The Command Tent Assembly

The main command tent was spacious enough to accommodate over a hundred people for meetings. The seats were arranged in a semicircle, with a temporary pinewood podium at the center point, offering a view of every corner of the tent.

Half an hour after Gwynevere had given instructions to Valentine and Grek, they had summoned all the Templars in the camp to this place.

“Thirty-four Templars have followed Captain Alvis south to the Nors territorial capital, Austin. Twenty-seven are responsible for escorting supplies and patrolling outside. Thirty-one are still out searching for the Pope and have not yet returned. The rest, who remain in camp, are all here.” Valentine handed Gwynevere a piece of parchment—the list of knights present. “A total of sixty-four Templars, Vice-Commander.”

Daphne, sitting in the corner of the last row, heard Valentine’s report. She mentally checked the numbers and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they matched. She had indeed brought one hundred and fifty-six Templars when she left Salentz.

Templars were the elite military force of the Church. Training each one required massive resources. They were not only excellent combatants but also commanders of small units, each controlling a group of one hundred to three hundred men.

To lose any Templar before the war began would have been unfortunate news for Daphne. They were all the fruits of her former efforts, after all.

But in truth, there wasn’t much around here that could threaten a Templar’s safety—unless he was foolish enough to charge into the heart of an enemy camp alone.

The tent was not quiet. Whispers passed among the knights. The Pope had been missing for a week. Every day, the knights split into groups searching different areas near the Dunnau Mountains, but they had found nothing.

Even now, thirty-one Templars were still out there, not yet returned.

The most pressing matter was still to find the Pope. Yet Gwynevere had summoned all the knights for a meeting at this time, which surprised them.

“Everyone, quiet, please.” Valentine, standing beside the podium, took the initiative to maintain order for Gwynevere.

Though young, Valentine was senior in rank. He had been promoted to Templar in the same cohort as Alvis, making him senior to most of the knights present. The slightly noisy tent quickly calmed down.

“It’s been nearly a week since the Pope disappeared. You’ve all been working hard on the search, and it’s not easy to gather here. So I won’t waste words on trivialities.” Gwynevere scanned the list before turning her gaze to the seated knights. “Mr. Carl, since you’re here, please report. Any findings?”

She looked at a group of knights near the tent flap. They were still in armor, faces tired—clearly just returned from the wilds without rest.

The leader set his silver-white helmet on the table. He had a handsome face and short gray hair. From his fair, refined features, one could tell he came from a noble family.

And indeed, that was true. Daphne remembered the name and background of each of her subordinates.

Carl Shelley was the second son of Count Ernest, an Elector of the Nors territory. Without inheritance rights, he had chosen to join the Church and become a Templar. The expedition to Nors was a homecoming for him, but Carl did not seem happy. Everyone guessed that before leaving Nors, he had quarreled with his father, Count Ernest.

“Nothing found, Vice-Commander.” Carl shook his head, his expression dejected. “After winter sets in, even a living animal is hard to spot at the foot of the Dunnau Mountains. Searching for clues under the cover of night is a fantasy. We have…” The young man didn’t even glance at his weary companions. “We have done our best.”

“You’ve all done your best. Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Carl.” Gwynevere nodded. “The search for His Holiness will continue. Until Captain Alvis returns, we must do everything in our power.”

This was a consensus; no one opposed it.

They had marched thousands of miles north on an expedition, only to lose their leading Pope before even seeing a large-scale attack from the undead. Internally, the Church faced a major power vacuum and chaos; externally, they had lost face and credibility.

It was a disaster. They had to do everything possible to fix it.

Thinking of the culprit behind this disaster, Daphne, hiding in the corner, couldn’t help but wipe her forehead with her sleeve. But honestly, who could have guessed that a seemingly harmless orb was such a vicious tool?

She was a victim too!

“However, there is another major threat that cannot be ignored.”

Gwynevere changed her tone. She placed the list on the podium, shifting her gaze from Carl to the others. “I know it’s rash to make decisions before Captain Alvis returns, but the activity range of the beastmen in the surrounding area has severely encroached upon the living space of the local residents. More and more townspeople are being attacked. I cannot turn a blind eye.”

Before she could finish, discussion arose again in the tent.

“Your Holiness, what is this?” Valentine lowered his voice to inquire. He hadn’t expected Gwynevere to bring this up.

“I believe this is also our duty, Mr. Valentine.” Gwynevere saw no issue with it.

“Yes, you’re right, but it’s ill-timed.” Valentine rubbed his temples.

Unlike Edith or Bertram, who would patiently explain things to Gwynevere in detail, in such situations, Valentine chose to take matters into his own hands.

“Everyone, please be quiet!” He raised his voice again.

When the discussion died down a bit, Valentine stood at the podium. “In my personal opinion, the Vice-Commander’s proposal is reasonable. Kohl Town’s own defenses are insufficient even to face a charge from horned beasts. From the result of Miss Edith’s last battle, a herd led by a war-horned beast is nearby. This is a catastrophic disaster for the town.”

“Moreover, our own supply lines have been repeatedly attacked, forcing us to have Templars lead escorts. This dispersion of strength will sooner or later become a serious hindrance in a more urgent situation.” Grek, sitting in the front row, also stood to support Gwynevere. “I agree with Her Holiness’s proposal. Someone has to deal with these beasts, and right now, the only ones who can take on this responsibility are us.”

Daphne was glad that Valentine and Grek were present on this occasion rather than out on other business. They had always been very supportive of Gwynevere within the Knights, helping the inexperienced Vice-Commander share much of the burden.

But not everyone agreed with this inexperienced Vice-Commander, who had been forcibly promoted by the Pope due to her religious status. Opposition was always present.

“I disagree. Are we not already in enough trouble ourselves?” A thin man stood up from the center of the seating. He had prominent cheekbones, small eyes, and a pair of brown mustaches.

Sir Gregory—this fellow was one of Gwynevere’s staunchest opponents.

He dared not speak rudely to the noble Her Holiness in public, so he stepped out from the crowd and pointed at Valentine’s nose. “What does a border town’s catastrophe have to do with us? The Pope’s disappearance is also a catastrophe for the Church and the Holy See—it’s our own catastrophe!”