Carine Forest — Rear Battlements
Sous and Adrean arrived at full speed.
And immediately stopped.
Because the rear lines no longer resembled a battlefield.
They resembled an execution ground.
Entire sections of earth still burned.
White fire rolled across trenches and barricades.
The ground itself had been torn open.
Thousands of black roots littered the landscape.
Most had been burned.
Others had been crushed.
Many still twitched.
Heavy steel barricades divided the battlefield into isolated sectors.
Each sector held piles of blackened corpses.
Some human.
Some not.
Many impossible to distinguish.
Rows of Banes moved methodically through the ruins.
Not fighting.
Inspecting.
Whenever a root moved—
It was destroyed immediately.
Whenever a corpse twitched—
It was crushed.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
No emotion.
The operation looked less like warfare and more like sanitation.
Adrean's eyes widened.
"What happened here?!"
No one answered immediately.
Because nobody really knew where to start.
Then Darian pointed toward the battlements.
"Ask him."
Atop the wall—
Logos sat in his chair.
Watching.
As though none of this was unusual.
Sous and Adrean followed Darian's gaze.
Then looked back toward the devastation.
The realization struck almost immediately.
This wasn't recent.
The barricades.
The artillery positions.
The containment sectors.
The designated burn zones.
Everything had been prepared beforehand.
Not improvised.
Planned.
Adrean's expression hardened.
"Logos."
The Black Baron looked down.
"Yes?"
Adrean pointed toward the devastation.
"You knew this would happen."
Not a question.
A statement.
Logos blinked once.
"I was expecting it. These things do look like roots."
Silence.
The answer somehow made it worse.
Sous frowned.
"You never told us."
"I did."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes."
Logos pointed toward the forest.
"I informed everyone that the parasites were infectious, adaptive, and capable of preserving host functionality after death."
A pause.
"What part of that made you think they would not burrow underground to attack the flanks?"
"You think that justifies burning sixty of our own men?!"
Darian's voice thundered across the battlements.
"It seems you do not understand they were already dead," Logos replied.
"Liar!"
Darian stepped forward.
"Only twenty-five of them showed signs of corruption!"
His hammer struck the stone parapet.
The impact cracked it.
"We could have saved the rest if you were not so hasty!"
Silence followed.
Not because people agreed.
Because everyone had wondered the same thing.
Church knights.
Cardinals.
Prateras.
Even some of the Banes had slowed their movements.
Waiting.
Watching.
Logos looked at Darian.
"Alright then."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Explain how."
Silence.
The battlefield seemed quieter somehow.
Not because the fighting had stopped.
Because everyone was listening.
Darian opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Because anger was easy.
Answers were harder.
Logos rose from his chair.
Not dramatically.
Simply standing.
Yet dozens of eyes followed him immediately.
"You said we could save them."
His gaze remained fixed on Darian.
"Explain the procedure."
No answer.
Logos continued.
"How do you identify infected individuals before symptoms manifest?"
Nothing.
"How do you separate exposed personnel from unexposed personnel?"
Silence.
Logos nodded once.
"As expected."
Darian glared at him.
He wanted to argue.
He wanted to call it cruelty.
He wanted to call it murder.
Then he looked toward the burning containment sectors.
And remembered the thing that had crawled from a Cardinal's mouth.
The memory refused to cooperate with his anger.
The Arch-Prelate arrived a few moments later.
Golden light still shimmered faintly around his armor.
The old priest surveyed the devastation.
Then his eyes settled on Logos.
"Your logic is sound, Baron—"
"Hold a moment. If you are here, who is at the front?"
Logos interrupted.
"Mind your tongue," one of the Church knights snapped.
"Give an answer, or I will have yours," Logos replied.
"No need for that," the Arch-Prelate said, raising a hand. "The saturation of divine mana has forced the creatures back. The soldiers are currently falling back in formation."
Logos turned toward the battlefield, examining the field.
Bal was almost done with the extermination.
Logos sighed.
"My apologies for the outburst."
He bowed slightly.
"It is alright," the Arch-Prelate said. "A little extra alertness is never unappreciated."
A pause.
"Now, may I ask?"
Logos nodded.
"Yes."
"How many would have died otherwise?"
Everyone looked toward Logos.
The young baron answered immediately.
"Unknown."
A pause.
"Minimum estimate: several thousand."
Another pause.
"Worst case estimate: no survivors."
Nobody spoke.
Because suddenly—
Sixty sounded very acceptable.
"Alright," Adrean said, stepping out of his armor. "You will suffer no repercussions for the sixty soldiers."
"The Church will not prosecute either," the Arch-Prelate added.
"My thanks to you both," Logos replied.
"However—"
Adrean rubbed his forehead.
"Your ignorance of other people's emotions and your tendency to keep secrets is a serious problem."
"Are you talking about the lack of explanation or the supposed cruelty?" Logos asked as he stepped down from the battlements.
"The fact that you do not know which one I mean is exactly the problem."
A few nearby soldiers winced.
Because that one landed.
For a moment—
Logos actually paused.
Interesting.
The Arch-Prelate noticed immediately.
Adrean continued.
"Do you know what most soldiers saw?"
He gestured toward the burning containment sectors.
"They saw their comrades trapped behind barricades."
"They saw white fire."
"They heard screaming."
His eyes narrowed.
"They did not see your models."
"They did not see your infection estimates."
"They did not see your casualty projections."
A pause.
"They only saw men die."
The battlefield grew quiet.
Even Sous said nothing.
Logos looked toward the burning sectors.
Rows of exhausted soldiers stood beyond the containment lines.
Watching.
Some looked angry.
Some looked relieved.
Some looked numb.
One Cardinal sat beside a stretcher, staring at the ground.
A broken helmet rested in his lap.
He had not moved in several minutes.
Then—
"That is unfortunate."
Adrean's eye twitched.
"Unfortunate?"
"Yes."
Logos folded his hands behind his back.
"I should have given more information to the wider army. I did not, because it could have triggered a rout."
"What do you mean, the wider army?" Adrean asked.
"Allow me to explain," Kleber said, stepping forward. "Lord Logos gave us the instructions for what to expect. We were told not to share it because most of it was speculation."
Adrean frowned.
"Then why was everyone not informed?"
Kleber sighed heavily.
"Because most of it was speculation."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"And because some of those possibilities were bad enough to start a panic."
"Explain."
The order came from Sous.
Logos took out his notebook and read aloud.
"Theory number eight: the specimens' use of dialect indicates a remnant of intelligence. As such, the information should be shared sparsely to avoid providing it with intelligence."
Darian's jaw tightened.
"Just because of that, you think it gave you the right to kill our men?"
The accusation echoed across the battlements.
Around them, soldiers had begun gathering.
Not enough to be called a crowd.
Enough to listen.
Enough to judge.
The burning containment zones still illuminated the rear lines.
The smell of smoke and scorched flesh lingered in the air.
Logos closed the notebook.
"No."
Darian blinked.
The answer had come too quickly.
Too simply.
"No?"
"No."
Logos looked toward the burning sectors.
"The possibility that the creatures retained intelligence did not justify killing them."
His gaze shifted.
"The infection did."
Silence.
"The two are unrelated variables."
Several nearby officers exchanged glances.
Because that sounded exactly like Logos.
Darian looked ready to argue again.
But this time the Arch-Prelate spoke first.
"Continue."
Logos nodded.
"The infection demonstrated four dangerous characteristics."
He raised one finger.
"Adaptive mutation."
A second.
"Host replacement."
A third.
"Independent survival."
A fourth.
"Subterranean propagation."
The battlefield remained still.
"The moment I confirmed the fourth trait, containment became mandatory."
He pointed toward the ruined battlefield.
"If those roots reached the central formations, every casualty would become another infection source."
His expression remained unchanged.
"If they reached the supply camps, the wounded, the engineers, or the artillery crews…"
A pause.
"The battle would be lost."
Darian frowned.
"And you are certain of that?"
"No."
That answer caught everyone off guard.
Again.
Logos folded his hands behind his back.
"I was operating under incomplete information."
Adrean narrowed his eyes.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it is true."
The young baron looked toward the forest.
"I did not know how quickly infection spread."
"I did not know how many carriers existed."
"I did not know whether the roots could reproduce independently."
A pause.
"I still do not."
Sous's voice was calm.
"You were correct."
"And I still dislike it."
Logos blinked.
"Those are not contradictory statements."
Several Cardinals lowered their eyes.
They understood.
That was the problem.
Understanding did not make the memory of the screams easier.
Understanding did not bring back the men behind the barricades.
That settled heavily over the gathering.
Because uncertainty made everything worse.
Not better.
The Arch-Prelate studied him quietly.
Not as a priest.
Not as a theologian.
But as a commander.
Because sixty years of war had taught him one simple truth:
Perfect information did not exist.
Decisions still had to be made.
"Then why were you willing to act?"
Logos looked genuinely confused.
"We are preparing for war with Faros."
Silence.
"Did all of you forget?"
Nobody answered.
Logos continued.
"A commander who gambles with a hundred lives during peacetime is reckless."
His gaze moved across the burning containment sectors.
"A commander who gambles with thousands during wartime is incompetent."
"You keep explaining the decision."
The Arch-Prelate looked toward the gathered soldiers.
"You never explain the fear that led to it."