Time flew, and two months passed in the blink of an eye.
Summer had given way to early autumn, and the air was already thick with a damp, chilling breath. Berely, especially, located on the Northern Continent, even carried a faint spreading severity of winter—or perhaps that was not merely because of the season, but because the orcs of the Five Great Linked Islands had once again begun probing attacks against the continent.
Orc units of a thousand known as hunting parties swarmed ashore from every beach where landing was possible. They robbed what they could and left, whether it was people, grain, gold and silver, cloth, or silk. In short, they plundered everything they could see and carry away.
There was even one small fishing village where they carted off every last beam and pillar from all the houses.
The orcs' harassment actually eased the dreadful atmosphere in Berely and throughout the Gallic Empire. For the past two months, the entire Gallic Empire had nearly suffocated. Everyone had waited as though the end of the world were descending, expecting some terrible event to occur. Yet in the end, those things did not happen—the orcs came instead!
Compared to an unknowable future, the orcs were simply adorable, simply moving! Thus, when the Gallic Empire officially announced the formation of ranger legions to repel the orc incursions, nobles, officials, and ordinary citizens alike burst into cheers.
Far too many things had happened in the Empire over these two months, and far too many of them remained veiled in fog. Even now, no one had sorted out exactly how they had come to pass. Yet the Gallic Empire and all the other major powers had their energies dragged into this chaotic mess. Everyone had sunk into it, with no chance to catch