Chapter 19: Turning the Page

Emi set up the camp all by herself. She lit the fire, arranged the makeshift beds, and cooked their portions of dried meat. She was far from an expert, but she had managed to learn enough of the basics to keep herself alive.

“Done! I’m only just getting started with this whole camping thing, but I’ll get better soon!” the blonde exclaimed with tremendous confidence.

Raiga smiled at her. He was lying on the bed and breathing with some difficulty, as the previous battle had left him with several painful injuries. Between torn muscles, bruises, and cuts, the best thing he could do was rest as much as possible and recover his strength.

“Sorry I couldn’t help set up camp. I really don’t feel well, Emi…”

“Don’t apologize. From now on, I’ll handle the logistics. It’s the least I can do. We’re a team—you fight, and I think!” Emi approached him with a huge smile, then planted a small kiss on his forehead that made him blush. “My precious knight, let this stubborn intellectual take care of you.”

“O-Okay,” Raiga replied, embarrassed by this sudden reversal of roles.

Depending on someone else was new to him.

But he did not dislike it in the slightest. Being cared for, protected, and loved was a basic human right that Raiga had been denied for fourteen years.

Until now.

“By the way, Raiga, if by some miracle the Heretic’s curse is lifted, what do you plan to do?” Emi asked without giving the question much thought. She continued cooking the pieces of meat in an iron pan over the newly lit fire.

The adventurer closed his eyes.

He had never imagined a life without the curse. He had always believed everyone would hate him, so the mere idea of living an ordinary existence free from divine trials and the whims of fate felt completely foreign.

Raiga thought about it for several seconds before letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. Since I didn’t even know I was cursed, I never imagined a life where the entire world didn’t hate me.” Raiga kept his one true dream to himself: asking Emi to become his wife.

Beyond that, he had no clear ambitions.

He did not want to get his hopes up in case the curse remained.

“I know you don’t want to get too excited about the possibility, but if the curse disappears by some miracle, I’m sure a lot of doors will open for you.” Emi served the two pieces of meat onto wooden plates. “And if it doesn’t disappear, I’ll still stay by your side. Never doubt that.”

“Thank you.” That was all he could manage without bursting into tears right then and there.

The uncertainty could wait. His stomach growled, and that gave him the perfect excuse to sit up and accept his plate.

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Captain Jora led the royal army’s march.

He rode at the very front on his armored warhorse, accompanied by a retinue of highly honored knights. The kingdom’s banners fluttered in the wind, while the war horns remained safely packed away inside the supply wagons.

Marching was never easy, and the logistical problems caused by such a rushed mobilization quickly made themselves known. The regiments were unfamiliar with one another, dozens of newly promoted sergeants struggled to maintain order with their pathetic barking, and the confusion caused by such a sudden campaign still weighed heavily on the soldiers.

“It’ll be dark soon! Soldiers, make camp!” Jora shouted.

The other quartermasters repeated his order again and again. It took nearly two hours for the entire army to come to a complete stop and another hour to raise the four-man tents. Conditions were far from ideal. The only real privilege Jora enjoyed was having a private tent where he could gather his thoughts and work on strategy.

He sat down and ignored the constant movement of the soldiers and knights preparing their evening meals.

This campaign is shaping up to be a disaster. Our logistics are poor, and sooner or later the soldiers are going to become frustrated. When that happens, they’ll start getting violent, and then controlling them once we reach a village will become difficult.

Jora had experience dealing with peasants.

They did not see heraldry or military ceremony. They only saw a mass of armed men ready to take away their precious food—and perhaps their daughters along with it. The relationship between the royal army and the civilian population had become terrible. Gone were the days when joining the ranks was a privilege reserved for the finest warriors.

Now they accepted almost anyone capable of holding formation and gripping a spear in their scrawny hands. The quality of the army had declined over the past fifty years, and even Jora understood that.

I’m afraid they’ll end up killing each other before we even reach our destination. On the other hand, I don’t want to reach it either. This mission is idiotic.

Jora’s thoughts did not improve. He tried to find some logic behind the waste of troops and resources, but found nothing except legal loopholes that made the entire expedition seem completely absurd.

“Maybe I should slow the march down a little. Something in my head keeps telling me none of this is normal. I’ve felt that way ever since I fought Raiga.” Jora sighed again, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the canvas roof with obvious displeasure.

For just a moment, an idea completely at odds with common sense entered his mind.

What if the gods have been making mistakes?

That would explain the increasingly twisted logic behind the gods’ actions in recent years.

Captain Jora kept those heretical thoughts to himself. A man in his position should never question divine will, yet recent events had planted far more doubt in him than certainty.

“Captain, I have a report from the scouts.” A soldier interrupted the silence. Jora could not simply send him away and tell him to come back later, because he no longer had that luxury. As the supreme commander of the campaign, it was his duty to make sure everything continued running smoothly.

“I’m listening,” Jora said, abandoning his thoughts and focusing on the present.

“We’ve spotted a merchant caravan led by halflings. They’re carrying food and some gold. Should we raid them? I could put together a group of fast riders, attack them, and take the goods.”

Jora considered it for a moment.

Attack innocent civilians without provocation?

He could have understood it if they had encountered a military patrol—trained and armed soldiers prepared to fight. But halfling merchants were mostly unarmed. For protection, they hired adventurers and small groups of local spearmen who were better suited to killing rats than fighting actual warriors.

Jora had never considered himself some perfect knight whose honor was beyond reproach, but he did not want to behave like an idiot either. He thought it over for several seconds before giving his answer.

“No. If we kill them, we could raise suspicion. Sir Lancelot’s orders were clear: a surprise attack. We strike, and we disappear. If we start looting and killing people along the way, they’ll realize what’s happening soon enough, and by the time we reach their city, we’ll already have crossbowmen waiting on the walls and mercenaries bought with halfling gold.” The captain’s reasoning was sound.

A surprise attack was supposed to be a surprise.

Announcing your intentions with pointless fires and raids would completely undermine the Marshal’s original orders.

“You’re right. Now I see why Sir Lancelot put you in command. A good leader needs a cool head for decisions like this. Very well, I’ll order the scouts to stay away from the merchants. Have a good night, Captain.” The soldier left the tent, leaving Jora even more thoughtful than before.

He had barely avoided one uncomfortable situation, but his luck would not last forever.

I hope they cancel this campaign as soon as possible.