The world might want to set itself straight but the NPC has other plans (part 2)

In the late afternoon, the force of around fourty-odd thousand soldiers of the Battllorran kingdom arrived at the valley.

Their fighting spirit was long gone, and their sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes described their state far better than any words ever could.

Getting past the forest swallowed by flame was hard enough – the fire chased away all game that could be turned into field rations but, by far, the worst thing was ahead of them.

"... it's the curse of the black-haired demon..." *thump*

The sight of the burning city had caused hundreds of them to fall to their knees – they already knew what sight would greet them because of the all too familiar sight of the smoke covering the sky, but even so, they still clung to the thin thread of hope that this time they will be able to capture the city and fill their stomachs.

This war...

The war between the Battllorran and Wondalandor lasted for over six years...

It wasn't a glorious campaign that they all enlisted for.

It was hell.

The first corps that they were a part of was hailed as the most efficient and successful one in the entire Third Field army of the Battllorran kingdom. During the first two years, they experience nothing but an uninterrupted string of victories...

But then... during the third year of the campaign... The rumors of the newly appointed captain of the Wondalandor began circulating amongst the troops as the second corps twenty-third battalion had their first and last encounter with him and his company.

The second corps' twenty-third battalion was last spotted pursuing the company led by a black-haired commander who was reported to recklessly parade around without his helmet and...

Once the rest of the regiment the twenty-third company belonged to moved out to rejoin the missing battalion, they found only a shallow swamp filled with corpses of their comrades picked clean of any and all equipment and valuables.

If that was all, then it would become just a scary story, a rumor that the bored soldiers would tell each other to keep themselves awake during the night watch...

...but, no...

The proper first meeting of anyone from the first corps with the black-haired captain happened a month later.

The black-haired officer was spotted at the walls of a town besieged by the eleventh regiment... and two more battalions of the attacking soldiers were slaughtered during the night without even a single guard raising the alarm.

To make things even more confusing, troublesome, and utterly shameful, the town ended up burning down the very next morning after being abandoned – but not a single soldier spotted the citizens evacuating at any point.

That was also the first time during the campaign that anyone from the third field army encountered poisoned wells, losing dozens of soldiers before realizing the problem.

But the higher ups of Battllorran still counter that as a win.

Since then, the black-haired officer kept popping up here and there – the first corps kept winning... on paper, that is...

During the third year, only a few wells they encountered ended up being poisoned – it was more of an annoyance than an actual threat – after all, the bulk of the Wondalandor was fighting according to the war doctrine, and the actual full-scale skirmishes were happening.

During the fourth year, every third well was definitely poisoned, and the precedence of granaries being set on fire began to occur...

...but only when the black-haired captain was spotted...

During the fifth year, there were more poisoned wells than good ones, and the advancing first corpse had to start to rely on the rest of the army to send in supplies, as every spotting of the black-haired captain would result in the village or town and their food storages being set aflame.

That was also a point where farms would start being swiped clean of livestock.

Wondalandor was known in the new continent as the most bountiful land... no one from Battllorran expected that rations would be the problem, which slowed the army's advance tremendously.

Then, the sixth year of the campaign came – soldiers from the first course refused to drink water from any wells, but then some of the rivers ended up being polluted by the rotting corpses of the butchered livestock, making it extremely difficult to secure the supply.

The food...

It is enough to say that some of the soldiers would risk trying to eat the rotting corpses as the rations provided from the other regions had only a fifty percent chance of making their way to their destination.

And that's not even mentioning the night raids that they were harassed by the local group of bandits that all of a sudden started showing off great patriotism towards Wondalandor.

At that point, even a baseless rumor of a person with black hair being spotted in the vicinity was enough for the morale of the soldiers to take a significant hit.

His presence turned into a superstition that was a form of self-fulfilling prophecy...

The entire corps was in shambles, and more and more soldiers were a step away from desertion...

....despite the supposed winning streak continuing and the glory waiting for them back home...

The command saw only the bright side, so they were putting increasingly more pressure on the first corps to push forward, sending them more supplies... of which only the equipment would arrive nine out of ten times while the beforementioned rations showed up half the time.

Barely enough to keep going.

But they were winning, right?!

RIGHT?!

They were the most forward force while the rest of the third field army lagged behind, locked in stalemate-like sieges with the defenders holed up in the castles and fortresses!

That birthed a rather disturbing rumor – the higher-ups made a deal with a demon, Battllorran would win the war against the Wondalandor at the cost of the soul of every single soldier from the first corps – and the demon turned into the black-haired capitan in order to watch over the fulfillment of the deal.

"...onwards... There is an ancient dam right between those mountains... the lake behind it is too large to get poisoned in a feasible time... we... will at least have enough to drink..."

The gray-haired general with dry lips breathed out and commanded in a weak voice, and his words were passed by the equally worn-out officers.

"...water... clean water...!"

The chant spread around the husks of the soldiers, and they dragged their feet while peeling their eyes in search of any movement that would imply the surviving animal that they could hunt.