Chapter 188: Warm Light
At noon the next day, the Morning Star hung high, casting its light through the massive hole blasted open by George, spreading warm rays over the place where Holy Land Town lay.
After clearing out the Werewolves, the people of Holy Land Town, still tense with nerves, finally couldn't hold back and cheered under this warmth. Then, they directly lay on the ground, basking in the warm light, and fell into sleep.
Peaceful expressions adorned their faces, as if they had returned to the comforting embrace of a mother.
After the Wolf King had been driven away by George, most of the other Werewolves had fled. Only a few Transformed Werewolves remained to wreak havoc in the town.
Especially with the sudden downpour of the golden rain, which had greatly weakened the Werewolves. Any adult in Holy Land Town could now use a powerful crossbow to kill them.
Over the past half-year, they had gained ample experience.
It was only the sudden assault at night, with nearly half of their numbers dead or wounded, that had kept everyone's nerves stretched taut, not daring to relax. Only after being bathed in the warm glow of the Morning Star did they finally succumb to sleep.
However, while they could sleep, George, Vito, and Leo still could not. They still had matters to discuss.
Exhaustion showed on the faces of all three—they too had not slept through the night.
“The dark clouds in this region have been cleared, and with the light of the Morning Star shining down, there aren't enough Werewolves left to fill their Nation of Werewolves. So during this time, we should face less harassment from them,” said Vito.
“But last night’s attack by the Werewolves ruined our Cellar-Stored Food. They even used fire and killed the livestock in Holy Land Town.” Despite his fatigue, Vito's voice carried anger.
“That bastard Flint got off too easily, dying so quickly,” cursed Leo, then couldn’t help but yawn.
Werewolves were excellent hunters, but only when it came to hunting. Arson and destruction of supplies—these were things their minds, even if aware, were easily skewed from by bloodlust.
Therefore, for them to know so precisely where the food was stored and where the livestock pens were—it must have been Flint who told them, and very likely Flint who commanded them.
“How much reserve do we have left?” George looked at Vito and asked.
“Not exactly certain, but likely not enough to last even half a month,” said Vito.
“Looks like we’ll have to leave here. Either we follow Knight George to subjugate the Werewolves, or we lead them to Baron Belair’s territory,” said Leo, raising his voice to rouse himself. “Of course, personally, I’d prefer to follow Knight George and fight the Werewolves.”
“……” Vito thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. They’re Commoners in the end. Even if they can pick up a crossbow and kill a Werewolf, they’re still Commoners. There are also so many elders and children among them.”
“Knight George, what do you think?” Vito looked at George.
“I think you two should escort them back to York Territory,” George said without hesitation. “The southern part of the Nation of Werewolves doesn’t have many Werewolves due to me and Marl, but the north is essentially their base. If we go further beyond that, I can’t guarantee their safety.”
“And just as Warrior Vito said, they’re Commoners, not warriors.”
“If you escort them back, Vito, you alone should be enough,” said Leo. “I want to go with Knight George, and maybe we can also find traces of Captain Hode.”
“No. You need to go back too,” George refused outright.
“You both need proper rest, and with your achievements, you may be appointed as Knights by the Bishop,” he added.
George felt that if merely killing thousands of Werewolves and retrieving the Zeda Manuscript was enough to become a Knight, then the immense merit of Vito and Leo in protecting nearly two thousand humans deep within the Nation of Werewolves surely warranted the same.
His words made the other two pause, then feel tempted.
“Alright, once we gather the remaining food in Holy Land Town, Vito and I will escort them back,” said Leo.
George nodded. “You can follow the path I came by. It’ll be safer.”
Then he raised his arm, extended a finger, and closed his eyes.
Soon, a White Dove flew out and landed on his finger.
“Good child, you hid well this time,” George said with a smile, teasing the White Dove.
Fearing it might be shocked to death by battle, he had sent it off to hide as soon as fighting broke out.
A flying White Dove—unless it encountered the Wolf King—would be unthreatened by these grounded Werewolves.
“What is that?” Vito asked curiously.
“This is a White Dove, the Lord’s Messenger,” George explained simply. “It’ll guide your path and help you scout for signs of Werewolves.”
“Of course, it’s just a messenger, not a raptor, so you must protect it carefully.”
“I see…” Vito nodded.
The White Dove, understanding George’s intent, leapt from his finger, flapped its wings, and landed on Vito’s shoulder.
“Haha, looks like it doesn’t mind you,” George laughed.
“It’s very friendly,” said Vito as he looked at the White Dove.
“Yes, except with Cicero and children under sixteen,” George added.
Vito paused, but George said no more and simply added, “Alright, you two rest now. I’ll stand watch during the day.”
“Uh…” Vito hesitated.
“I’m a Knight, and right now I have more stamina than the two of you,” said George. “If you want to compete over who stands watch, do it after you both become Knights.”
Hearing this, the two could only nod.
Then, they collapsed into sleep.
The White Dove fluttered up in a panic—Vito had fallen too quickly and nearly crushed it.
“Well then, looks like you’re not too tired. Keep watch with me,” George comforted the startled White Dove and said.
Then, he couldn’t help but yawn.
…
Marl led the warriors and the rescued people back to Baron Belair’s territory.
But the pass before him seemed unfamiliar. He remembered it being a Fortress before.
And now, less than a month later, the Fortress was gone, replaced by what looked like a village.
No, calling it a village wasn’t quite accurate—it was more like a frontline military camp.
Civilians lived here, but more than that, there were warriors.
They were being constantly drilled by Knights in basic combat formations.
Marl could tell at a glance that most of these were newly recruited warriors.
No, judging by their equipment—cloth armor and Oak Spears—they were clearly Conscripted Militia, simply being trained like proper warriors.
“Hahahaha, Monk Marl!” Puniel shouted, and Marl saw him gallop over on horseback. As he drew close, he sharply reined in his steed. The horse neighed and rose on its hind legs, coming to a hard stop, but Puniel sat steadily in the saddle, showing off his equestrian skill, no less than that of a Knight.
Marl simply looked calmly. The Temple Warriors under the Lord’s Throne behind him remained equally unmoved. Further back, among the rescued, some women protected by the warriors gave startled cries.
“As expected of Monk Marl,” Puniel remarked, looking at Marl.
He dismounted.
“Baron Puniel,” Marl nodded slightly. “You seem to have adjusted well to life here.”
Compared to his tense and irritable demeanor in York Territory, Puniel now exuded a bold energy—like a lion granted its freedom.
“Things here are different from York Territory. There's no time to be as gentle as back there,” said Puniel. “And those who have survived in this region until now were never the gentle type.”
“We must organize an army quickly. Although the Senate’s strategic objective is merely to reclaim the land rightfully belonging to Baron Belair, if the opportunity arises, the Senate doesn’t mind driving out the Werewolves with your help as well.”
As for how much land “rightfully belonging to Baron Belair” entailed—that would depend on what happened when they met the Werewolves. Given the current confrontations, Puniel believed that claiming the entire Marquis Demitri’s Territory for Baron Belair was not out of the question.
“To reach that goal, I must ensure these men become battle-ready quickly—thus, I’ve used some traditional methods,” said Puniel.
“You know better than I how to wage war. But I should remind you—if this state continues after the war ends, it won’t be good,” Marl offered his advice.
“Hahaha, of course, of course,” Puniel laughed heartily, nodding.
“The warriors have been campaigning for a long time. They must be tired. I’ve arranged hot water and food. If they have other needs, they can ask my attendants.”
“Of course, I’m a Devout Believer, so all this will be paid for,” Puniel slightly bowed his head, hand over the Sacred Cross on his chest.
Marl merely glanced at him, then nodded. “Your arrangements are well done.”
Seeing that Marl had no further comment, Puniel smiled and waved.
Soon, a young man came running over, his face red, breathing hard.
“Cliff Newman, graduate of the first batch of Apprentices of the Monastery. He followed the Lord’s call to this wasteland to help rebuild the homes of the suffering,” Puniel introduced.
“Now, Mr. Cliff is temporarily serving as my attendant.”
Cliff, gasping, looked earnestly at Marl.