"We are an expedition in the service of His Majesty King Baruch III! We do not wish to cause you harm, but this city is the next destination on our journey, so we would appreciate being allowed entry!"
Whispers were the answer to Ephram's words. I couldn't hear from that distance, but the woman's voice returned, speaking in a mixture of anger and sarcasm.
"Seriously? You wouldn't be the first to try that trick! Look around you, there's nothing for you here! We already have enough trouble, so leave before I send the archers to scare you away!"
I used my binoculars to better observe the people on the walls. Some wore leather or thick fabric clothing, typical of brigadiers, with a few wearing more elaborate armor, probably serving as infantry and other combat roles.
However, most carried worn clothes, tools, and improvised weapons, probably a militia composed of the local population.
I focused on the woman arguing with the Captain Knight, analyzing her appearance. She had white hair and red horns, though the right one was missing its half.
She wore mercenary armor made of leather and metal, and supported an oversized mass—well, oversized for a Sarkaz.
"ENOUGH!"
The argument ended as soon as Buldrokkas'tee's booming voice echoed through the air. Walking towards the main gate, the Wendigo ignored the threats and faced the supposed leader of the defenses.
"I am Buldrokkas'tee, son of Rujrokkas'tee, commander of the royal army, and Jurrennas'kee, member of the Royal Court and Ancient Shaman! We do not wish to harm the people of the city, but we have a mission to fulfill! If necessary, we can assist in exchange for our entry!"
"And how will we know if you speak the truth?!"
"Tell me, how many pure-blooded Wendigos do you know?!"
There was a moment of hesitation and silence before the agitated voices returned. Clearly, she didn't want to open the gates, judging by the frustration on her face, but the people around her seemed to have a different opinion, showing hope.
"Open the gates!"
The words came out as if causing her pain, but the orders were obeyed, allowing our entry.
The gates closed immediately as soon as we passed through them, and as we advanced, we realized the extent of the damage done to the city.
The streets were filthy, as was its population, which was already in poor condition, indicating the time they had been trapped here. Buildings had recently collapsed, either from siege weapons shots or fires caused by arts.
Occasionally we encountered combatants sitting in rows on the ground, leaning against buildings while clutching their worn weapons or wounds, the most basic being bandaged arms and legs, but some were missing an eye or limbs.
They looked in our direction as we passed, revealing their bloodied and downcast faces. Morale was important during a siege, and resignation was etched on them.
It only got worse as we traversed further into the streets. We saw piles of bodies wrapped in white cloths being burned to give the dead a dignified end and prevent the spread of disease.
This didn't change the fact that there were men, women, and children weeping before the bonfire. The same was true for those before an execution platform where bodies hung in various states of decomposition, with a sign reading (Traitors) around each neck.
Apparently, the desperation of the population was enough for some to ally themselves with the enemy. Eventually, we arrived at the location indicated to us, a section of the city that was a combination of dilapidated buildings and brown tents.
We dismounted our wagons and mounts, feeling several eyes staring intently at us with concern and curiosity, hearing their barely contained whispers.
"Great! More mouths to feed!"
"Aren't they knights? Did the King send help?"
"Please, tell me they're healers!"
I looked away, feeling my stomach sink. The rest of the expedition had a similar reaction, although those with combat experience did a better job of hiding it.
We waited near the larger tent, the one I suppose was used to develop military strategies and plans, and it wasn't long before the woman from before arrived, escorted by a small force.
"Well, I wasn't expecting this, you really are who you say you are."
She looked us up and down, making sure to judge each of us.
"Considering what you've been through, I understand the reason for your distrust."
Buldrokkas'tee replied, joining Ephram and offering a handshake to the woman. She hesitated, raising an eyebrow before accepting, doing the same with the Captain.
"You already know my name."
"My name is Ephram, Captain of the Knights."
"Since we're introducing ourselves, I'm Tis'adel, former mercenary pulled out of retirement and leader of the defenses and this band of misfits."
Considering her words, I thought she seemed older, but judging by how long Sarkaz lives, it will be a while before the signs of age appear.
"Alright, now that we finally meet, let's get straight to the point. What's happening here?"
The Captain asked, finally getting to the main subject.
"Honestly, it's more stupid than it looks. Two warlords are claiming to be descendants of the legendary founder of this city, but the local population refuses to kneel and the lords hate each other, constantly trying to kill each other while laying siege to the city. What you're seeing is the result of months of battle."
"And you never thought of asking the capital for help?"
"Ha, that was one of the first things we did, but we never got a response. Maybe the messenger was intercepted, killed, or ran away, or maybe the arrogant nobles in the capital don't care what happens to us commoners."
There were a series of agitated nods and murmurs from the surrounding population, most cursing the king and the court, to the point that punishment for such an action was not considered the worst fate.
"Hm… I understand, and I suppose you are a local inhabitant and the most experienced in combat, and consequently, the best to lead the defense."
"You learn quickly."
She sent a mocking smile, delighting in provoking our knightly friend.
Sighing, Ephram requested a more detailed explanation of the situation, something Tis'adel had no problem giving, offering that the matter be discussed in her tent with the other high-ranking defenders.
And so they did, followed by Buldrokkas'tee, leaving the expedition protected by the remaining knights.
Since our entry was based on an agreement, I think it best to do my part, but first of all, I sought out one of the Liches, finding the old man from before, Dovev, I believe.
"What exactly did we come looking for?"
The Lich looked around for a moment before asking me to lean down and whispered in my ear.
"The tomb of the legendary founder the former mercenary mentioned, Berakhiah Stein, the Traveler. Whether he exists or not is another story."
I nodded in understanding, searching for curious eyes and ears, but everything seemed normal, as normal as a city under siege could be.
I soon found Warfarin, already heading towards the tents where the wounded were kept after asking a few questions. I quickened my pace, walking beside her as we approached our destination.
"This is a waste of life."
The tone in her voice was one of disgust, and I couldn't agree more.
"No matter how peaceful or distant a place is, there will always be someone wanting to become king, Warfarin. And there will always be people suffering from someone's desires for conquest."
Her expression soured, but she didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the path ahead. We stopped before our objective minutes later, and perhaps we had underestimated the number of wounded, for there were tents upon tents as far as the eye could see, and from each one, groans and cries of pain echoed.
There were healers present, whether conjurers of arts or people using normal medical techniques. This did not change the fact that the sight was terrifying.
"Get out of here, now!"
"B-but…"
A shout startled us from our stupor. Looking towards the source of the noise, we saw a man expelling another from the wounded camp. However, the more we observed, the stranger the situation became.
The man being expelled couldn't speak properly. His voice was strange, and he had an accent I'd never heard other Sarkaz speak.
I cautiously approached, noticing a peculiar detail: although he had horns, they didn't resemble those of a Sarkaz. Yes, the horns of the Kazdel people had various shapes, but the color and form in which they protruded from his head reminded me of a goat.
The threatened individual recoiled in fear when a sword was pointed at him, and as he passed by us, I glimpsed the black crystals on his body.
"I didn't expect to see a fugitive from Leithanien around here."
I turned to the vampire, seeing her suspicious expression. I ignored that fact and asked for an explanation.
"Let's put it this way, Kazdel is a vast and mostly lawless land, the perfect place for criminals, fugitives, or people who have lost everything to hide, provided they have horns of the right shape, but most fail because they don't speak the local language or can't hide their hatred for the Sarkaz."
I kept looking in the direction where the man had disappeared, but turned my back, choosing to tend to the wounded in front of me first.
"You're going to do something about him, aren't you?"
"Maybe…"
"Alden, your soft heart is going to get you into more trouble than you already are. You don't even know what that man did to end up here. What if he ends up dragging you down with him?"
"Are you saying that out of genuine concern or because he is from a enemy nation?"
She was silent for a second before answering.
"You know the history of my people. Although I don't approve war and hatred, it's hard to forget what was done to us."
"I understand, just as you warned me, allow me to warn you, this cycle of hatred will never end if the two sides continue to fight, but if you want to talk about something, I'm all ears."
I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, a gesture she returned with a smile.
"Thank you."
Then we approached the tents, speaking with the local healers and explaining our situation to them.
There was distrust, but in the end, any help was better than none. Warfarin prepared her staff and I my chime, entering the first tent and beginning our work.
The wounded lay on pieces of cloth, arranged in two rows, one on each side of the tent.
The vampire went to the left and I to the right. For a moment, I looked at the people on the ground, most lost in pain, but there were those who returned my gaze with confusion or a silent plea for the suffering to end.
I raised my bell and conjured Soothing Sunlight and Bountiful Sunlight. The divine sigils appeared on the ground, causing an area effect, and what I expected happened: all the wounds disappeared, and severed parts grew back.
I stepped away from the stunned group, pausing for a moment when I heard something crackling beneath my boot. Looking at the ground, I saw flowers, grass, and roots sprouting from the gray tile floor.
It wasn't the first time this had happened; my miracles heal everything within their reach, everything including the soil, but without proper care, this won't last forever, I think.
"If things continue like this, I'll end up unemployed."
Warfarin laughed as we walked to the next tent.
"You're exaggerating, you can never have too many healers, and those with your level of skill are rare."
"Stop, you're making me blush."
She nudged me lightly, failing to move me from my spot.
"But being serious now, how, in the name of the spirits, do you do this? Your arts heal practically everything! Regenerating arms and legs would drain the healer's energy and the patient's body nutrients to the point of being lethal!"
"Hm…"
"Let me guess, it's a secret?"
"Not exactly, but I don't know how to explain it in a way you'll understand."
How do I explain that every time I conjure a miracle, I'm channeling a fraction of a God's power through my faith in the tales and prayers recited in my mind?
Would it even be possible for Terrans to learn miracles? If so, I would have to introduce a new belief system and make them genuinely believe in gods they've never heard of. I already feel like the leader of a cult.
"How about this, I explain how the healing arts work and you try to explain how your arts work from there?"
"Right, maybe another person's point of view will help me define them."
"Great, to start…"
Then we began a long conversation about the healing arts throughout the process of caring for the wounded.
The subject genuinely interested me, but inwardly, I used the information I learned to formulate a plausible answer to Warfarin's question.
-In the Distant Future-
"Grandpa, what place is this?"
A young Sarkaz with black hair and curved horns asked the man in front of him as they walked through a dense forest. He ran to keep up with the tall man, stumbling slightly under the weight of his backpack.
The trees rose like towers, bearing a variety of fruits, grassy hills stretched into the distance, mixed with flowery fields of various colors. Animals were abundant, from the colorful birds in the sky, the varied fish in the rivers, to the various wandering beasts.
The man, an elderly lumberjack who somewhat resembled the young boy, with an axe resting on his shoulder, chuckled at the child's curiosity.
"People call this place the Living Forest."
"And why is that?"
The old man glanced amusedly at the boy before stopping in front of a tree, examining it for a moment before striking it with his axe.
There was a crack followed by flying wood chips, but as soon as the man pulled the tool away, a golden glow appeared in the area struck, and when it disappeared, there was no more damage.
The child's eyes widened, shifting focus as his grandfather took a deep breath, channeling his arts into the axe before continuing his work.
"This entire forest, it's alive in the most literal sense. The plants move and grow as they please, deforested areas heal, animals reproduce rapidly, and the soil never runs out of nutrients and ores. When the news spread, there was no shortage of people wanting to take full advantage of the place, only for the forest to fight back. Bushes grew arms and legs, golems emerged from the ground, vines moved like snakes, and much more. The king had to heavily regulate the entry and exit of people and the extraction of resources. It's as if the forest understands that people need to take something from it to survive, but if they try to take more than necessary, it will defend itself. This didn't stop other nations from trying to seize the territory during the Crusades, however, it didn't end well for them."
The old man pointed to something in the distance, and his grandson half-closed his eyes, recoiling in surprise as he realized that the thing in the distance wasn't a mountain, but rather a land ship of Ursus covered in massive roots and vegetation.
"This is just one of many. If you're lucky, you'll find a steam knight rusting away somewhere."
With a final blow, the tree fell, and with absurd strength, the old man dragged it away.
"Did you fight in the Crusades, Grandpa?"
The child asked as he followed him.
"Oh, if I fight? I was part of the elite. You may not believe me, but I was an Abyssal Knight!"
He raised his hand, and a mass of darkness surged in his palm, slightly distorting reality.
"You're kidding! Seriously?!"
"Yes, would you like to hear some stories?"
"You bet, how did you become an Abyssal Knight?!"
"Well, I was seriously wounded during a battle and may have hit my head, because in a moment of anger and madness, I made an absurd request to a red-haired sorcerer…"
END OF CHAPTER