The Eastern Frontier remained a forgotten corner of the world, huddled among the cold, desolate wastelands like a lonely, wounded beast.
There was almost no greenery here, and signs of life were scarce. Only the stubborn, exposed rocks silently struggled and crumbled beneath the scorching sun by day and the freezing dew by night, displaying a desolate beauty in all its starkness.
As far as the eye could see, the Eastern Frontier resembled a barren world at the end of days, as if it had endured the passage of countless eons. The bleak north wind and the barren rocks roaring along with it seemed to be telling people an ancient tale.
There were no towns here, no bustling crowds, and none of the animals and lush forests seen everywhere else. There were only the unmoving rocks and the howling wind whispering incessantly in their ears. A silence beyond time and space shrouded the place, making it feel as if one had entered a distant dream.
Yet despite the Eastern Frontier's desolate beauty, it could not hide the wickedness lurking in the shadows.
And now?
As the Claymores of Rabona split into two groups and began their formal sweep of the central region of Rabona, making a show of their strength and asserting their presence; as Galatea, the "traitor" to the Organization, recovered from her injuries; and as a certain troublesome little girl continued wandering around town all day with nothing to do, the Organization's leaders and its agents, who were active throughout the land, gathered for another meeting in the Organization's headquarters in Stafford—a place that appeared to be nothing more than a deserted ruin filled with crumbling walls.
"Leaders..."
"Warriors ranked 3, 5, 6, and 9 were recovered a few days ago. They all woke up this morning."
"But..."