Carine Forest — Forward Battlements
"You two should fall back."
The voice somehow carried through artillery fire, explosions, and the screams of battle.
Sous turned.
So did Adrean.
The Arch-Prelate was walking toward the front.
White armor gleamed beneath smoke and flame.
Golden scripture flowed across its surface like rivers of sunlight.
The standard of the Church rested in one hand.
The old man looked almost relaxed.
Almost.
"You have been fighting for five hours," he said calmly.
"Your attention is divided."
His gaze briefly shifted toward the rear lines.
Toward the burning containment zone.
Toward the black smoke still climbing into the sky.
"Understandably so."
Sous frowned.
"Can you handle this?"
Adrean looked equally skeptical.
"You don't even carry a weapon."
The Arch-Prelate laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"It is reassuring to know the younger generation still worries about the elderly."
Then he walked past them.
Toward the tide.
Toward the thousands of corrupted creatures still emerging from Carine Forest.
Neither hero moved immediately.
Because despite the old man's calm demeanor—
Something about him felt different.
Not dangerous.
Not powerful.
Ancient.
Like a mountain wearing human skin.
The Arch-Prelate stopped.
Raised the standard.
Then planted it into the earth.
The eight-pointed star atop the banner ignited.
Golden light exploded outward.
Scripture spread through the battlefield like roots of sunlight.
The old priest closed his eyes.
Then spoke.
"By His Holy Light..."
The battlefield seemed to pause.
Even the creatures hesitated.
Even the wind weakened.
Then—
"BEGONE."
The world erupted.
Hundreds of pillars of white radiance descended from the heavens.
Not lightning.
Not fire.
Judgment.
Entire sections of the battlefield vanished beneath holy light.
Creatures caught within it did not burn.
They unraveled.
Black roots disintegrated.
Corrupted flesh dissolved.
Nest fragments vanished into ash.
Where the radiance touched—
Nothing impure remained.
Several soldiers stopped fighting entirely.
Simply staring.
Because this wasn't battle.
This wasn't even magic.
It felt like a verdict.
One creature survived long enough to leap from the smoke.
The Arch-Prelate caught it by the throat.
The creature shrieked.
Roots exploded from its mouth.
The old man sighed.
Then tore its head off with one hand.
The body collapsed.
The roots dissolved before touching the ground.
The Arch-Prelate discarded the corpse.
Like litter.
"Many thanks," Sous said.
The old priest waved dismissively.
"Go."
Sous hesitated.
Then nodded.
Adrean followed.
"We'll return in three hours."
"Try not to die before then."
The Arch-Prelate chuckled.
"At my age, dying becomes an inconvenience rather than a concern."
That earned a laugh from Adrean.
Then both heroes departed.
Crimson and gold disappeared back into the battlefield.
The Arch-Prelate watched them leave.
Two young men.
Strong.
Capable.
Burdened.
Just as he once had been.
His smile softened.
"It seems the future is in good hands."
For a moment—
He simply stood there.
Remembering.
Sixty years of war.
Sixty years of prayer.
Sixty years of burying people younger than himself.
Then he opened his eyes.
And turned toward the endless tide.
Thousands still remained.
The old priest raised one hand.
Golden light gathered around his fingers.
The creatures slowed.
Not because they understood.
Because instinct screamed at them.
Run.
The Arch-Prelate smiled.
"Don't you agree?"
No answer.
He glanced at the approaching horde.
"Tough crowd."
Then the light condensed.
Lengthening.
Solidifying.
A whip of radiant gold appeared in his grasp.
The old priest blinked.
Then laughed softly.
"Now I understand why Lord Inquisitor enjoys this one."
The whip cracked.
The sound echoed across the battlefield like thunder.
Fifteen creatures simply ceased to exist.
Not cut.
Not shattered.
Erased.
The golden lash carved a glowing line through the battlefield hundreds of meters long.
The corrupted tide recoiled.
The Arch-Prelate stared at the weapon.
Amused.
"Hm."
He swung again.
The whip unfolded across the battlefield.
Dozens more creatures vanished.
A nest-creature in the distance lost half its body.
The remaining half collapsed moments later.
"Oh."
The old man nodded approvingly.
"I see the appeal."
The whip cracked again.
And again.
And again.
Each strike erased another section of the battlefield.
Each strike left glowing scars across the earth.
The soldiers nearby watched in stunned silence.
Because they had expected the leader of the Church.
A priest.
A scholar.
A holy man.
Instead—
They had discovered why nobody on the continent argued with him.
Far away atop the battlements—
Logos lowered his spyglass.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"The Church is stronger than expected."
Kleber stared at the distant battlefield.
"That's your conclusion?"
"What was yours?"
"That I never want to fight him."
Logos thought about that.
Then nodded.
"Reasonable."
A pause.
"He would be difficult."
Kleber nearly choked.
"Difficult?"
"Yes."
"That's the word you're choosing?"
Logos ignored him.
Because something else had caught his attention.
Far beyond the battlefield.
Far beyond the collapsing nests.
Far beyond the holy light.
Something beneath the forest was moving.
Not retreating.
Not attacking.
Moving.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As though a vast intelligence was repositioning pieces on a board.
Logos's eyes narrowed.
The smile vanished.
Interesting.
Not because it was powerful.
Not because it was dangerous.
Because it had finally reacted.
And that meant it was watching them too.