The next morning, sunlight filtered through the mist, casting a soft glow on the ground as the military camp stirred to life.
The vast army was preparing to march north toward the Celestoria Mountain Range, the cries of warhorses and the rhythmic marching of soldiers blending into the crisp morning air.
The army moved in an organized fashion, with infantry, cavalry, and the logistics units advancing in the planned formation.
Their destination, the Celestoria Mountain Range, was the heart of magic beast activity, and the success of this campaign would directly impact the safety of the entire Southern Province.
Despite the tense undercurrents of the previous night's political maneuvering among the priests, none of this internal conflict seemed to affect the army's disciplined progression.
The soldiers were unaware of the intricate power struggles playing out between their superiors in the church.
Father Raphael rode calmly at the center of the army, positioned in the command section.
His face remained as composed as ever, betraying no hint of emotion as his gaze fixed northward toward the looming Celestoria Mountain Range.
His expression remained steady, giving no sign of the intense battle of wills that had unfolded the previous evening.
In the distance, the dark silhouette of the Celestoria Mountain Range began to rise over the horizon, a foreboding reminder of the impending confrontation with the beasts.
The tension in the air thickened as the army marched forward, the scent of battle growing stronger with each passing moment.
Father Phillips rode atop his tall horse, hands gripping the reins tightly, his eyes sharp and focused.
He leaned toward his adjutant, his voice firm but quiet.
"Inform all the camp praefecti in the vanguard to maintain formation at all costs.
Any sign of disorder will be met with military discipline. If anything unexpected occurs during the march, report it immediately.
We cannot afford any disruption."
The deacon nodded swiftly and set off to relay the orders.
The vanguard had the crucial task of maintaining both the army's pace and its defense against any sudden beast attacks that might shatter the ranks.
"Make sure the supply units are well-coordinated, and no mistakes are made during the transport of supplies," Father Carsi instructed his deacon.
"Especially keep a close watch on the grain carts pulled by the donkey magic beasts," Father Carseycontinued, his voice calm but firm.
"They may move slowly, but we can't afford to let the formation fall apart.
Ensure the rear stays vigilant—no room for complacency."
His attendant nodded, swiftly departing to carry out the orders.
Father Carsey, having given his instructions, scanned his troops with a critical eye, taking in the movement of the massive army with a deep breath.
Meanwhile, Father Weiss turned to his own deacon with equal determination.
"Alert everyone to maintain maximum vigilance," he said. "If there's any attack, the rear must respond immediately."
At the same time, Father Thomas sat in his carriage, his mood dark.
He couldn't shake the bitterness of losing command of the central forces.
However, he knew that in this crucial campaign, personal feelings had to give way to the larger objective.
The stakes were too high for him to indulge in frustration.
For a while, Thomas remained silent, his fingers rhythmically tapping the wall of the carriage. Finally, in a cold, measured tone, he instructed his deacon.
"Go and tell the camp praefecti that discipline and order in the flanks must be absolute. There is no room for error."
His narrowed eyes and frosty voice made it clear that this was no simple request.
The deacon, fully understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded quickly.
"Yes, Father, I will deliver your message at once."
Thomas drew in a deep breath before adding sharply, "Make it clear—if anyone dares to slack off or abandon their post, or if the flank descends into disorder, they will be dealt with by military law, no exceptions."
The deacon's face tightened as he rushed off to relay the severe orders.
He knew well how strict Father Thomas could be, especially now that he had been relegated from the central command.
The flank could not afford any errors under Thomas's watch, as even a minor slip could ruin the entire operation.
As Thomas stared at the distant columns of marching soldiers, a lingering sense of dissatisfaction gnawed at him.
Yet he understood that his priority now was to maintain the army's stability and safeguard the flanks.
Any mistake in the flank could lead to disaster, jeopardizing both the campaign and his personal standing.
After the orders were passed along, the camp praefecti of the flank forces swiftly took action.
They diligently enforced the commands, ensuring the soldiers adhered strictly to the march's discipline and order.
The soldiers, in turn, became increasingly alert, knowing that their superiors were watching closely.
The flank marched in perfect formation, not giving the magic beasts or any hidden threats an opportunity to strike.
Father Thomas knew full well that if the campaign to eradicate the beasts in the Celestoria Mountains failed, his future would be utterly destroyed.
Sitting in the carriage, his thoughts weighed heavily on him.
Losing command of the central forces had already left him fuming, but he also understood that the most important thing now was ensuring victory in this campaign.
If they failed, the church would undoubtedly seek to assign blame, and as one of the key figures in command, he would be the first to face punishment.
"Failure... failure is not an option," he silently warned himself.
His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white as the anxiety and pressure constricted his chest.
Thomas knew the church was filled with those eager to see him fall, and should this operation falter, those hidden enemies would not hesitate to use the opportunity to crush him.
Worse still, failure would not only mean the loss of his position and influence but could also lead to his dismissal from the church or even an inquisition.
As these thoughts plagued him, his brow furrowed deeply, his gaze darkening.
The archbishop of the Southern Province, along with the pope and other high-ranking officials, had already expressed their immense dissatisfaction with the situation in the Celestoria Mountains, applying tremendous pressure on him and the other leaders.
This operation was critical to the province, and any slip-up would be catastrophic.
"I must ensure the flank remains stable," he resolved once again, clenching his teeth in determination.
This was a life-or-death battle, not just on the battlefield but also within the intricate power struggles of the church itself.
He could not afford to lose.
With this weighty pressure bearing down on him, Father Thomas stepped out of the carriage, his posture more severe and cold than before.
The army pressed on in a tense, heavy silence as they drew closer to the Celestoria Mountains.
The imposing shadows of the mountains loomed ever clearer ahead of them.
The colossal outline of the mountain range stood like a silent barrier, draped across the horizon as if it had been waiting for their arrival.
Above the mountains, dark, oppressive clouds gathered, signaling the approach of a looming storm.
The air was thick with an indescribable sense of oppression, and each soldier's step seemed cautious and heavy.
Though the march remained orderly, everyone felt the looming threat growing closer.
The Celestoria Mountains had always been a hotspot for beasts, and tales of powerful monsters, treacherous terrain, and unknown dangers kept everyone's nerves taut.
As the mountains drew nearer, a formless pressure weighed heavily on every heart.
The sound of the marching army felt dull in the vast silence of the wasteland.
A cold wind swept through the soldiers' uniforms and banners, bringing with it a chilling touch.
An overwhelming sense of danger hung in the air, as if unseen beasts lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike at any moment.
The soldiers' heartbeats seemed to synchronize with the oppressive atmosphere, the weight in their chests growing heavier with each step.
Though no one spoke, the presence of an impending threat was palpable.
Every man sensed the vast danger waiting just ahead.