The Silvermoon Knight and Alan stood outside the medical camp, listening to the conversation between the two brothers inside.
Although the preceding siege battle had been brief, casualties had still occurred. Magitech cannons were not mere ornaments; even the oldest model could pierce through several armored warriors in a single blast.
This wounded soldier had suffered terrible luck. Shrapnel from a cannon shell had sheared away his right leg. Though his life was spared, that leg was left forever outside Sweetdew City. Yet he was also relatively fortunate amid disaster; several Ryan warriors struck by the same magitech cannons hadn't even left behind intact corpses.
The accompanying priests had to conserve their magic and dared not expend divine spells to regenerate his severed limb, meaning he could only wait until the war ended to be sent back to the empire for treatment.
To be wounded on the battlefield was an immense honor for many people of Ryan, the finest testament to their devout devotion to the Lord of the Dawn. Yet this wounded soldier's younger brother had been terrified out of his wits by the gruesome injury, actually telling his elder brother that he never wanted to take the field again.
The result was a brutal slap across the face from his elder brother. Such a coward was an absolute disgrace to their family.
"Brother, I can become an auxiliary! I'm willing to give up all my inheritance rights! Every copper I earn in the future can be donated to the army! But I don't want to go onto the battlefield anymore... I can't even hold my sword steady. I'm truly terrified."
A bright red handprint marked the boy's face, his eyes brimming with tears. Just recalling the horrific carnage of the magitech cannons blasting down and sending blood and flesh flying, the youth shivered with dread.
Not everyone could stand brave and fearless in the face of death.
Alan recalled when he had been captured; deep down, he too had felt a flicker of fear, a trace of weakness. Though he had ultimately endured, refusing to yield to that lich and committing no act contrary to the Holy Light, Alan could not deny that inner weakness. It was human nature. Comfort the boy a little, and he would gather his courage once more.
However, the wounded soldier did not see it that way.
The sharp rasp of a drawn sword rang out, and the wounded soldier roared at his younger brother, "Coward! If you intend to desert, I'll slay you first! I will not allow you to ruin our family's honor, nor will I allow you to defile the Holy Light!"
Alan was about to charge into the tent to stop the tragedy, but the Silvermoon Knight was faster.
By the time Alan rushed in, the Silvermoon Knight had already caught the blade rippling with Holy Light.
The Silvermoon Knight coughed continuously, his complexion turning paler and more ashen. He had already been severely depleted, and stirred up by this burst of emotion, he grew even frailer.
Alan hurried to his side and cast Vigor on him to replenish a bit of his strength.
Only then did the Silvermoon Knight catch his breath. Turning to the trembling boy, he said, "Report to the auxiliary corps. Once this war ends, take your discharge and go home."
The boy seemed not to register it at first. Hearing the general's command, his immediate reaction was to drop to his knees and stammer in sheer terror, "General, I was wrong! Just now I was... I was only... I didn't mean to betray the Holy Light!"
The Silvermoon Knight merely stated calmly, "I will not say it a second time. This is an order; no one may disobey."
Having said that, the Silvermoon Knight glanced across the medical camp. Inside lay a dozen or so maimed soldiers missing arms or legs, every single one looking at him with eyes full of fanaticism.
And it was these same men who, just moments ago, had watched that wounded soldier prepare to execute his own brother with complete indifference, as if it were only right and natural.
The Silvermoon Knight said nothing further, merely telling Alan, "Let us return."
Alan hurried after him out of the medical camp.
Along the way, the Silvermoon Knight spoke not a word. There were only his coughs, growing increasingly violent, and his breathing, turning fainter.
Lost in thought, Alan felt that something was wrong with what he had witnessed today, yet he couldn't put his finger on what it was.
A boy who had only just set foot on the battlefield had been terrified by the carnage—was it truly so grave that only death could wash away the shame?
Having just lain down, the Silvermoon Knight suddenly broke the silence. "Alan, what do you think of what just happened?"
Alan promptly replied, "The elder brother was too harsh. It shouldn't cost a life over something like this; all he needed was reassurance. I believe that with a little time, he could surely find his courage again and become an able warrior."
The Silvermoon Knight asked, "And if he cannot? Does he deserve to die then?"
Alan fell silent for a moment before answering, "Even so, he shouldn't have said it at a time like this. His cowardice would undermine the morale of the others."
The Silvermoon Knight pressed on, "Then do the soldiers swayed by him also deserve to die?"
Alan paused again, then said, "Well... surely not?"
The Silvermoon Knight chuckled faintly.
"If the soldiers made cowardly by him do not deserve to die, how could a boy frightened by the battlefield deserve death? He didn't cower or retreat on the battlefield; his fear only took hold after he stepped away. Are we to strip away even the right to be afraid?"
Alan felt something was off. Even facing the Silvermoon Knight, the empire's most exalted paladin, he still argued back, "But we are at war, General. Sometimes war is just like this. We must secure victory. We cannot slacken military discipline out of pity, or how will we ever wage war in the future?"
The Silvermoon Knight did not refute him directly. Instead, he posed several questions to Alan: "Are we first believers of the Lord of the Dawn, or first soldiers? According to the doctrines we follow day by day, that child's offense does not warrant death. But didn't you notice? Everyone else in that medical camp tacitly accepted such an honor execution. To them, an elder brother cutting down his younger brother was completely beyond reproach."
"Perhaps... because it's wartime? It's somewhat understandable to be stricter," Alan said hesitantly.
The Silvermoon Knight shook his head. "If our doctrine can be compromised for war, then in the future it can be compromised for ten thousand other reasons. If everyone can find reasons to compromise, can our faith still be called devout? Would our tenets still have any meaning for existing?"
Alan parted his lips, unable to formulate a response.
Perhaps having spoken too much, the Silvermoon Knight began coughing violently once again. Lacking the strength to speak further with Alan, he waved his hand to dismiss the young man.
"Don't linger here. Go take a walk and think carefully."
Alan stepped out of the tent, his face etched with confusion.
Alan wasn't that much older than the cowardly youth. This wasn't his first time on a battlefield, but it was his first time witnessing the clash between doctrine and reality.
Furthermore, Alan was a paladin of the Oath of Devotion. He could not deceive others, much less deceive himself. He could not possess flexible moral standards like the black knights; he had to treat every person and every matter with fairness and justice, or he would lose all his power entirely.
His conscience told him that the Silvermoon Knight's words were true: executing a timid youth went against the tenets they believed in.
The Lord of the Dawn would never compel someone to sacrifice themselves and devote their life—if he did, how would he differ from an evil god?
Alan sensed a faint disquiet, for such honor executions were by no means rare. For as long as Alan could remember, he had heard of at least ten such executions, and what about those he hadn't heard of?
Why did the empire allow such conduct to exist?
Why did his father, the Supreme Arbiter, also tacitly condone such cruelty?
Those so-called sinners who had supposedly blasphemed the deities and betrayed the Holy Light—had they truly committed capital crimes?
These questions weighed so heavily on Alan that he could barely breathe. He could only keep telling himself that now was not the time to dwell on them; he needed to focus his attention on the battle at hand.
Alan decided to take over patrol duty, wandering about the encampment on his own, thinking that if there were another honor execution, he might intervene in time to save a life.
Yet after roaming for two or three hours, Alan encountered no honor executions. Instead, he heard an odd sound.
Following the noise, he found a Ryan soldier twitching on the ground, his throat slit open.
Alan was startled and immediately cast a healing spell to mend his wound.
Though Alan's prompt aid spared the soldier's life, when Alan looked in the direction the man pointed, he saw several more soldiers whose throats had been similarly cut. Their blood had nearly run dry, their bodies long since still.
Without hesitation, Alan drew his longsword and slashed a beam of Holy Light into the sky.
The energy soared into the air and detonated with a resounding boom—an alarm of an enemy raid.
Ryan's military camp immediately sprang into action, but the assassinations inside did not cease; instead, having been exposed, they grew all the more violent.
Violent explosions erupted, turning several tents into seas of fire.
Battle cries rose from all sides. For a moment, it was impossible to tell how many hidden foes had revealed themselves.
Alan rushed to protect the Silvermoon Knight, but halfway there he ran into a translucent figure. The infiltrator's invisibility spell was unrefined, leaving a blurry outline as they moved.
Alan swiftly swung out a Divine Smite at the figure. His longsword swept past, severing one of the intruder's arms.
What was revealed was an orc with fiery red skin. Even with an arm lopped off, the orc remained ferocious, hurling a dagger at Alan with his remaining hand.
Alan parried the dagger away with his sword and gave chase.
Only after finally striking down the orc did Alan catch sight of a panicked figure—it was none other than the terrified youth who had wanted to become a deserter.
The boy fled blindly in terror, only to be bowled over by a dwarf who suddenly pounced from the shadows. By the time the youth struggled to scramble up, several bloody holes had already been punched through his body.
Heart, throat, liver... every vital spot of the human body had been pierced through.
By the time Alan rushed over, the dwarf had already vanished without a trace.
Alan reached the boy's side, wanting to save him, but his healing spells could not possibly mend wounds so grievous. He could only watch him die completely.
When he stood back up, Alan's body was soaked in blood, but his eyes were redder still. Gripping his longsword tight, he charged toward where the fighting was fiercest.
Chapter 223