Chapter 47: A Game of Profit and Loss
Back at the military outpost of the Perseverance knights, the air inside Lishia's tent was heavy.
Lishia stood across the wooden table, her hands holding down a map of the area she kept looking at it.
Then, without lifting up her head, she spoke.
"So what you're saying is that huge explosion was the highlander appearing before you, and it ended up killing our entire battalion?" she asked.
"That's right," Eunice replied. She sat on a chair a bit to the side with her legs crossed.
"So did you two end up coming out of it unscathed?" Lishia asked.
"Because while that attack did have a big area of effect, it wasn't that much in terms of pure power. With a sufficient amount of magic protection, I was able to save myself from getting killed. As for Luna, well, she was out of range when it happened and arrived later," Eunice explained.
"And what about the highlander?" Lishia questioned.
"All I can say is it's a miracle we are alive. He was much more powerful than we had accounted for," Luna replied this time. She stood to Eunice's side, leaning against the wooden pole that held the tent in its place.
"Actually," Luna said with her voice low. "On my own, I wasn't able to do much of anything. I could hold him off and maybe tire him out, but none of my attacks could get through his shield. It was a pointless fight."
Lishia's sharp eyes looked up from the map. "Did you use a Grade 2 activation?"
Luna shook her head. "No. I thought about it but the risk was too high. I don't have good enough control over it yet. If I had ended up losing control of it while fighting a highlander… it would have just made things worse."
Lishia nodded slowly, her expression serious. "Which brings us to Allen," she said, her voice filled with a clear doubt.
"Are you both telling me that everything happened exactly as you said? Because to be completely honest, I find it all a little hard to believe."
"It's the truth," Luna said, her voice firm. "If he hadn't been there, we'd both be dead. There's really no arguing about it."
She took a step closer to the table, her red eyes reminiscing over the scenes that had played out before her.
"His magic was nothing similar to what I've ever seen. It just hammered the highlander's shield. It didn't stop and just kept hitting it over and over until it broke.
"It was only because he broke the shield of the highlander that I was able to reach him with my sword."
She paused, remembering the end. "And then… Allen's attacks completely ripped his body apart. He's far more powerful than we thought."
Lishia was quiet while her mind was clearly working through the strategic implications. "And he's from a country with no highlanders…" she mused. "If all of this is true, then he could be a huge help to us."
Her expression hardened again. "But what are the chances this is all a lie? That he's a spy, and this was all an elaborate act?"
"He can't be a spy," Luna said instantly, her voice full of a conviction that left no room for argument.
"How can you be so sure?" Lishia pressed.
"Because I saw him kill that highlander with my own eyes," Luna argued.
"It happened right in front of me. And I think all of us know the nature of those highlanders.
"They would never suffer the shame of being killed by a human, even if it was a fake death or just to put on a show. They don't care enough about us to even think of a plan like that."
Lishia was silent and didn't say anything in reply. She stared down at the map but she wasn't seeing it anymore. She was thinking about what Luna had said and the implications of that.
About the pride and arrogance of their enemy. It was a weakness they had exploited before, so it wasn't as if it was just a speculation.
The risk of him being a spy was small, and the potential reward of having someone other than Luna who could damage highlanders on their side was high.
Finally, she let out a long and slow breath.
"Fine," she said, looking up at the two sisters. "You're right. If he's willing to help, then we'd be fools to refuse it."
Luna gave a small, determined nod.
"I'll go get him," she said, and turned to leave the tent.
***
Allen stood outside the command tent as he continued to watch over the area around him.
The usual sounds of a military camp were gone: the clang of hammers from the forge, the shouts of men training, and the hearty laughter around the campfires.
All of it had just disappeared.
A heavy and moist quiet had fallen over the outpost, broken only by the low murmur of tired voices and the occasional and muffled sob that vanished faster than it started.
The air smelled of sweat and blood, and of disappointment.
He saw two knights carrying a body on a makeshift stretcher.
The dead man was covered with a simple and rough-spun cloth sheet, but his muddy boots and one pale hand stuck out, completely still.
A younger soldier with his face streaked with dirt and tears walked beside them, his head bowed and his shoulders shaking with silent grief.
He was probably the dead man's friend. He couldn't be too sure though. Allen watched them pass, his expression as neutral as ever.
His mind didn't register the loss of a friend or a brother or a son. It registered a simple and cold calculation.
One less soldier. A loss of a combat asset. Unit efficiency is reduced.
Well, to be honest, the entire way of organizing things is pretty bad. Nevermind the logistics.
His gaze drifted to another area where a makeshift infirmary had been set up in the open air. Wounded soldiers lay on crude wooden cots, the ground around them stained dark and wet with blood.
He saw a man with his arm wrapped in a thick and bloody bandage staring blankly up at the sky. He saw another with a crude crutch leaning against his cot, his leg clearly broken and badly set.
He saw the pain in their eyes, and the exhaustion, and the quiet suffering of men who had seen too much.
But Allen didn't feel pity. He felt nothing at all. His mind simply processed the scene as a logistical problem.
Medical supplies are a critical issue. The number of wounded is a severe drain on resources. The overall combat effectiveness of this outpost is now compromised.
It doesn't make it any better that this is probably the fifth or sixth time something like this has happened, since they have been holding this post for so long.
He looked at the faces of the living and the survivors. He saw their sadness. He saw their fear. He saw the harsh and ugly reality of their war.
To him, it was all mostly just data. A series of debits and credits in a brutal game of profit and loss. He wasn't part of their world. He didn't feel their pain.
He was just an outsider looking at the numbers on a balance sheet. And right now, the numbers were not looking good for them.