Chapter 975 — Falling

"Yes, General," the knight-officer answered in a low voice. "I examined them once already. They are not the effect of any healing spell or alchemical potion, nor of any normal divine art of the God of War. But one thing is certain: these... abnormal things gave the officiants here a stronger vitality, and many of our soldiers suffered badly for it—no one could have imagined that an enemy already cut down would strike back as though nothing had happened, and many soldiers were gravely wounded or lost their lives before they could react."

Anluo nodded slightly. The knight-officer's account confirmed her guess and explained why this disturbance had caused such heavy casualties.

The God of War officiants housed here had all been disarmed. Without the amplification of ritual implements and without proper weapons, bare-handed officiants—even God of War officiants—should not have been able to inflict such damage on a fully armed regular army acting in formation, not even by ambush.

After all, the empire's soldiers were rich in experience fighting extraordinary beings. Not to mention the mass-produced knights and mass-produced mages who made up such a high proportion of the army, even the ordinary soldiers were equipped with enchanted gear and had undergone targeted training.

But... if what they faced were fallen officiants already transforming from human beings into monsters, then nothing could be said for certain.

Anluo's expression darkened—though she did not wish to, at this moment she had no choice but to classify those out-of-control God of War priests as "fallen officiants."

"Where are the other God of War priests?" She rose and asked in a low voice.

"All under control, housed in the two neighboring camps, with triple the guards," Knight-Commander Brewer answered at once. "Most of them are very tense, and a few are agitated, but at least they haven't... mutated."

A surge of irritation rose in Anluo's heart: "...All we can do is keep them locked up like this."

"Yes, all we can do is keep them locked up like this," the Knight-Commander said, his expression no better. "This disturbance was clearly caused by some kind of 'madness.' We cannot move against ordinary officiants who are lucid—but I'm afraid the soldiers may not see it that way."

An Luo's brows were tightly knit. She was about to give an order, but then her attention was caught by something else on the officiant's corpse.

She bent down, her fingers finding a fine chain at the officiant's neck. She gave it a casual tug, and along the chain came a triangular iron amulet, thoroughly soaked in blood.

"The Sigil of War..." the knight-captain beside her exclaimed under his breath. "I didn't notice that before!"

An Luo said nothing. With a grim expression she tore open the officiant's sleeve, and under the bright glow of the magic crystal lamps nearby she saw at once the same triangular emblem painted in red pigment on the inside of his arm.

"Wearing the iron Sigil of War, bearing the emblem of the God of War on the inner arm..." the knight-captain murmured, half to himself. "It signifies taking up arms in the god's name—the mark of entering a state of war!"

"These officiants aren't mad—at least not entirely. They did these things according to doctrine. This is no riot..." An Luo said in a low voice. "This is a sacrifice to the God of War, declaring that the faction they serve has entered a state of war."

"A state of war!?" Her adjutant came up beside her, astonishment on his face. "War with whom!? Are these people going to raise a rebellion against the Empire?"

"The Oathbreaking War permits no sigils. This is no rebellion..."

An Luo got only halfway through her sentence.

Her mind raced back over the reports that had come from the homeland recently, swiftly piecing together the anomalies within the Church of the God of War and the balance of power along the borderlands of late—the intelligence she held was in truth scant, yet some wolfish instinct had already begun sounding alarms in her mind.

A terrible, hideous conjecture had suddenly taken shape in her head.

Something had gone wrong with the Church of the God of War; these officiants' deity had met with some trouble, and the faithful, thrown into agitation and fervor by it, would most want... to please their god.

But these officiants—already disarmed, ostensibly under protective observation but in truth interned in the camp—how were they to please their god?

That was hard for them to accomplish... but the worshippers of the God of War were not limited to them!

An Luo jerked her head up, and almost at the same moment, from the corner of her eye she caught sight of a mage in the night sky, flying swiftly toward them.

It was as though he had come expressly to confirm her dire conjecture.

A feeling welled up in An Luo's heart—the feeling of having grasped the crux of things, yet being powerless to turn the course of events. She still remembered when last she had felt this way: a rainy night on the Paramere Highlands.

The messenger mage landed before her.

"General!" the mage gasped, panic written across his face. "The Iron River Knight Order has mobilized without orders—their camp is empty! The last witnesses saw them massing on the plains far from the fortress, heading toward the Longwind defense line!"

A fall.

An Luo felt herself plunging into a vortex.

...

The Longwind Fortress Complex: a composite defense line with Longwind Keep at its heart, its skeleton formed by a series of blockhouses, sentry posts, railway junctions, and supply stations.

Since the day of its completion, it had never been tested by war.

It was now the eve of dawn. The stars in the sky had grown dimmer and more indistinct, and over the distant eastern hills a hazy radiance was rising, heralding the end of this cold night.

The knight order that had set out under cover of darkness had reached the end of the Kamanda Crossroads, the very edge of the Cecilians' defense perimeter.

Beneath a pitch-black visor, a pair of dark red eyes gazed at the far, heavy-black horizon, toward the Longwind defense line.

Behind this commander, the vast knight order had already formed into legion array, surging magic filling the entire resonance field.

Minutes later, the magical resonance reached its peak.

The commander raised his longsword high, and in the instant it swept down, the whole knight order began to accelerate slowly by waves, charging toward the distant horizon like a mighty tide that starts heavy and slow, then turns fierce.

The god required that all things return to their proper course.

The war of blood and fire was that course.

The Lord's servants cared not who would be victorious, cared not whether they themselves would be annihilated, cared not even what meaning this war could possibly hold.

In this moment, the war itself was the meaning.

A highly compressed, confined plasma carrying a terrifying energy reaction—the "thermal cone"—began to take shape above the knight order.