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July 9th, early morning.
In the dawn light, Archbishop Henry alighted from the carriage, gazing at the chaotic campsite with a somber expression.
"What has happened here? Basil! Basil!"
"Archbishop...."
A disheveled Basil approached, head bowed, not daring to look into Archbishop Henry's eyes: "Last night, the Blood Tribe launched a surprise attack on our camp. Taking advantage of their ability to fly, they destroyed our artillery positions...."
"You couldn't stop them?" Archbishop Henry spoke with a tone of displeasure, "I gave you so many Magic Rings, and you couldn't even protect the camp?"
"I used the Arrow of Tikeos, but still couldn't stop Edward..." Basil murmured, "He is too powerful."
Drawing a deep breath, Archbishop Henry didn't continue to scold Basil. The Lord of the Blood Tribe, Edward, indeed possessed tremendous strength; although not quite that of a true deity, he was not an opponent that an ordinary Friar could overcome.
