章 50: Victory is ours
The entire army was operating under intense pressure but with a clear sense of order.
After enduring the first wave of attacks from the magic beasts, the soldiers were utterly exhausted, yet the reorganization had restored some sense of stability.
Dusk was approaching, and the sky gradually turned a shade of orange and red.
Thin wisps of smoke began to rise from the campfires throughout the military encampment. For the soldiers, a hot meal in such a dangerous environment was the most basic comfort they could hope for.
Despite the enormous strain the battles had placed on the logistics system, Father Carsey continued to diligently oversee the operations of the supply lines.
"Make sure every unit gets enough food. We can't let them go hungry at a time like this," he instructed his subordinates, his tone firm and resolute.
He knew that if dinner wasn't prepared on time, Father Raphael would give him a harsh reprimand.
"Yes, Father," the deacon responded quickly, hurrying off to carry out the order.
Father Carsey personally inspected the logistics camp, checking each unit's supply allocations.
The recent battles had severely depleted their resources, and the cooks were working with limited provisions, trying to produce simple but hot meals for the troops.
Thick porridge simmered in large pots, and hard, dry bread was being toasted over the fires. Though these meals were humble, they served as a crucial morale boost for the soldiers.
Standing at the edge of the logistics camp, Father Carsey watched the busy movements of the soldiers and felt a small sense of relief.
The supplies might be running low, but at least they could still manage to provide sustenance for now.
"Hurry up! Make sure every unit receives their dinner on time," Father Carsey called out to the logistics commander beside him, a note of urgency in his voice.
"Yes, Father," the commander replied, quickly getting the soldiers moving faster to meet the demand.
The smoke from the campfires rose steadily into the evening air as the soldiers gathered around their cooking pots, their weary eyes reflecting the exhaustion of the day.
Father Carsey looked upon the scene, silently praying.
He hoped this meal would help the soldiers forget the brutality of the battle, even if just for a moment, and regain some strength.
Meanwhile, Father Raphael stood outside the camp, his gaze calm as he watched everything unfold.
He was thankful that, at least for now, the soldiers' morale had not completely collapsed.
"Let's hope we can get through tonight safely," Father Raphael thought to himself.
He then turned and walked toward his command tent, mentally preparing for the upcoming speech.
As dusk settled in, the entire camp was bustling with quiet activity.
The soldiers ate their dinner in silence, while smoke continued to rise slowly into the sky.
Nightfall began to descend, and the camp was soon shrouded in darkness, save for the flickering firelight coming from each campfire, illuminating the tired faces of the troops.
The torches swayed gently in the night breeze.
Despite their exhaustion, the soldiers moved with a steady pace, gathering in an orderly manner toward the center of the camp.
In the open space, a makeshift platform had already been set up for the speech.
Several deacons stood near the platform, carefully adjusting the placement of the torches to ensure that every corner of the stage was well-lit.
Inside his command tent, Father Raphael quietly organized his thoughts.
This speech was critical. The soldiers had just faced a fierce onslaught from the magic beasts, and morale had plummeted.
Only a powerful, motivating speech could rally the troops and prepare them for the greater challenges ahead.
After smoothing out the folds in his white robe, Father Raphael stepped out of the tent.
The cool night breeze brushed against his face, bringing a refreshing chill that helped clear his mind.
He glanced up at the night sky, where a pale moon hung serenely, casting a soft silver glow across the landscape.
By now, the soldiers had gathered before the platform, their attention fully focused on the spot where Father Raphael would soon stand to address them.
The other four priests were already standing on the platform, but none of them spoke.
Their faces bore serious expressions.
The deacons urged the soldiers to quiet down.
The firelight around them flickered, illuminating their faces, each of which displayed caution and gravity, as if they were all waiting for a particular moment.
Father Raphael slowly ascended the steps of the platform, his steps steady.
His gaze never wavered. Even in this oppressive atmosphere, he maintained his inner calm.
Standing on the platform, he looked out at the sea of soldiers before him.
The soldiers' faces were marked with exhaustion, their eyes revealing fear, as if the battlefield had already stripped them of their fighting spirit.
They had just endured the first wave of attacks from the magic beasts, losing over nine hundred brothers.
This probing battle had pushed their minds to the brink of collapse.
Their bodies still bore the marks of combat.
The fatigue, both physical and mental, was written all over them, reflecting their uncertainty about the future.
The firelight flickered on their faces, casting faint reflections that illuminated their grim expressions.
The entire assembly was steeped in a heavy, silent atmosphere.
Father Raphael took a deep breath, swallowing the tension into his chest.
This moment was crucial.
If he couldn't reignite the fighting spirit of these soldiers, if he couldn't restore their confidence, this army would likely fall apart in the battles to come.
He slowly lifted his head, his eyes filled with resolve.
Father Raphael scanned the area, taking in the face of every soldier in his view.
He saw their weariness, and he felt their unease.
"Warriors."
His voice finally broke the silence, deep and strong, like a resonant bell echoing through the night sky, shattering the oppressive quiet.
"Today's battle was your first trial on this battlefield.
Though we have lost many brothers, we still stand here."
His gaze swept over the bowed heads, and he continued:
"We are the mightiest warriors on this land, entrusted with the duty to protect our homes and loved ones."
Father Raphael raised his hand, pointing towards the distant Celestoria Mountain Range.
"What we face are the most terrifying magic beasts on this earth.
They will not give us a second chance! We either rise and fight, or die beneath their claws and teeth!"
"But I tell you this."
Father Raphael's voice grew heavier, as if imbued with unshakable determination.
"We are not fighting alone! As long as we stand united, no magic beast can break us!
Our courage and our faith will be the strongest weapons to overcome all of this!"
His eyes were resolute.
A spark of fighting spirit began to return to the soldiers' eyes, their fists tightening as the dormant fire in their hearts reignited.
Father Raphael's words cut straight to their souls, like a sharp blade.
"Fight for our Lord! Fight for our fallen brothers!"
His voice echoed through the night sky, reigniting the fervor in every soldier present.
"As long as we stand, as long as we do not fall, we will never be defeated!"
They were no longer a lost and disoriented army; they were soldiers fighting for their homeland, for their faith.
He spoke the final words with solemnity.
"Victory! Will be ours!"
The powerful declaration ignited the hearts of the soldiers like a roaring fire, their blood set ablaze.
As the words fell, the soldiers raised their hands high, letting out a frenzied cheer that seemed to tear through the night sky.
Each soldier felt an overwhelming surge of strength, as if they could already glimpse the dawn of victory.
The cheers echoed through the battlefield, resonating across the land, even reaching the distant and dangerous Celestoria Mountain Range.
Father Raphael remained standing on the platform, quietly watching the scene unfold.
He said no more, simply clasping his hands behind his back, silently absorbing the warriors' passion.
"A greater crisis is approaching soon."
He whispered to himself.
The other four priests exchanged glances, a complicated emotion flashing in their eyes.
They couldn't help but admire Father Raphael's charisma and influence.
With his unmatched oratory skills, he had effortlessly reignited the fighting spirit of the soldiers.
Even they, battle-hardened priests, felt moved by the fire he had kindled.
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