Father Raphael returned to his tent, letting out a soft sigh as he slowly sat down on the simple wooden chair.
Though the chair was plain, it was a rare comfort on the battlefield.
His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze fell on the pile of documents in front of him.
Only a small candle flickered weakly on the table, casting long, wavering shadows in the dim tent.
His fingers lightly brushed over the papers, and his eyes reflected a hint of weariness.
Although tonight's speech successfully reignited the soldiers' morale, this was just the beginning.
The battles ahead would only become more difficult.
The candle's light scattered dappled shadows across the documents.
Father Raphael's brow furrowed as he concentrated on the military reports delivered today.
The reports detailed the frequency of the magic beast attacks, the damaged units, the shortage of supplies, and the casualty data for each camp.
Even though morale had been restored, the ongoing lack of supplies and rising casualties would soon once again challenge their resolve.
He picked up a file—an urgent report from the logistics division—and upon reading it, his frown deepened.
The problem of insufficient supplies, especially the lack of food and medical resources, was becoming more serious, which could affect their preparations for the upcoming battles.
He gently set the file down, his expression grave.
While the situation had been temporarily stabilized, as the commander of the army, he needed to keep a broader perspective on the battle ahead.
Father Raphael closed his eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer, and then opened them again.
He resumed reviewing the stack of documents in front of him, continuing to fulfill his responsibilities.
Father Raphael carefully examined each file, his brow furrowing slightly as he did.
His gaze scanned the details, quickly organizing the crucial information in his mind—the army's supply shortages, casualty reports, and the status of provisions for each unit...
All the information floated clearly and orderly in his mind.
He picked up the quill on the desk, dipped it in ink, and the tip moved swiftly across the paper as he began to write:
The food supply won't last more than a month.
Certain camps, especially the front-line soldiers, are already experiencing food shortages.
Urgent request for dry rations, to be prioritized for transport to the front-line camps.
Many units have reported severe damage to weapons, particularly shields and spears, which have suffered heavy losses during the battle.
Request for resupply of arrows, crossbow bolts, and other equipment.
Medical supplies in all camps are nearly depleted.
Healing herbs, hemostatic agents, and other essentials are critically lacking.
Wounded soldiers urgently need medicines, particularly high-grade salves for internal and external injuries, as well as restorative potions made from magic beast blood and flesh.
Recommend reallocating supplies from the southern province's cities, with a swift resupply to the front lines.
Father Raphael recorded this while recalling the various reports he had received, ensuring that every detail was accurately captured.
His hand moved skillfully, the handwriting neat and precise, with no unnecessary embellishments.
A total of 947 soldiers were killed in the first wave of the magic beast attack.
20 silver coins should be given as compensation to each fallen soldier's family.
That amounts to 18,940 silver coins.
Each family of the fallen soldiers will also receive a year's worth of food rations.
Over 300 soldiers are severely wounded and in urgent need of medical treatment.
New recruits need to be dispatched to maintain the battle formations and ensure the continued effectiveness of the army.
After finishing the last item, he gently set down the quill and paused briefly.
Carefully reviewing his notes to ensure their accuracy, he then neatly folded the paper.
He placed it carefully into an envelope, sealed it with wax, and pressed the church's insignia onto it.
Father Raphael was just about to call for someone to deliver the letter when he suddenly heard a low voice outside the tent.
"Report! A letter from Father Marco."
He halted his movements, his eyes narrowing slightly.
He put down the envelope in his hand and walked toward the entrance of the tent.
Opening the flap, he saw a deacon standing there, holding a letter with both hands, offering it respectfully.
Father Raphael took the envelope, his eyes briefly scanning the seal, confirming that it was indeed a letter from Father Marco.
Turning back to his desk, he summoned a small blade of water element at his fingertips.
With a smooth motion, he sliced open the seal without wetting the paper, then unfolded the letter.
The flickering candlelight illuminated the writing clearly.
The contents were brief and direct.
Father Marco reminded him that the situation in the Celestoria Mountain Range was becoming increasingly urgent and urged him to accelerate his actions.
After reading the letter, Raphael's brow furrowed slightly.
He set the letter down, weighing his next move carefully.
The current situation was already dire, and Father Marco's urgency reflected his deep concern for the frontlines.
"It seems this letter must be sent out immediately," Raphael muttered softly.
He quickly called for a trusted deacon, handed him the prepared letter, and instructed him:
"Deliver this letter to Father Marco at once.
Make sure it is handed to him personally."
The deacon acknowledged the order and swiftly exited the tent.
Father Raphael remained seated in the simple chair, his gaze fixed on the map of the Celestoria Mountain Range.
The candlelight flickered in the breeze, casting shadows on his focused face.
The charcoal pencil in his hand hovered above the map, as if waiting for his next decision.
He recalled the scouts' reports:
The treacherous mountain paths, the seemingly bottomless ravines, and the areas where magic beasts were most active.
The terrain of the Celestoria Mountain Range was incredibly complex, with every twist and turn potentially hiding a magic beast's lair.
A misstep in strategy could result in his soldiers being surrounded by beasts.
The charcoal moved softly in his hand, sketching out the areas where the magic beasts roamed.
He marked each of the territories identified by the scouts, every circle indicating a high level of danger.
"This is where the magic beasts are most active," he whispered to himself, deep in thought.
He muttered to himself, as the charcoal pencil paused over a steep valley on the map.
"We can't launch a frontal assault, that'll only trap the troops in a deadlock."
His gaze shifted to one side of the mountain range, where a rugged path snaked toward a hidden pass.
He drew a thin, arcing line with his charcoal pencil across the map.
"Here... maybe the main force of the magic beasts isn't concentrated."
His fingers tapped lightly on the map as he speculated about the direction of the beasts' attacks.
"The forest beneath this ridge could be an ambush point for the magic beasts," he murmured, drawing a small circle around the area and writing the word "Caution" beside it.
Raphael continued mapping out the army's march.
"If we can follow this path up to the ridge, we could use the terrain to ambush the magic beasts.
But the reinforcements must be stationed here."
He marked a location in another valley as the point for reinforcements to hold.
On the southern edge of the map, he sketched several lines indicating the forward troops' positions.
"The forward army needs to be stationed here, to maintain the defense at the front."
Suddenly, Father Raphael stood up.
He quickly pushed open the flap of the tent and stepped outside.
Raising his head, his expression grew even more solemn.
The cold night wind swept across him, rustling his white robe gently.
In his deep brown eyes, the usual calm and composure were gone, replaced by a hint of concern.
His brows furrowed as he gazed into the distance.
"Borne... is in danger?"
His expression became increasingly tense, and his lips tightened into a thin line.
The cold wind brushed against his face.