Laying on top of a long, ornate, and masterfully crafted wooden desk was an envelope, its sensitive contents sealed by a red wax stamp. The white letter wouldn't be visible if not for the table's only other resident; a tall, recently lit candle sitting upon an aluminum stand.
Sitting in a less grandiose, but equally masterfully made chair was a pretty young man. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt with the top two buttons down, and similarly simple black pants tied to him with an obviously expensive black leather belt. His clothing wasn't too tight, and yet it wasn't too loose either. They were a perfect fit- clearly the result of a skilled tailor's efforts.
This man was staring at the letter, and despite the bags underneath them from his recent lack of sleep, his eyes were brimming with optimistic anticipation.
However, after he peeled off the wax sealing the letter, his gaze quickly turned sullen.
The single, nicely folded paper within the envelope read as follows:
'Hello, Sir Tetsuya. After careful consideration, your Campaign has been decided. You have been cast into the Shippai Campaign. Your Campaign's members are listed below.
Arin Tetsuya of the Tetsuya Family
Renota Ishogi of Ishogi Village
We wish you the best of luck, Sir Tetsuya.'
These words did not even cover half of the paper, leaving the rest to serve as a dreadful pale void, almost mocking Arin. His eyes, the pair that just a few seconds ago were so full of hope, were now bleak and pessimistic, also possessing not-so-subtle undertones of sadness, hatred, and rage.
Arin slammed his fists into his desk and nearly extinguished the one light left in his life, the candle. He thought about expelling his emotions with a shout, maybe a 'God damn it!', but decided against it. Instead, he let a tear fall from his slightly bloodshot eyes and muttered whispers of self-loathing.
"What else did you think would happen?"
With that incredibly motivating thought, he sluggishly rose from his seat at the desk and picked up the aluminum handle of his candle. He carried it to the left wall of his room, where he had made all the possible preparations for his formerly coveted, now dreaded campaign. He no longer cared enough to bring any of the materials or tools he had prepared, glossing over them all.
The only item that was able to garner even an ounce of attention from Arin was his katana. It, alongside everything else he owned, was very nice and well-made. However, in the company of nice and well-made objects, the sword was two steps above. The handle was simple, its azure base wrapped meticulously with dyed-black silk, alongside a silver pommel and handguard.
The sheath, on the other hand, was nothing short of gorgeous. Although it was made of wood, its almost outrageously ornate azure engravings and perfect black paintjob would lead anyone to believe that it was actually carved from a giant chunk of obsidian. Arin gazed at the blade for a few seconds, momentarily snapped out of his downtrodden mood. But once he remembered why he had looked at the katana in the first place, he was snapped right back into his depression.
'I suppose I'll need this...'
He picked up his sword and put it into a long black bag, where it fit comfortably and was easily slung over his back. He walked back to his desk and placed the candle back where it belonged. Now armed with a weapon and a terrible mood, he was ready to face the trials of his First Embarkment.
Arin opened the door of his room and was nearly blinded by the grand light of the mere hallway, forcing him to rub his eyes and blink a few times in order to adjust. As he stepped out of his room and began to make his way to the bathroom so that he could wash his hands, he gazed at the fancily decorated walls of the hallway, knowing that it will be a very long time before he will get to see them again.
Arin reached the bathroom, and went straight to the sink. He thoroughly cleaned his hands of any possible grime, then looked up at the mirror. Inside, his reflection stared at him somewhat sadly with deep azure pupils, and bloodshot eyes. The similarly-toned gems in a hole on each ear looked as though they could fall out at any moment, which he quickly fixed. His clear white skin was rather pale, and his slightly overgrown black hair was lightly... no, largely messy. He attempted to return it to its well-kept state, but he was only able to return it to being parted at the middle before his efforts hurt more than they helped.
He knew he wouldn't look as beautiful as usual after he stayed up for so long, but he didn't think that the contrast would be so stark. Of course, this only served to worsen his mood just a little bit more.
Arin left the bathroom and quietly made his way down the winding staircase, hoping that he wouldn't have to confront his mother, or even worse- his brother, before leaving. He was actually very successful in sneaking through the house without being noticed, possibly because of his below average height, which only seemed smaller when compared to the giants that made up his family.
After a few short minutes, Arin arrived at the front door of his large home and took out his boots from the house's shoe rack. As he was putting them on, he believed that maybe he could leave without being seen, but as per usual, his hopes were shattered as he heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind him.
Arin prepared for the worst as he stood up and turned around, but he was pleasantly surprised to see a friendly face. His father not only had significantly larger muscles than him, but also stood at a height at least a foot taller than Arin, if not more. He was currently looking down at his son with a smile on his face. He spoke with a voice uncharacteristically soft for how large a man he was.
"I remember how excited you were, turning sixteen just in time for the enrollment period of this Campaign. And to think you got accepted, too! It's nothing short of wonderful. Tell me- who is in your campaign? Are there any big names? Please, son, indulge me."
Despite the absolute good nature of his father's questions, Arin's sullen attitude was instantly converted into a burning rage. Gritting his teeth to stop himself from yelling, he spoke.
"Me and an Ishog. A dirty fucking Ishog. That's it."
Arin halted his racist remarks momentarily in order to stop himself from pitching a fit. His father's eyes widened for a second, but they quickly returned to their optimistic state.
"I don't think that matters as much as you think it does. If someone is accepted into a campaign, it's never without reason. You never know, that Ishogian could possess the strength of a hundred men!"
Arin's father's attempts to change his son's perspective were pointless, alongside Arin's own attempts to keep himself from yelling.
"What... What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?! A man of my status should never have to even lay his eyes on those worthless excuses for humans, let alone Campaign with one of them! The only reason a goddamn Ishog would be accepted is so that I, the pathetic little brother, could be humiliated further!"
Arin's father placed his hand on his son's head.
"Arin, you aren't-" Arin cut off his father, and glared at him with something that almost resembled bloodlust.
"Shut the fuck up."