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February 6th, 1639, Cartalpas Government Building, Cartalpas Port City, Holy Milishial, First civilized area

The delegation walked into the Cartalpas government building, a structure steeped in the architectural style of the 1950s. The hallway was lined with meticulously cared-for plants on either side, and a red carpet was laid out in a formal display. Ahead, a large door marked the entrance to the diplomatic meeting room, though preparations had to be made before the discussions could commence. They were led to a designated waiting room to finalize these details.

Meanwhile, journalists and television crews were setting up their equipment. Among the media outlets such as MNT and Otaheit Times, were teams from CNN and the BBC. These prominent American networks were invited to document the diplomatic proceedings, reflecting the critical need for an objective perspective on this historic event. However, the military authorities had only permitted these two major media organizations to attend, a decision that sparked internal debate within the United States.

As the CNN and BBC crews set up their equipment, they attracted curious glances from the Elysian media personnel. The Earth-based journalists' sophisticated and intricate cameras intrigued their Elysian counterparts.

A reporter from Otaheit Times approached, curious. "Excuse me, which television network are you with?"

"BBC," replied one of the crew members, "It's probably the first time you've heard of us."

"You speak Muan? Interesting... Which country are you from?"

"The United States of America. And the language you're speaking is likely English, based on our side's pronunciation, which closely resembles that of the British."

"Really? It's surprising to discover that our languages are so similar."

As they found common ground in their cultures, the two sides began to discuss and share information. The Otaheit Times reporters eagerly exchanged knowledge with the BBC and CNN crews, while the MNT delegation looked on with frustration, hindered by the language barrier.

In the waiting room, American and Holy Milishial officials were engaged in intense discussions, meticulously preparing for the diplomatic negotiations set to take place in a few hours.

"The primary objective of this visit by the United States is to establish diplomatic relations with the Holy Milishial Empire, restore maritime order, and resolve ongoing international conflicts," one of the American diplomats explained.

"I understand, but what exactly do these international conflicts have to do with establishing diplomatic relations?" Perclas, a Holy Milishial diplomat, questioned his counterpart, Kortig.

"The maritime conflict between the Kingdom of Morocco and your Holy Milishial Empire. I believe both sides can resolve this through diplomatic channels. I've prepared a detailed report on the conflict, which I will hand over to you now," Kortig responded, presenting a report.

Perclas, visibly tense, took the document and glanced at it. He then turned to Kortig with a concerned expression. "Hmm... Are you sure this isn't some kind of diplomatic maneuver? Let's discuss this matter somewhere more private."

They stepped into a secluded area near the restrooms, where the American diplomat continued, "I assure you, this is no joke. I can provide you with evidence, and you can verify it yourself, Minister Perclas."

Perclas, now visibly unsettled, responded, "If this information leaks, it could cause chaos within our government and military. The idea of a superpower losing in a conflict is unthinkable in our world. It would be like a fighter jet being shot down by an ancient bow and arrow."

"This situation cannot be delayed. While I'm not entirely familiar with your world's calendar, this conflict must be resolved peacefully within this month. All prisoners of war must be returned to the Holy Milishial Empire, but reparations for war damages demanded by the Moroccan Royalty must also be addressed," Kortig firmly stated, pushing Holy Milishial into a precarious position. However, he believed that this would not significantly impact future relations between the two superpowers.

"Regardless, we need to understand why your nation attacked Moroccan sovereign waters in the first place," Kortig continued, beginning a line of questioning that would be crucial for his role as a mediator in the peace negotiations.

"I've been informed that there's a military base belonging to a nation called Morocco, situated within the sovereign waters of Holy Mirishial. Livio Guttila has already dispatched forces to neutralize it," stated the minister, his voice heavy with authority.

"If that's the case, this could be a grave misunderstanding. What you've encountered is merely an oil extraction facility belonging to the Moroccan Royal Kingdom. The Moroccans have informed us that your nation's fleet approached with aggressive intentions, leading them to believe an invasion was imminent. Their attempts at diplomacy failed when your fleet declared and acted on its intent to seize Moroccan waters," the American diplomat responded, his tone cautious but firm.

"It's deeply shameful that this situation has escalated so. Our Emperor prioritizes peaceful solutions over bloodshed. There must be a traitor involved, someone stirring conflict for their own gain!" the minister replied, his expression a mix of disappointment and resolute determination to uncover the truth.

"There must be a solution to this crisis. We're willing to assist your nation in finding a just and peaceful resolution," Kortig offered, his words meant to reassure Minister Perclas, who nodded solemnly in agreement.

The Next Day, City Hall, Cartalpas

The atmosphere was tense with anticipation as preparations were finalized for the formal diplomatic establishment between the United States and Holy Mirishial. The grand, opulent hall of City Hall glittered with gold, a space designed to impress. In the center stood a rectangular table adorned with a small bouquet, surrounded by politicians, military officials, and diplomats from the Holy Empire, all of whom had arrived promptly.

Media crews from various outlets positioned their cameras throughout the room. In one corner of the hall, a podium stood flanked by the flags of the two nations, illuminated by focused lighting that lent the space an aura of solemnity and power.

"Marcus, how much time do we have left?" a technician asked, his voice laced with urgency.

"Just a few minutes before the diplomatic ceremony begins. We should take our positions now," Marcus replied, his eyes scanning the room for any last-minute adjustments.

The room buzzed with activity until the moment the ceremony was about to commence. Politicians and experts took their designated seats, their attention locked on the impending negotiations. The room fell into an expectant hush as the diplomats entered. Everyone was in place, ready for what would be a historic diplomatic engagement.

The ambassadors from Holy Mirishial and the United States emerged simultaneously, moving with a natural grace toward the table where the diplomatic ties would be formalized. As a gesture of goodwill and mutual respect, they shook hands, a symbolic act underscoring the significance of the occasion.

"Ambassador Philame, it is an honor to be here today representing my nation at this pivotal moment in history. Our two countries share many common interests, and we believe that formalizing our diplomatic relations will pave the way for shared growth and cooperation," said Ambassador Kortig, his tone measured and sincere.

"Ambassador Kortig, I share your sentiment. Today marks a new chapter in the history of our two nations. We recognize the progress your country has made, and we are eager to begin this process of collaboration and partnership," Ambassador Philame responded, his words echoing across the room.

Cameras flashed as journalists and photographers from both nations captured the moment. The diplomatic ceremony was broadcasted across the globe, and news of Elysia's establishment of diplomatic relations with the United States quickly spread throughout the Central Continent. At that moment, all eyes were on the United States, this mysterious nation, as it indirectly confirmed the existence of over a hundred other countries to the world.

Undisclosed Waters, Off the Coast of Runepolis, Holy Mirishial

In the vast expanse of the ocean, two black, cigar-shaped vessels moved silently beneath the surface. These were Ohio-class nuclear submarines of the United States Navy, dispatched with a mission far removed from the diplomatic efforts that were publicly unfolding.

Every sailor aboard was in the highest state of combat readiness. The nuclear warheads, locked onto their targets by satellite guidance, were poised to strike every major city within Holy Mirishial at a moment's notice, should the diplomatic talks fail.

To the United States, Holy Mirishial was nothing more than an alien entity, a nation entirely disconnected from Earth and its affairs. The intelligence gathered from the Rodenius continent was insufficient to persuade the Pentagon's top brass that Holy Mirishial was merely a typical post-WWII nation. Instead, they considered it a potential nuclear power, a regional hegemon whose geographical position posed a strategic threat to the United States.

Given the possibility that the entire planet had been displaced, with language similarities only adding to the enigma, the idea that a nation like Holy Mirishial could possess weapons of mass destruction was a concern that couldn't be ignored. The mission was clear: neutralize any potential threat before it could act, regardless of the semblance of humanity or the existence of a structured society governed by laws. To the U.S. government, these were still unknown entities—aliens, whose political alignment, diplomatic intentions, and societal structure were shrouded in uncertainty, demanding the utmost caution.

The United States was prepared to reduce Holy Mirishial to ashes if they dared to make any hostile move against Earth. However, as the diplomatic talks proceeded smoothly, the nightmare scenario of widespread destruction was avoided. The Department of Defense, following this event, would likely reassess its stance on Holy Mirishial. The two submarines, having completed their mission without firing a single nuclear warhead, silently withdrew from the waters off Runepolis.

"This drill feels different from the others, doesn't it? Simulating a preemptive strike on those Elysian... people."

"People? You've got a real problem with common sense, man. They're aliens, not like us at all."

"Shut your mouth, you furry freak. You're just as weird as they are," another sailor retorted, his words laced with mockery.

If this operation were to be exposed, it could severely damage the United States' reputation. However, the mission was meticulously planned to account for such a possibility. None of the sailors aboard, save for the high-ranking officers, were aware of the true nature of their mission. The other weapons on board were dummies, ensuring that the crew remained oblivious to the actual stakes of the exercise.

The submarine fleet quietly slipped away from the waters off the coast of Runepolis, leaving behind no trace that could alert Holy Mirishial's patrol ships to their presence.

Outside Civilized areas, Royal Capital Jin-Hark, Royal Castle, Kingdom of Louria

The morning sun rose over the Kingdom of Louria, a day marked by the ongoing diplomatic efforts of the United States. On the rooftop of the royal castle, several solar panels, provided by a United Nations initiative, gleamed under the sunlight. Alongside them was a Starlink device, installed by Elon Musk's company, pointed directly towards the Starlink satellite network. Under the United Nations' technology transfer laws, no nation was allowed access to technologies that could pose a danger to Earth or its inhabitants. However, the gifting or purchasing of civilian products was permitted, provided the recipient nation was deemed friendly.

Inside the castle, several rooms were dedicated to the administrative workings of the kingdom. The Emperor himself had commissioned a grand library within the castle's walls, containing critical texts on various aspects of social and civil life. Access to this library was restricted to members of the royal family and those closely associated with the king—key figures such as Essen and Lehrer were no exceptions.

At present, both were engrossed in the use of a remarkable device: a laptop provided by the Chinese company Xiaomi. With international versions of the software installed and following instructions on its use, they were navigating the vast expanse of information available on Google, reading in Hebrew. In the past few days, they had unearthed a wealth of fascinating and useful knowledge.

"Although Earthlings aren't exactly extraordinary, they do seem to place a high value on education, don't they?" Lehrer mused.

"Why don't you search for more information on their education systems?" Essen suggested. Lehrer quickly navigated to Wikipedia pages, appreciating their convenience and speed.

"Hmm... 'Education shapes a nation.' This is an ideal that Louria should aspire to. Just imagine how capable our future generations could become. Even Holy Mirishial doesn't have such comprehensive education systems, though theirs are reserved for government officials."

"Indeed, the purpose of education is to eradicate illiteracy and propel societal development. We need legal frameworks, visionary leadership, and above all, technological advancements..."

"Yes, that's the challenge, at least for now. The Western nations have made significant strides in education. We might find some useful insights from Quila, where a country from the West, Australia, has its headquarters. Let's search for information on that nation."

Lehrer quickly typed the name of the country into the search bar, clicking on images to view their cities. For both men, examining cityscapes was the quickest way to gauge a nation's level of civilization.

"The Commonwealth of Australia... their cities have numerous glass skyscrapers, cleanly planned urban areas... Their education must be advanced. Clicks on Australia's education history... Fascinating. They had globally renowned universities back on Earth, attracting many international students. We may have found a valuable resource."

"Compared to the pressure-driven education systems of China and some other nations, this seems more aligned with our goals, though still more manageable than India's system. I believe this is the model we should aim for. After all, we need their investments and expertise to build an educational framework for Louria."

"Exactly. Compared to the nations of Elysia, Earth's countries are far more generous. Speaking of which, is there any recent addition to the royal family?" Essen inquired.

"I believe the Emperor's wife recently had a child, about two years old. Why do you ask?" Lehrer replied, puzzled by Essen's line of questioning.

"Imagine sending that child to Australia to live and study until they're grown, then bringing them back to help build our nation. Immersing them in their education system could rapidly accelerate the development of Louria's education."

"Instead of sending just one, we should consider sending a group of royally chosen children. But we don't even know if the Australian government would agree to such a plan."

"Considering that, I believe there's a chance they would allow it. But we should ensure these children learn and adapt to English—a language somewhat similar to Muan but widely used among Earth nations. And remember, nothing comes for free, not even from Australia," Lehrer noted, recognizing the strategic importance of English.

"Yes, making English our second language would be crucial... They're certainly more reasonable than the greedy Parpaldia Empire. Those exploiters have been siphoning off our energy resources, giving us only scraps in return, and we had to learn their language for almost nothing in exchange. Their downfall will come," Essen sneered, his disdain for the Parpaldia Empire evident.

"As for Australia, we'll begin discussions on education with them for the future of Louria. Additionally, we must upgrade our infrastructure to support the nation's development, and the Emperor must surely agree," Lehrer stated with firm resolve.

Both men shared a hopeful vision of a future where the Kingdom of Louria would emerge as a developed nation. As Lehrer continued to explore the internet, they stumbled upon shocking news. "Look at this! The United States has just established diplomatic relations with Holy Mirishial!"

"When did this happen? Isn't that a bit too fast?" Essen remarked.

"This laptop is truly a marvel. We can access any information from anywhere with such ease. Not even Holy Mirishial has anything this magical," Lehrer praised, clearly impressed by the technology.

Nouasseur Air Base,  Kingdom of Morocco, Africa continent.

In the command room of the air force base, tensions were palpable as senior leaders convened following what was undeniably the most chaotic battle in Morocco's military history. The base commander, alongside the participating squadron, had just engaged in fierce combat against the Holy Mirishial Air and Naval Forces.

"After that battle, I was utterly stunned by the sheer disarray in our ranks. Even more disgraceful was seeing our limited F-5s riddled with bullets from an enemy clearly inferior. What is this, are you all Shia militants?" the commander spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

"We apologize for our carelessness, sir!" one of the pilots stammered, visibly shaken.

"Apologies? Apologies won't cut it!" The commander's fury was palpable. "Do you not grasp the situation we're in? We're in a new world, cut off from the United States by an ocean, and our spare parts are not infinite! These resources belong to the people! Can any of you afford to pay for the damage you've caused? Do you understand the explanations I now owe to the royal family?"

The commander's eyes narrowed as he continued, "If it weren't for your reckless, disorganized behavior, this disgraceful incident wouldn't have happened! You've turned our mission to protect the homeland into a global laughingstock for every air force in the world!"

The harsh reprimand from the Air Chief Marshal (ACM) left the pilots in a stunned silence. Beneath their quiet exteriors, some worried about being expelled from the air force, others about their tarnished reputations, and still others feared losing their careers altogether.

A moment later, an officer approached, breaking the tense silence. "Colonel, we have an urgent request to transport supplies to the temporary prisoner of war detention center."

"What are you talking about? Isn't the army responsible for that?" the commander replied, his frustration clear.

"Apologies for the sudden request, sir, but this is an emergency. The southern command has requested air transport to deliver supplies to the designated location. We're dealing with a large number of prisoners, and we need the appropriate equipment to manage and secure them."

The commander sighed, recognizing the weight of the situation. "Alright, give me that request form. And get these pilots out of my sight for now," he ordered, dismissing the squadron.

"Follow me," the officer instructed, leading the chastened pilots away, leaving the commander to focus on the next critical mission for the Royal Moroccan Air Force.

"The army is dealing with several thousand prisoners, so they've set up detention camps in the southern region, near the borders with Algeria and Western Sahara. They're in urgent need of supplies to prevent any potential escapes and to strengthen border security. The Ministry of Defense has also been reviewing the implications of moving the prisoners so close to these volatile borders," the officer explained.

Relations between Morocco and Algeria, along with Western Sahara, had been strained since the Cold War, with the constant threat of armed clashes along their shared borders. Nonetheless, the government had decided to relocate the Holy Mirishial prisoners to the arid southern regions, where they could be more easily controlled, alleviating pressure on the existing prison facilities.

"In addition, to facilitate the transport of these prisoners arriving from Casablanca's port, an airstrip has been hastily constructed in the southern desert. It's capable of handling C-130 transport planes, ensuring that Western peacekeeping forces can also provide support."

The Air Chief Marshal considered the situation for a moment before replying, "I see the effort they're making. Relay my authorization to deploy two transport planes to supply the army with the necessary materials. Ensure they can complete at least eight missions a day with capacity to spare."

Southern Desert Region, Sovereign Territory, Kingdom of Morocco

As the scorching sun began to set over the near-Saharan desert, casting long shadows across the barren landscape, a man stood near the runway, holding a pair of binoculars, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. A soldier, wearing a beret, approached him slowly and saluted with the precision of military discipline. The man, a general with the Southern Command, returned the salute, a subtle acknowledgment of respect for his subordinate.

"General, we have an urgent request for supplies in sectors one and three. The equipment for the prisoners is running critically low. When can we expect the airlifted reinforcements?" the soldier asked, his tone heavy with the gravity of the situation.

The detention facilities were overwhelmed, struggling to manage the increasing number of prisoners. The military's supplies were rapidly depleting, forcing them to cram the Holy Mirishial prisoners into overcrowded cells. This situation had only fueled the growing resentment among the captives.

"Your timing is impeccable, Lieutenant. Look over there, beyond the horizon. Tell me, what do you see?" the general said, pointing towards the sky. The lieutenant followed his gaze, his eyes widening in surprise.

Far off on the horizon, a desert-camouflaged aircraft appeared, bearing the flag of the Royal Moroccan Air Force. It was the first C-130 transport plane, its distinctive propeller hum announcing its arrival. The aircraft's lights cut through the encroaching dusk as it descended towards the makeshift airstrip.

A cloud of sand billowed up as the powerful C-130 touched down, the force of its descent stirring the desert dust before it gradually came to a halt. The sight left nearby Holy Mirishial soldiers in awe; their own air force had nothing that could rival the size and capability of this aircraft.

A convoy of armed military trucks moved swiftly toward the runway to meet the C-130. As the transport's cargo bay slowly opened, soldiers began unloading the crates, working with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine to transfer them onto the waiting trucks.

"We've got firearms, shields, electric batons, and small reconnaissance drones. Is there anything else we're missing?" one soldier asked as they inventoried the supplies.

"It's all here, and we've got more than enough MREs for the entire force. Additionally, we're expecting a shipment of aid from the U.S. military soon," another soldier responded.

As night fell, the newly constructed prison camp—erected just days earlier—began to fill with Holy Mirishial prisoners of war. They gathered around the tables, eager to receive the meals prepared by the Muslim chefs. Hunger gnawed at them, and those who arrived late found themselves sitting on the ground, as the tables quickly became overcrowded.

"What's on the menu tonight?" a young soldier asked his officer as they lined up for food.

"We've got Maakouka, a traditional Moroccan dish of crispy fried mashed potatoes. This is the first time I've had potatoes prepared this way," the officer replied.

The young man's face lit up with surprise. "Crispy mashed potatoes? My grandmother used to make something similar back in our Holy Mirishial village. I can still remember the taste—it was delicious."

"You've got fond memories with your grandmother, huh? Well, let's focus on getting our food first," the officer said, nudging the young man forward.

A Moroccan Marine officer then strode to the center of the dining area and raised his voice to address the prisoners, "The United States of America has established diplomatic relations with Holy Mirishial. A prisoner exchange is expected to take place next month!"

"Sir, what is the United States?" a bewildered sailor asked, his confusion apparent.

The Holy Mirishial officer, slightly amused by the sailor's ignorance, replied, "You really don't know? They're a nation that once ventured to the Rodenius continent."

The announcement sparked a wave of murmurs and discussions among the prisoners, with some expressing skepticism and disbelief.

"In due time, some of you who served in the Royal forces will be returning home. Do not despair; eventually, you will all be sent back," the Moroccan officer attempted to reassure the prisoners.

Then, with a stern expression, he continued, "But make no mistake, there are no graves here for you. Be grateful for the provisions we've provided, and start eating."

A simple bowl of potatoes was served to each prisoner. Many soldiers grumbled about the food, but a few, resigned to their status as captives, accepted it without complaint. Despite its simplicity, the hot and fragrant dish brought a surprising sense of warmth and comfort, especially on a cold desert night.

After finishing their meals, many of the Holy Mirishial soldiers quickly retreated to their quarters to escape the biting cold of the desert. For many, this was their first experience with such harsh conditions, and the lack of adequate heating caused several to fall ill. Yet, they endured, living through the harsh realities of this foreign land, even as they were provided with the basic necessities to survive.

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