The first wave of attacks by the magic beasts ended swiftly, just as Father Raphael had predicted—it was merely a test.
The sudden onslaught still dealt a massive blow to the army, leaving over nine hundred soldiers fallen forever in this battle.
As the brutal fight came to an end, the battlefield was littered with corpses, painting a grim picture of devastation.
Both soldiers and magic beasts alike had turned into cold, lifeless bodies, lying silently in pools of blood.
The stench of blood still lingered in the air, mixing with the foul, metallic scent that permeated the battlefield.
Tattered flags fluttered in the wind, and the sky was overcast, as if even the sun had lost its light.
The ground was scarred by the battle, scorched earth and muddy terrain hiding what was once solid ground.
Blood mixed with soil had dried into a dark red crust, releasing a pungent odor.
The bodies of the magic beasts lay strewn across the field, their massive forms grotesque and terrifying under the sun.
Broken claws, exposed entrails, and twisted faces evoked a deep sense of fear.
Some smaller beasts still twitched, letting out low growls as they died, unwilling to surrender to their fate.
The faces of the soldiers were etched with exhaustion and confusion, the shadow of death from the battle still haunting them.
Many were visibly shaken.
Young soldiers stood among the corpses, gripping their bloodstained weapons, their hands trembling slightly, their eyes betraying an undeniable fear.
Their faces were smeared with dirt and sweat, their expressions weary and bewildered, unable to fully comprehend what had just transpired.
The veteran soldiers stood quietly at the edge of the battlefield, their gazes heavy and hollow, as if they had long become desensitized to death.
They had witnessed countless massacres like this before.
Yet even for these battle-hardened warriors, the sight before them stirred a profound sense of powerlessness.
The officers commanded the remaining soldiers to move the bodies of their fallen comrades, carrying them away from the front lines before setting them ablaze.
The lifeless soldiers lay quietly on the ground, their bodies bearing the scars of battle, their armor riddled with damage.
Many of them still had expressions of fear frozen on their faces.
They would never return to their hometowns, never see their families again, forever bound to this foreign land.
"So cruel..."
A young soldier muttered softly, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with the terror of death.
"Quiet!"
An officer barked in a low voice.
"Hurry up! Move faster and don't let these magic beasts' corpses rot here!"
One of the soldiers cautiously approached the corpse of a magic beast, gripping a sharp knife as he slowly cut open the creature's abdomen.
His movements were careful and practiced—it was clear this wasn't his first time performing such a task.
The beast's skin was incredibly tough, and each stroke of the blade made a grating sound that set teeth on edge.
After several minutes of effort, he finally sliced open the beast's belly, revealing a glowing core inside.
"Quick, take this!"
He handed the beast core to another soldier, who swiftly placed it in a special pouch, carefully storing it.
"Move faster! There are many more corpses to deal with!"
The officer's voice rang out again, urging them on.
Father Raphael remained calm, standing atop a small mound, overseeing the battlefield below.
His gaze swept over the soldiers, his expression serene and stern.
Even after the fierce battle, there was not a hint of panic on his face.
The four priests standing beside Father Raphael all wore grave expressions.
The first wave of attacks from the magic beasts was merely a probe, yet even this minor skirmish had resulted in heavy losses for the army.
Father Raphael spoke in a low voice, "When night falls, gather the troops. We need to have a speech.
If we don't, we might see a lot of deserters tonight."
The other four priests exchanged glances and silently nodded in agreement.
Each of them felt a sense of surprise—this was Raphael's first time leading an army, yet his understanding of war was profound.
"He knows much more than we expected," whispered Father Phillips, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes.
Father Thomas stood nearby, his expression conflicted.
Originally skeptical of Raphael's abilities, he now had to admit that Raphael's judgment and leadership were indeed exceptional.
Father Carsey remained silent, his feelings mixed.
As the logistics commander, he had always believed himself to have the best grasp of the overall situation, but it was now clear that Raphael's understanding of warfare surpassed his own.
Raphael, however, paid no attention to their reactions.
His gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, his mind already strategizing for the next move.
The speech wasn't just to boost morale—it was to transform the soldiers' fear into a fighting force.
Only by doing this could they endure the battles ahead.
"When I speak, they must understand that their lives are not just their own.
They are fighting for the safety of the entire Southern Province," Raphael added.
With that, the five priests returned to their respective posts and began reorganizing the troops.
The probing attack from the magic beasts had claimed the lives of several officers, throwing the command structure into disarray.
The loss of leadership left the army in chaos, making it difficult to reorganize for the next phase of battle.
Without clear instructions, the army faced a serious risk of collapse, which could be devastating in the coming fight.
Father Raphael walked calmly into his command tent, though his mind was racing.
Immediately, he summoned the surviving officers and received detailed reports on the casualties.
The units that had lost their commanders needed experienced officers to take over quickly to prevent any loss of morale or discipline.
"We cannot afford a disconnect between the junior officers and the soldiers.
Every soldier must know who they are taking orders from," Father Raphael's voice was steady and firm.
Gripping the battle report, he swiftly scanned the status of each unit, formulating a plan in his mind.
Without hesitation, he began reassigning reserve officers and veterans to fill the leadership gaps.
"Kenny will take over the First Battalion.
Wilson will replace the commander of the Seventh Battalion.
As for the Ninth and Twelfth Battalions, which also lost their officers, we must assign new leaders before the next battle."
Father Raphael issued the orders with precision.
At the same time, Father Carsey was adjusting the logistics system.
Some officers responsible for supplies had fallen, and replacements had to be found quickly to ensure there were no disruptions in the supply chain.
Fathers Phillips, Weiss, and Thomas were also assigning new officers, making sure that communication between the units remained clear and unbroken.
The three priests forced themselves to remain calm.
They needed to set an example for the officers and soldiers, suppressing any signs of worry.
The next wave of battle would be even more perilous.
If the command structure crumbled again, the entire army could collapse.
All the officers were promptly summoned to ensure that every soldier would receive clear and direct orders in the upcoming fight.