Father Raphael stood inside the tent, tightly gripping the letter from Father Marco, his expression grave.
His eyes scanned over the words on the letter repeatedly, his mind racing as he contemplated the next steps.
The letter was concise and straightforward.
Father Marco informed him that reinforcements were on their way and would arrive soon.
They were bringing urgently needed supplies: food, weapons, and armor, even relief payments for the families of fallen soldiers had already begun to be distributed.
However, there was an issue with the supply of medicine—Father Marco specifically mentioned that the amount of medicine might not be sufficient.
At the end of the letter, Father Marco urged Father Raphael to act quickly and begin the campaign to exterminate the magic beasts in the mountains.
Father Raphael rubbed his temples lightly, feeling a growing headache.
Although Father Marco mentioned that reinforcements were on their way, Raphael knew all too well that their food supplies were running dangerously low.
The soldiers' physical strength and morale were being drained by the constant work and tension.
Under these circumstances, how could they possibly head into the mountains to hunt the magic beasts?
He sighed, lightly tapping the edge of the letter with his fingers as he weighed his options.
The water supply was still sufficient—the nearby river provided enough for the camp. But water alone wouldn't sustain the soldiers for long in battle.
Even if weapons and armor were about to arrive, without enough food, the soldiers' combat strength would eventually collapse.
"How can we possibly rush into battle now?" Father Raphael murmured to himself.
Although the order to hunt the magic beasts was urgent, he understood that acting hastily could lead to even greater casualties.
The shortage of food was already weakening the soldiers, and the threat from the magic beasts wasn't diminishing with their fatigue.
He walked over to the table, spreading out the map and staring at the layout of the Celestoria Mountains.
The complex terrain inside the mountains and the unknown number of magic beasts made him even more aware of the high risk of entering without adequate support.
Without sufficient food and logistical backing, launching an operation now would plunge the entire army into a dire situation.
"I need to buy us some time—at least until the supplies and reinforcements arrive, so we can have enough strength to face the magic beasts head-on," Raphael thought to himself, weighing the risks and benefits.
At this moment, they simply couldn't launch the hunt, but the pressure from his superiors left him little choice.
To gain more time, he decided to give Father Marco the illusion that everything was proceeding according to plan.
He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing a letter.
As the quill scratched across the paper, Father Raphael's thoughts moved quickly.
"Dear Father Marco,
Thank you very much for your timely reply. The news of the reinforcements and supplies has greatly boosted morale here.
I'd like to update you on the latest situation.
We have already carried out the first sweep of the Celestoria Mountains, and the results are encouraging.
The operation was quite successful, and we've managed to suppress some of the magic beasts' movements.
While some forces remain, we are confident that with the next few operations, we will be able to completely cleanse this area.
We still need more resources to consolidate this victory, especially in terms of medicine and supplies.
Though the enemy has been weakened, they are still not to be underestimated.
I hope the reinforcements and supplies will arrive as soon as possible, so we can fully carry out the task at hand.
May God bless you."
After finishing, Father Raphael carefully reviewed the letter for any omissions. Satisfied, he folded it and sealed it with wax.
Handing the letter to the deacon, he instructed, "Make sure this gets to Father Marco as soon as possible."
The deacon took the letter with both hands, nodding solemnly.
"Rest assured, Father, I'll arrange for a messenger to depart immediately."
After the deacon left the tent, Father Raphael sighed deeply and returned to his desk, where a mountain of paperwork awaited him.
These documents came from various military units, each detailing the difficulties they were facing.
Shortages of supplies, low morale, injured soldiers not receiving timely treatment—each problem weighed heavily on his mind.
He picked up his quill again, dipped it in ink, and began responding one by one.
The next letter he opened was from a frontline unit, reporting unusual movements of the magic beasts.
According to the letter, the number and activity of the beasts seemed to be expanding at night.
Father Raphael frowned and wrote back: "Increase patrols, especially at night.
Keep a constant watch on the magic beasts' movements. Report any abnormalities immediately."
The next letter detailed the low morale of the soldiers due to prolonged stress and lack of supplies, with reports of desertions.
Father Raphael's brow furrowed.
In his reply, he wrote, "Regarding the morale issue, I recommend that officers strictly enforce discipline, especially swift and decisive action against deserters.
We will send supplies soon to alleviate the soldiers' burdens."
After that, he picked up another letter. It mentioned that several units had fallen into disarray during battles with the magic beasts due to lack of experience, with some soldiers showing signs of panic.
Father Raphael felt a tightness in his chest.
He wrote back: "To address the lack of combat experience among new recruits, I suggest commanders quickly organize small-scale training drills.
Use the environment around the camp to familiarize them with the terrain. Experienced soldiers should set an example and lead the new recruits in more practical exercises."
Days of high-intensity work, reading through piles of reports, and the recent fierce battle had begun to take their toll on Father Raphael's body and mind.
He hadn't had enough sleep, and his eyes were sore from fatigue. A dull headache throbbed at his temples.
Father Raphael put down his quill and rubbed his temples, feeling a wave of dizziness.
If this continued, he feared he wouldn't even have the strength to think.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up and walked to the entrance of the tent, lifting the flap to see two guards standing outside, straight and alert.
"I need to rest for a while. Unless it's an emergency, don't disturb me," Father Raphael said wearily.
The guards immediately stood even straighter, responding in unison, "Understood, Father."
Nodding, Father Raphael returned to his chair inside the tent, feeling exhaustion wash over him like a tide.
Slowly, he sat back down and closed his eyes.
Soon, the weight of fatigue pulled him into sleep.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the tent but standing on the edge of a cliff.
The stone beneath his feet was rough and cold, and the sea breeze blew through his robes.
In the distance, the vast ocean roared, its waves crashing violently against the cliffside rocks, filling the air with the salty smell of seawater.
In front of him stood a tall, burly man with his back turned.
The man had a head of golden hair, which the wind blew slightly into the air.
He was wearing thin clothing, completely unsuitable for the harsh winds and waves of this place.
Father Raphael walked toward the man, the wind whipping around them.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, the golden-haired man slowly turned his head.
He was wearing a mask that covered most of his face, leaving only a pair of deep, icy blue eyes exposed.