to catch a glimpse of the friendly troops who had saved them from disaster.
The kingdom's elite "Scarab" ten-thousand-man corps, led by Prince Winter, entered the city first, followed closely by reinforcements from The Alliance.
They did not disappoint the residents of Lion City.
A formation of valiant soldiers marched toward them in perfectly synchronized steps.
They carried rifles on their backs and wore matching