After finishing his meal, Michael stood to enjoy a cup of tea when a soldier came rushing toward him, looking panicked.
"Sir! A situation, sir!"
The soldier was unfamiliar to Michael.
"I—I went to fetch water and saw something strange in the forest. A group of fanatics performing a ritual!"
"Are you certain?" Michael asked, his tone sharp.
"Yes, sir! They were definitely fanatics. Their faces were painted red, and they were dancing. I saw it clearly!"
Michael scrutinized the soldier. He was a bald man with a well-fed appearance, his head flushed red with excitement, his lips glistening with saliva as he spoke.
"Hmm. I see. Were there many of them?"
"No, sir. Just a few. If you send the knights, they'll be easy to handle!"
Michael's interest faded. So, there really were forces foolish enough to use such incompetent spies.
