After finishing his meal, Michael stood to enjoy a cup of tea when a soldier came rushing toward him, looking panicked.
"Sir! A situation, sir!"
The soldier was unfamiliar to Michael.
"I—I went to fetch water and saw something strange in the forest. A group of fanatics performing a ritual!"
"Are you certain?" Michael asked, his tone sharp.
"Yes, sir! They were definitely fanatics. Their faces were painted red, and they were dancing. I saw it clearly!"
Michael scrutinized the soldier. He was a bald man with a well-fed appearance, his head flushed red with excitement, his lips glistening with saliva as he spoke.
"Hmm. I see. Were there many of them?"
"No, sir. Just a few. If you send the knights, they'll be easy to handle!"
Michael's interest faded. So, there really were forces foolish enough to use such incompetent spies.
The soldiers of the Fifth Legion had long been trained to speak with precise responses. The bald man's clumsy attempt at subterfuge only solidified Michael's suspicion.
Sending knights into the forest now, in response to such a dubious report, was too convenient a trap.
"Well done," Michael said, feigning approval. "You've earned your reward. Kneel."
The bald man obeyed, kneeling before Michael. With a subtle signal, Michael gestured to Julian and Alex, who quickly bound and gagged the man before he could utter a sound.
Once the spy was secured, Michael issued orders to the camp.
"All units, prepare for defense! Soldiers, form a defensive square around the wagons and stay vigilant. We will maintain this formation as we move."
If the enemy intended to lure them into the forest, it was imperative to secure their position and leave the area as quickly as possible. In war, seizing the advantageous ground was always the priority.
From his hiding spot in the underbrush, Xenon waited for the knights to charge into the forest. His plan was to rescue them from the chaos and emerge as a hero.
But as time passed, no one came.
"What... what is going on?" Xenon muttered, baffled by the turn of events.
The priest of the Lumina Church, Paolo, who had accompanied Xenon on this mission, felt like he was at the end of his rope.
The boy named Michael seemed far too timid to be coaxed into the forest. At first glance, Michael had appeared inexperienced and young—someone who would easily take the bait and rush in. Paolo had been certain he would leap at the chance to claim glory.
Who could have predicted that this cowardly boy would refuse an opportunity to make a name for himself?
Initially, Xenon, the captain of the Holy Knights, had been pleased with the plan and confident in its success. But as time dragged on, his face darkened, eventually turning crimson with rage.
Six hours had passed since Paolo had used the blood sigil to incite the fanatics into a frenzy. For those six hours, the priests had danced themselves to exhaustion. Many of the frenzied fanatics now teetered on the edge of collapse, their bodies giving out under the strain of the life-force-draining rituals.
Paolo glanced at the fanatics, their veins rupturing from the strain, and felt like crying. He couldn't let this continue any longer.
Magic that drained vitality always carried consequences. These fanatics would soon fall dead if nothing changed.
Paolo hesitated, torn between waiting or launching a direct attack on the supply unit.
Drawing the enemy into the advantageous terrain of the forest seemed impossible now. The enemy numbered 1,200. Attacking with 300 fanatics in the forest against a smaller group of knights was one thing, but confronting a combined force of knights and soldiers on open ground would be suicide.
If the supply unit prevailed, any reinforcements arriving later would seem opportunistic rather than heroic. Paolo had no desire to risk his life under such circumstances.
But retreating now would mean abandoning the frenzied fanatics. What would happen to them? Was he supposed to bury all 300 of them in the forest, having accomplished nothing?
While he wrestled with his options, the decision was taken out of his hands.
Xenon stormed over, unable to contain his frustration any longer.
"Brother Paolo, what is the meaning of this? Your 'brilliant' plan has backfired and left us stuck here! What will you do if these fanatics lose control and die on the spot? Take responsibility now! Set those wretched fanatics ablaze and use them to inflict damage! There are supplies and fodder stockpiled with the enemy—why haven't you considered using fire? Or is it that you value your miserable life too much to act? Fool! If you don't want me to kill you myself, charge at them now!"
Paolo felt a wave of injustice wash over him. It was Xenon who had come up with the plan in the first place; he had only added a few details to flesh it out.
But who could argue against the one holding the higher rank?
"A hypocrite through and through! May the gods curse him!" Paolo cursed silently, though he was in no position to criticize. After all, he had been instrumental in turning ordinary villagers into fanatics.
When one's own life was on the line, however, perspectives changed.
Forced to charge at the enemy, Paolo cursed his fate. I should have just launched a direct attack! At least then I wouldn't have to die!
The fanatics, their expressions blank, doused themselves with oil. Once they exited the forest, they would set themselves alight.
Leading the charge, tears streaming down his face, Paolo sprinted ahead, drenched in holy oil. But what greeted him left him stunned.
The enemy, whom he had expected to remain huddled defensively, was nowhere to be seen.
Why had he assumed they would stay in place?
As Paolo and Xenon waited futilely for the enemy to approach, the supply unit had long since departed.
Paolo turned to retreat, but it was too late. Around him, human torches began to ignite. The fanatics, having left the forest, were setting themselves on fire.
"No! Stop! Don't come near me! No!!!"
The fanatics—no, the brainwashed villagers—advanced toward Paolo, their bodies engulfed in flames.
Whether their actions were driven by revenge or madness, they smiled as they burned, advancing toward the man who had destroyed their simple lives.