The quiet night enveloped the serene forest, where silence reigned, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind through the treetops.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with his back to the dense woods, facing the edge of the lake.
His figure, solid and solitary, seemed like a mountain, unmoving and absorbed in contemplation.
The surface of the lake reflected the night's stillness, undisturbed, like a black mirror that mirrored the man's solitude and thoughts.
Bored, he picked up a flat stone from the ground and lazily tossed it across the lake.
The stone skimmed across the water with a soft "plop," sending ripples that quickly spread outward, creating a brief disturbance in the stillness before the lake swallowed them, restoring its tranquil state.
The man watched the ripples fade, his gaze calm, as if he was deep in thought or perhaps simply allowing his mind to drift away with the stone, disappearing into the quiet surface of the lake.
Around him, the dense forest seemed even more mysterious, the thick foliage casting shadows that formed an abyss of darkness, shrouding the entire area in an aura of secrecy. Occasionally, a low call from a night bird echoed, breaking the fleeting silence.
The man paid no attention to these sounds.
His movements remained slow and rhythmic, repeatedly picking up stones and casting them into the lake.
The stones bounced across the water a few times before vanishing into the distant darkness.
His breathing blended seamlessly with the surrounding silence, making him appear especially composed.
Even as the night's chill deepened, the man showed no signs of leaving.
His solitary figure stood out against the night, steadfast and unyielding.
From the depths of the forest, the darkness began to stir.
A faint, low footstep could be heard in the distance.
The steps were soft and slow, yet in the stillness of the night, they sounded remarkably clear.
The man remained indifferent, focused on the stones in his hand, continuing to skip them across the lake, as if completely unconcerned with the presence of something approaching from behind.
Each time the stone hit the water, it sent out faint ripples, intertwining with the man's deep thoughts and the fleeting tranquility around him.
As the footsteps drew closer, a dark figure emerged from the shadows of the forest.
The newcomer was tall and moved gracefully, blending seamlessly with the night.
His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached the man by the lake.
When he was just four steps away from the broad-shouldered man, he stopped, dropping to one knee.
"My lord, we have uncovered the background of this commander, Father Raphael."
The low, respectful voice echoed in the stillness, filled with reverence.
The kneeling figure bowed his head and held up a rolled scroll, offering it to the man before him.
The tall man, still facing the lake, held a final stone in his hand and tossed it casually across the water.
The splash from the stone sent gentle ripples through the surface before the lake once again became calm.
Only then did the man speak.
"Read."
The kneeling figure raised his head slightly, taking a deep breath before carefully unrolling the scroll.
His eyes scanned the words quickly before he began to read aloud.
"Father Raphael, born in Seabird Town, Stormhaven, into a family of fishermen.
He is the youngest of six children—four boys and two girls.
From a young age, he attended the Church's free school, where he excelled in his studies and was admitted to Stormhaven's Church Academy, graduating as the top student in his class."
The man by the lake remained motionless, his figure as still and silent as a statue, his fingers gently rubbing the surface of a stone.
"Afterward, he became a deacon and was sent to Whalebone Town in Brightwater.
Within just three years, he mastered light magic.
He then succeeded the town's elder priest, becoming one of the youngest priests in the region.
However, due to his lack of political alliances, he was consistently sidelined by his peers and received no promotions."
The kneeling figure continued.
"Despite that, his mastery of light magic is truly astonishing.
Recent intelligence reports indicate that during the battle at Celestoria, he displayed extraordinary power, even summoning tens of thousands of light swords to fight.
Rumor has it that his abilities have surpassed those of an ordinary priest."
Upon reading this, the kneeling figure stole a quick glance at the man standing before him, trying to discern any reaction from his back.
The man remained still, facing the tranquil lake, unmoved.
A soft breeze rustled by the lakeside, and the surrounding forest remained silent.
After a brief moment of silence, the man's voice finally broke the stillness, low and measured.
"Interesting.
Wasn't Thomas supposed to be in command? How did an inexperienced priest end up leading?"
The kneeling figure lowered his head even further, his tone increasingly deferential, with a hint of cautiousness as he explained.
"My lord, originally Thomas was indeed to serve as commander.
But according to the latest intelligence, Father Marco made a reorganization and handed the command to Father Raphael.
Thomas was reassigned to the flanks."
The man turned slightly, just enough to reveal a faint outline of his face in the moonlight, his brow creased lightly.
"Marco... What game is he playing now?"
His tone carried a touch of disdain.
The kneeling man replied carefully, "It seems Father Marco has made some internal arrangements, though we do not yet know his full plan.
But what we do know is that Father Raphael's power has exceeded expectations.
Marco must have considered this before handing over the command."
The burly man fell silent, contemplating this new information.
His eyes lifted, gazing out over the lake where the water shimmered faintly under the pale moonlight.
"Raphael... A priest with no background or connections.
How does he get command?"
He muttered softly, as if speaking to himself, pondering the implications.
With a gentle wave of his hand, he signaled for the kneeling man to rise.
The slender figure respectfully stood up, took a few steps back, and kept his head bowed.
After a moment of silence, the forest fell quiet again.
"How confident are you in facing this Father Raphael?" the man asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
The slender figure paused slightly, clearly not expecting the question.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he responded in a low voice, filled with caution and reverence.
"My lord, if I may be honest… the chances of defeating Father Raphael are slim."
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Oh? You assess him that highly?"
The slender figure took a deep breath and explained softly, "Based on our investigation, Father Raphael's mastery of light magic has reached an exceptionally high level.
His light magic can instantly overpower numerous strong opponents. His speed and power are terrifying."
The man stood still by the lake, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. He allowed a faint, mocking smile to curl at the corners of his lips.
He picked up the last stone in his hand and lightly tossed it across the lake. Ripples spread across the water's surface, and the stone sank into the depths, creating waves that gradually faded into the stillness.
"A fisherman's son reaching such a level," he murmured softly, his tone laced with disdain.
The slender figure remained still, head bowed in respect, quietly listening.
"Light magic…"
The burly man stood by the lake, hands clasped behind his back.
The lake's surface rippled gently under the breeze, with the moonlight casting dappled reflections on the water.
His tall figure, bathed in the silvery light, looked both lonely and enigmatic.
"Such power is rare among us.
Few priests shine so brightly on the battlefield.
This Father Raphael, who can defeat strong foes with light magic so swiftly, is indeed interesting."
With a gentle wave of his hand, the man signaled for him to leave.
"You may go now."
"Yes, my lord," the slender figure bowed deeply before retreating into the forest, vanishing into the night.
Once again, the lakeside returned to silence, with only the faint sound of the wind and the gentle lapping of the water breaking the quiet.
The burly man stood at the lake's edge, hands still clasped behind him, his deep gaze fixed on the still water.