From a distance, Xenon watched Paolo et his fiery end. He dusted off his sleeves and turned away.
"What a fool," he muttered.
This simple task had been completely botched. Xenon had hoped to appear as a hero, celebrated and admired. Instead, this failure would mar the Lumina Church's century-long plan, one centered on the power of the blood sigil.
His fury grew as he recalled the young commander of the supply unit. That impudent brat!
Xenon seethed at the thought of having been outmaneuvered. The inability to deploy wyverns for reconnaissance while hiding in the forest had cost him dearly. Had he been able to use them, this humiliation could have been avoided.
Drawing a holy sign and composing himself, Xenon began gathering his comrades to devise their next move.
"All glory to Lumina!"
"All glory to Lumina!"
"Let there be light!"
anwhile, Michael continued advancing his wagons, maintaining a square formation and keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings. The entire supply convoy had long since left the forest behind.
Far behind them, smoke rose from where the spy had been captured.
Of course they'd resort to fire, Michael thought, noting the large quantities of food and fodder the enemy had likely set ablaze. He praised his own quick thinking for avoiding the ambush and pressed on.
There was no ti to concern himself with the knights who had gone raiding. He had left a trail marked with spices for the Great Worm to follow, ensuring they could catch up.
Knowing there were enemies on their tail, Michael focused on finding a suitable location to establish a defensive position. In war, securing advantageous ground was paramount.
Before long, they found the perfect site for a stronghold.
It was a natural fortress, surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs, with only one narrow entry point.
Michael quickly gave orders for the soldiers to begin fortifying the area.
The first task was to fell nearby trees to create a wooden barrier. The strong wooden walls would encircle the camp, providing much-needed protection.
The soldiers moved efficiently, following Michael's instructions with precision. The chaotic, undisciplined group they had once been was a distant mory.
Finally, Michael instructed the soldiers to build a watchtower slightly taller than the barricades, using earth and wood at the cliff's edge. From there, they could monitor the surrounding area and anticipate any attacks.
The watchtower was intended to monitor enemy movents and, if necessary, fire arrows. By the ti darkness fell, the fortress was nearly complete.
Michael ordered the soldiers to rest and ensured they were well-fed. The soldiers ate hurriedly, their faces resolute.
Having pushed and pulled wagons together, they had forged strong camaraderie. Once rely comrades-in-arms, they now trusted one another like brothers.
After finishing his al, Michael climbed the watchtower to survey the camp. Satisfied with the orderliness, he instructed his squire, Alex, to bring the bald spy captured earlier in the day.
Albert, the forr bandit turned fanatic priest, was dragged in, bound and bent awkwardly like a shrimp. His face was a ss of tears and snot, and though he tried to scream, the gag reduced his cries to incoherent sounds.
With a calm deanor, Michael directed that Albert be tied to a chair. Then, he began pulling tools out of his bag one by one.
Finally, the lessons Michael's grandfather had taught him as a child—how to use pliers—would co in handy. Although he hadn't directly learned these techniques, the mories were clear. What difference did it make, anyway? He carried the sa soul, didn't he?
Humming a tune, Michael took out a pair of pliers, wire cutters, a hamr, a soldering iron, and a hook, laying them out in an orderly manner.
Albert squird in his bindings. Why is this knight smiling? Why is he humming? And why are torture tools spilling out of his bag?!
With a pleased expression, Michael picked up the hook. Albert, realizing he was about to be hoisted by his collarbone and hung from the ceiling, struggled desperately.
"Please! I'll tell you everything! Just take the gag off! Shouldn't you ask questions before you start torturing ? Isn't that the proper order of things?"
Michael paused, realizing he hadn't started with questions.
"Ah, my apologies. It's my first ti, and I got a little carried away. So, what should I ask first?"
The mont the gag was removed, Albert began babbling at high speed, terrified the smiling knight might gag him again.
"Everything! I'll tell you everything! Please, just spare ! I'm from Sorel, a domain on the western edge of the Kingdom of Lania. My father and mother died in a war with the neighboring domain when I was a child..."
Albert's lengthy personal history soon turned into a ramble. But when Michael's gaze grew sharp and impatient, Albert quickly got to the point.
"After that, I beca a bandit and lived well enough until one day, this guy Leonardo showed up. He said he was starting so religion and... uh, his subordinate, I think his na was Orpheus or sothing—the sub-priest—anyway..."
Michael sighed. So much for testing the pliers handed down through generations. He hadn't even had a chance to squeeze a single finger, and Albert was already spilling his secrets like a flood.
"So, after Leonardo disappeared, the sub-priest ordered you to travel with the Holy Knights? Are you certain they're Holy Knights?"
"Yes, yes! Without a doubt. I grew up in a temple of the Lumina Church, so I can recognize their armor and insignias anywhere. Those knights are definitely from the Lumina Church."
"Hmm..."
Michael nodded. The story was plausible. From the blood sigil's appearance to the Holy Nation's swift involvent, things had felt suspicious from the start.
Now, with Albert's testimony, Michael's suspicions were confird. This so-called fanatic uprising was a fabrication orchestrated by the Lumina Holy Nation.
Thinking of the continent's current state—where royal authority and religious power clashed—and recalling the ruined Crowley Barony and its innocent people, Michael felt a surge of anger.
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