- Sanya prefecture, Hainan Province (South-East China administrative zone), some time after the winter occupation of Europe

Early evening in a tropical hellhole prone of being hit by torrential rains and typhoons all the time. A faint shadow sways at the walls of the increasingly deserted streets as a paper lantern keeps swaying from the calm yet determined steps of a man. The man wore standard-issue land forces officer fatigues, despite being a distinguished naval officer commanding the Hainan Naval District, home of the 1st Kure Special Naval Landing Forces of the Shogun Empire. One of his hand holding the crude paper lantern, the other hand always on his Katana.

After finishing the paperwork for that day, Darkagma took a ride on the only ferry boat that connected the naval district to the city of Sanya a few times a day. That was one particular tough day reviewing reports of the recent withdraw from the December-January winter occupation of the European mainland and issuing orders and instructions to his subordinates. Once everything was done, he wanted to wash away the taste of blood and ashes from his mouth with whatever thing contained alcohol. Since booze was a no-no inside the naval district, he chose to take a stroll in the nearby city and get whatever he could find there.

Leaving the boat at the pier and heading to the commercial district, Darkagma was remembering all the recent events: the European Alliance-United Republic’s backstabbing, the so called “Coalition” that crumbled in less than a week, the invasion of the European mainland and so on. His thoughts were interrupted by the smell of food coming from a nearby food cart at the edge of the shopping district.

Tired and in a damp mood to keep walking, Darkagma took a seat at the decrepit stand. Despite the naval district being the largest service contractor of the city and one of the direct entities responsible for the South-East China administrative zone, the locals could not help but to have somewhat hostile feelings towards foreigners, notably those from the Shogunate. Some people from the mainland resented the unification of the Dragon Dynasty and the Shogunate under a single banner to repel the barbarians of the West. Not every soul in the most powerful nation on earth could understand the greatness of a united Asia!

Shaking the thoughts away and giving a long sigh, Darkagma faced the charismatic old man across the counter. Relieved that he would not have to build up more stress from dealing with hostiles, he mimicked the act of drinking and ordered something to eat by pointing to one of the cryptic things written on a hanging wooden sign that he could not understand at the slightest. He carved for some Daiginjo, but had to be content with whatever they served at that island that seemed to have been forgotten by the long gone God Emperor.

Helping himself with a large serving of some nutritious noodle soup and cheap alcohol felt like being in the same wonderful heaven from where the God Emperor watches his servants. When he lifted the huge bowl to take a sip of the hot soup, the foul smell of the worst of the Soviet vodkas went through his nostrils. Inebriated by that crisp odor and having a brief hallucination of giant vodka bottles spanking bowls of borscht, he returned to his senses after hearing some drunken slur uttered in a language unknown to the East, but so crude in meaning that even the depraved Westerners across the Pacific would find it inappropriate.

Turning around and ready to unleash deadly force upon the subject, Darkagma could not help but to be stunned at the spectacle in front of him: a Mongol Asian wearing a Soviet army’s officer uniform tightly holding a bottle of the cheapest vodka available on the Northern hemisphere stamped with a huge red star on the wrapping, uttering profanities in an Alien language that Darkagma could, to his dismay, understand too well. Holding down his killing intent targeted towards that lowly excuse of a human being, Darkagma said:

-Watch your language.
-[ you can understand me? ]
-[ don’t ya pretend to understand what I’m sayin’! ]
After a tense silence that endured a couple of minutes, the man smiled.
-[ aaah I knew it! ]
-[ you're Dark! ]
Darkagma pondered for a few moments until he had realized the ugly truth and recognized the man. He knew the man from before, from a long time ago. The person in front of him was none other than a former member of the Special Naval Landing Forces that disappeared without notice and was considered AWOL. After a short chat and warming words, it became evident what happened: the man returned from a long absence to the 1st Kure SNLF to continue the sacred mission of the servants of the God Emperor. However, when checking the regiment’s message logs, he saw a post-it that contained something resembling “From now on, I am not your commander anymore, please relocate to another battle group and report to their commanders. It was an honor to have been your commander”.

The message was intended to another SNLF member that was assigned the task of leaving the battle group and join the group of a fellow commander specialized in the art of PVP-fighting. Since the message’s context was lost and it did not refer to anyone in specific, the man believed the battle group had disbanded. For this reason, he left the Empire's domains and became a mercenary. Before he knew it, he was already lurking on the steppes of the Soviet Union perpetuating the tradition of his noble ancestors. He knew the name of his former commander sounded familiar, but could not remember from where it came from.

In a round of laughs and unintelligible language, Darkagma dropped formality and finally offered:

-[ I know a good Way for you to split everyone else’s asses in half! ]
Feeling satisfied with the reunion, Darkagma paid the food cart’s owner in double despite not having touched the meal. The two men disappeared into the night, heading towards the port for the return trip to the naval district. The skies had cleared, lighting the island with a pale moonlight. The moon's reflection shone on the leftover liquor in the small porcelain cup. On that fateful day, ChinggisKhaan, the Conqueror, returned to the household.