A Vote Averted

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 set at the center of the arc, allowing every corner of the tent to be seen.

Within half an hour after Gwynevere gave instructions to Valentine and Grek, they had gathered all the Templars in the camp here.

“Thirty-four Templars have followed Captain Alvis south to the capital of the Nors Territory, Austin.”

“Twenty-seven Templars are responsible for escorting supplies and patrolling outside.”

“Thirty-one Templars are still out searching for His Holiness the Pope and have not yet returned.”

“The rest, who remain in camp, are all here.”

Valentine handed Gwynevere, who stood on the podium, a piece of parchment.

It was the list of Templars present.

“A total of sixty-four Templars, Vice-Commander.”

Daphne, sitting in the corner of the last row, heard Valentine’s report.

After mentally calculating and confirming that the total number was correct, she secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

At the time, she had indeed brought one hundred and fifty-six Templars with her when she left Salentz.

Templars were the elite military force of the Church, and training each one required a tremendous amount of resources.

While they were excellent combatants, they were also commanders of small-scale units, with each Templar controlling a force of one hundred to three hundred men.

For Daphne, losing any Templar before the war began would count as unfortunate news.

However, in truth, there was not much here that could threaten a Templar’s safety—unless he was foolish enough to mount his horse, raise his lance, and charge straight into the heart of an enemy camp.

The tent was not quiet.

The knights whispered among themselves.

The Pope had been missing for nearly a week.

Every day, the knights split into several groups and searched different directions near the Dunnau Mountains for the Pope’s whereabouts.

Even now, thirty-one Templars were still outside and had yet to return.

At present, the most important matter was still to find the Pope.

Yet Gwynevere had summoned all the knights for a council at this moment, which surprised them.

“Everyone, quiet.”

Valentine, standing beside the podium, took the initiative to help Gwynevere maintain order.

Although Valentine was young, he had considerable seniority.

He had been ordained as a Templar in the same cohort as Alvis, making him a senior to most of the knights present.

The slightly noisy conversations soon quieted down.

“It has been nearly a week since the Pope disappeared.”

“All of you have been burdened with heavy search duties, and it was not easy to gather here, so I will not waste words on trivialities.”

Gwynevere glanced over the list, then let her gaze fall upon the many seated knights.

“Mr. Carl, since you happen to be here, please report.”

“Have you found anything?”

She was looking toward the group of knights near the tent flap.

They were still wearing armor, and their faces showed exhaustion.

Clearly, they had only just returned from the wilderness and had not yet rested.

The leader placed his silver-white helmet on the table.

He had a handsome face and short, pale hair.

From his refined features, one could tell that he came from a noble family.

And indeed, that was true.

Daphne remembered the name and general background of every subordinate.

Carl Shelley was the second son of Count Ernest, the Prince-Elector of the Nors Territory.

Without inheritance rights, he had chosen to join the Church and become a Templar.

The expedition to the Nors Territory was a return home for him, but Carl himself did not seem pleased.

Everyone guessed that before leaving the Nors Territory, this young man must have fallen out with his father, Count Ernest.

“Nothing at all, Vice-Commander.”

Carl shook his head, his expression dejected.

“After nightfall, even a living animal is difficult to spot at the foot of the Dunnau Mountains.”

“Searching for traces under the cover of night is nothing but fantasy.”

“We have…”

The young man glanced at his utterly exhausted companions.

“We believe we have already done our best.”

“Everyone has done their best.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Carl.”

Gwynevere nodded.

“The search for His Holiness the Pope 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 in a grand expedition, only to lose His Holiness the Pope, who had led them, before they had even seen the undead launch a siege.

Internally, the Church was facing enormous chaos from a shift in power, and externally, it had lost face, credibility, and authority.

It was simply a disaster.

They had to do everything possible to remedy it.

Thinking of the culprit who had caused this incident, Daphne, hiding in the corner, could not help but quietly wipe her forehead with her sleeve.

But honestly, who could have expected that a seemingly harmless orb would turn out to be such a vicious tool?

She was a victim too!

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

Gwynevere changed the subject.

She placed the list on the podium table, moving her gaze away from Carl and sweeping it across the others.

“I know that making decisions and plans before Captain Alvis returns may be rash.”

“However, the activity range of the beastmen in the surrounding area has already 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 rose again inside the tent.

“Your Holiness, what is this?”

Valentine asked in a low voice.

Even he had not expected that this was what Gwynevere intended to bring up.

“I believe this is also our duty, Mr. Valentine.”

Gwynevere did not think there was any problem with it.

“Yes, you are right, but the timing is inappropriate.”

Valentine rubbed his temples.

Unlike Edith or Bertram, he would not patiently explain things to Gwynevere in detail.

Whenever this sort of situation arose, Valentine usually chose to take matters into his own hands.

“Everyone, please be quiet!”

Valentine raised his voice and called out again.

Once the discussion had quieted slightly, Valentine stepped before the podium.

“In my personal opinion, the Vice-Commander’s proposal is reasonable.”

“Kohl Town’s own defenses are not even enough to withstand a charge from horned beasts.”

“Judging from the result of Miss Edith’s previous battle in town, a herd led by a war-horn beast is nearby.”

“For this town, that is a catastrophe.”

“Moreover, our own supply teams have been attacked several times.”

“As a result, Templars must personally lead guards to escort them.”

“This kind of dispersion of strength will sooner or later become a serious weakness in a more urgent situation.”

Grek, who was sitting in the front row, also stood to speak in support of Valentine’s proposal.

“I agree with Her Holiness the Saintess’s suggestion.”

“Someone must settle this matter, and right now, the only ones who can bear this responsibility are us.”

Daphne was very glad that Valentine and Grek had not gone out on other business during this occasion.

Within the Knight Order, they had always taken great care of Gwynevere, helping this still-inexperienced Vice-Commander shoulder a great deal of pressure.

However, not everyone agreed with this inexperienced Vice-Commander, who had only been forcibly promoted by the Pope because of her religious status.

Voices of opposition had always existed.

“I do not agree.”

“Resorting to war so eagerly—do you still think we do not have enough troubles of our own?”

A thin man in the center of the seats stood up.

The veins on his forehead stood out, his eyes were small, and he had a pair of brown mustaches.

Sir Gregory.

This fellow was one of Gwynevere’s staunchest opponents.

He did not dare speak rudely to Her Holiness the Saintess in public, so he walked out from the crowd and pointed at Valentine, saying sharply, “What does the catastrophe of a remote border town have to do with us?”

“The Pope’s disappearance is also a catastrophe for the Church and the Curia.”

“It is our own catastrophe!”