Dinner

After a day of grueling marching, the army had drawn close to the Celestoria Mountain Range, and the sense of danger seemed to intensify with every step closer. 

By dusk, it was time for dinner. Smoke rose from the campfires throughout the camp, blending into the twilight, casting a faint glow over the weary soldiers. 

The soldiers sat quietly around the fires, holding simple meals in their hands—bland broth and hard bread—while the fatigue of the day was etched on their faces.

After the long day of marching, no one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts, processing the day's exhaustion.

Inside a slightly larger tent, five priests sat around a crude wooden table.

A few flickering candles provided a faint warmth and light. Although their dinner was a bit more generous than the soldiers', it was still modest—broth and black bread, with a few fresh fruits that were part of a special ration.

At the head of the table sat Father Raphael, his gaze calm as he scanned the faces of his companions, gently stirring the broth in his bowl with a spoon.

Despite his outward composure, his mind was already preoccupied with the plans for the days ahead.

Father Thomas was the first to break the silence.

"Our flank troops suffered quite a bit today.

The magic beasts are now moving in small groups," he said in a low, serious tone, furrowing his brows.

"If this drags on, I'm worried the soldiers' morale will take a sharp dive."

As he spoke, he opened the records he had with him, preparing to give a detailed report on the flank troops' situation.

"The rear troops are in a similar situation," Father Weiss chimed in, his expression just as grave.

"We had a few minor encounters with the magic beasts during the march today.

While there weren't any major losses, the soldiers' exhaustion is becoming quite apparent.

If we continue like this tomorrow, their bodies won't be able to hold out much longer."

Father Raphael nodded slightly, gesturing for Weiss to continue speaking.

His gaze shifted toward a letter on the table, and his fingers lightly tapped on the wooden surface as he pondered.

Father Carsey, having set down his bread, frowned deeply.

"The logistics situation is not looking good.

While we can just barely maintain supplies for now, if we keep consuming at this rate, we won't be able to hold out much longer."

As he spoke, his eyes instinctively turned toward Father Raphael, as if awaiting his orders.

Father Phillips then reported on the status of the front troops.

"The front-line troops made good progress today, but the soldiers' fatigue is becoming more and more obvious.

The scouts have spotted signs of magic beast activity.

The road ahead will likely be more dangerous. However, morale is still relatively high for now."

Father Raphael listened quietly, his brow furrowing slightly as he fell into a brief moment of contemplation.

He slowly set down his spoon, letting his gaze pass over each of the priests at the table before it settled on the letter lying before him.

Reaching out, he pushed the envelope to the center of the table.

The candlelight flickered over the letter as it slid forward. 

"Take a look at this. It's from Father Marco," Raphael said in a low voice.

The candlelight flickered in front of the priests as the envelope moved closer, and the others couldn't help but frown.

Raphael's words had drawn their full attention to the letter.

Father Thomas reached for the envelope, pulling out the letter, and began to read carefully.

As his eyes scanned the page, his expression grew increasingly serious.

The letter was then passed to Father Carsey, Father Phillips, and Father Weiss in turn.

Each priest quickly skimmed the words, feeling the weight of the message grow heavier in their hearts.

The letter was clear: Father Marco urged them to speed up their march, also mentioning that the situation in the Southern Province was becoming increasingly dire.

Magic beast activity was growing more frequent, and delays were no longer an option.

The Archbishop was closely monitoring this operation, and it was even stated that if they failed to complete the extermination mission on time, punishment from the higher echelons of the church would be inevitable.

At the end of the letter, Father Marco specifically emphasized the need to maintain the soldiers' morale, stressing that no sign of low spirits should reach the higher-ups.

The tone throughout the letter was filled with warnings and urgency, as if the pressure from the church weighed heavily on their shoulders like a burden.

After finishing the letter, the priests exchanged glances.

Father Thomas furrowed his brow deeply, Father Phillips sighed softly, while Father Carsey appeared even more anxious.

Instinctively, their gazes returned to Father Raphael, waiting for his further instructions.

Father Raphael's expression remained calm, as if the warnings and urgency in the letter had not stirred any unrest in his mind. 

Looking at his fellow priests, he spoke evenly, "I have already reported our shortages in supplies and manpower to Father Marco, but so far, we haven't received any response."

His voice was steady and composed, showing no signs of urgency or panic. 

After a brief pause, his gaze moved to the map spread out on the table, and he continued, "We don't know when we'll get a reply, nor when the supplies will arrive."

The priests remained tense, especially Father Carsey, who furrowed his brow even deeper. Unable to hold back, he spoke up, "If the supplies don't arrive on time, the soldiers' morale and stamina will suffer greatly during the next phase of our march. 

We've already entered the outskirts of the Celestoria Mountain Range, and the threat of magic beasts could strike at any moment.

We need to be fully prepared."

Father Phillips nodded slightly, adding, "The front troops have already spotted signs of magic beasts.

The soldiers are showing increasing signs of fatigue.

We need to find a balance between marching and resting."

Father Thomas remained silent, but the deep crease in his brow betrayed his concern.

Listening to their reports, Father Raphael's expression remained unchanged.

He lightly tapped the table with his fingers, thinking for a moment before he finally spoke, "Our top priority now is to ensure the soldiers' morale and physical strength don't collapse.

Though Father Marco urges us to quicken our march, we must understand that pushing exhausted soldiers to continue at this pace will only lead to disaster."

His voice was deep and resolute, carrying an undeniable calmness and decisiveness.

"Although we cannot be certain when the supplies will arrive, we must first stabilize our internal situation. 

Over the next few days, we will personally inspect each camp every night, calming the soldiers' emotions while preparing them for the upcoming challenges."

Father Carsey nodded in agreement, though his face still showed traces of anxiety, it was clear he approved of Father Raphael's decision.

Father Phillips agreed, adding, "That's a good idea, at least it will help maintain morale and prevent the soldiers from being overwhelmed by their emotions."

A brief silence fell over the priests, and the atmosphere became even more tense.

The candlelight flickered gently on the table, illuminating their thoughtful expressions.

The soup on the table gradually cooled, but none of them touched their spoons, as if the meal had lost its flavor.

Father Raphael's gaze remained fixed on the map spread across the table.

His expression was steady, but a faint hint of concern lingered in his eyes.

His fingers tapped lightly on the wooden surface, as though he was contemplating something deeper.

Father Thomas, meanwhile, focused intently on cutting the hard black bread.

The knife scraped against the ceramic plate, creating an unpleasant sound, but he remained silent, his brow furrowed deeply.

Father Carsey occasionally glanced at the other priests, his eyes betraying complex emotions, with anxiety still evident in the furrow of his brow.

Father Phillips stared out of the tent's window.

A faint breeze stirred the curtain, and the faint murmurs of soldiers outside could be heard, but he said nothing, simply sitting in silence.

The candlelight flickered between them, casting shadows that reflected the weight each one carried in their hearts.