Chapitre 63: Chapter Sixty-Three: Lo and Behold
The rain was pouring down on the unlucky soldiers as they marched. They had made great distance between them and any city. Soon they would reach the border, where the first battle would take place. It had been estimated that the enemy would reach the border at the same time. So the men steeled themselves for the first fight.
They knew full well the likelihood of their death. It made the mood of the whole legion damp, like the weather.
"Jantyr cries for our duty and encourages us with his presence." the spokesman proclaimed. His spirit untouched by the depression surrounding his entourage.
The man's words were like a torch in the dark. It lit up the world, fending off the darkness.
With every step they took, their shoes got soaked in muddy water, freezing to the touch. They were covered, top to toe in water, the wind serving as a medium to strengthen the effect of the numbing.
At the front of the legion, they sang. Through their unanimous will they kept the cold at bay. Their spirits would not be crumbled, but unlike those at the front, the trained knight. Those behind were peasants and commoners. Untrained and thoroughly unprepared for what's to come.
They trembled under the weight of their gear, casting glances at their unprotected left hands, which carried a mark. The mark was a reminder, it would remain for three years. Under that time those with the mark had to serve as soldiers for the country, lest they wished to desert and be hunted as criminals.
The upside was just that, three years! They hadn't become slaves for life, but temporary. This made the commoners and peasants slightly more willing to go on with life. Almost none of those enlisted had taken their own life due to that reminder.
If they could survive three years at the frontline they'd be free men once more.
Were it not for the spokesman's actrices, the whole backline of the legion would be completely coated in silence. A looming sorrow for themselves, taking over their worn bodies.
Instead, he had turned the once depressed gathering of men, into hopeful youngsters, longing for adventure, so they may prove themselves to god. Of course, that didn't speak for all of them, not even the majority. But people tend to mend to crowd pressure.
So, even those who didn't announce themselves as god's servant felt the change and followed suit.
With time they closed in on the border, and at some point they saw it. Not the end of their country, but an approaching army. Not monsters, but people, Falken, just like them.
"Take formation!" the general screamed at the top of his lungs.
The marked soldiers gulped aloud and walked to the front, where they would take the brunt of the first exchange. The lives of the trained knight were worth more than them. So of course they'd be sent to die first.
With each step they took lightning struck down, the rain intensified. Below them the earth rumbles, as the wind picked up. Water flooded the ground, as centimeters deep mud water gained small waves.
As they took formation, the spokesman grew quiet. He knew more than anyone else. This was Jantyr's doing. With hesitant steps he walked towards his position. A sword and shield in hand.
To his surprise though, the lightning suddenly struck him, yet he was left unharmed. Feeling stronger than before. Jantyr had blessed him, the first real blessing at that.
Before, Jantyr just sent a mass of energy he gained from their sacrifices as an exchange. But Jantyr stopped doing that after reading the books given to him, by his fellow deities. It was inefficient and forbidden to do it the way he had. But the world would not blame him, when he doesn't know what he's done wrong.
The lightning bolt wasn't even noticed amongst the chaos Jantyr had caused, which satisfied him.
There are many types of blessings god's can give. The one Jantyr gave the spokesman was a high tier, elemental, category water blessing. In other words, all kinds of weather abilities of water, answer his call. Of course, there's also some small benefits too. Like enhanced powers inside water weather. such as, perse, rain.
"Oxford, what's wrong?" one of the nearest enrolled asked. He's one of the many who had converted to Jantyr's teachings.
Oxford, the spokesman turned to the man and smiled."Everything's great, awesome even! Lord Jantyr has finally acknowledged my efforts, that's all!" he said.
To this the man was stunned. He had just seen the prophet of god get hit by lightning. But not only was he not injured, he also gained something from it; This strengthened the man's belief in Jantyr even further.
As for Oxford, he was already marching forward, his small entourage of hundred following him. No one from Orkrasist was with him anymore. They had split up at the different bases along the way and few of the worshippers of Jantyr remained.
…
Tens of thousands Falken stood at both sides. Neither had slowed down since spotting one another. Soon they would meet head on, and a massacre of unwilling peasants and commoners would follow.
The storm didn't discourage either army. But one man thought differently than the rest.
'Thank you holy father, god of weather. Your retribution shall smite all who dares smother your name, or garner thou wrath!' a man thought.
Behind him, many soldiers followed. They had walked faster than the rest of their army and were ahead by a small margin. All in the man's plan. When he got his blessing, he understood the gist of his power and made a plan from it.
Oxford raised his hand and gestured to the people behind him to stop. The general from their side eyed him with anger. He had refused orders and was now far ahead of schedule and with him hundred deserters. He swore to himself to execute them for treason after the battle, if they somehow survived.
Oxford grabbed his sword with both hands and slammed it down on the ground, his shield on the front of his sword, strapped to his arm.
"By the will of Jantyr, this battle shall end with victory!" he firmly stated and then all hell broke loose.
The weather clouds which had been summoned by Jantyr, using the hundred believers as passive mediums, were now a tool in Oxford's hands. The collective storm clouds moved from their side to the enemy, then Oxford enhanced the water to fall down faster and thicker, then he made them into hail. Lo and behold, death rained upon the army.
But, before Oxford could celebrate, a dome of light surrounded the army, fending off the centimeters big ice blocks.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
The_FBI_god
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
-- Power
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