In the darkness, the gates of the camp stood wide open.
Even a desert bandit gang that came and went like the wind needed somewhere to set down roots in this wasteland—a place to escape the scorching daylight and the bitter chill of night.
Thus, a remote camp with a hidden water source had come into being.
It lay surrounded by several earthen hills.
From outside, there was no sign that anything unusual lay here.
But from the top of the hills, one could see that there was a whole different world within.
A sizable wooden camp rose from the ground.
At that moment, the bandits left behind watched in shock as their companions—who had set out swaggering and boasting that they would return with a whole cartload of gold and silver—came flooding through the gates like beaten dogs, their faces filled with panic.
"What happened, my brothers!"
"Where are the others? Why did only you come back?"
"We lost! Those terrifying Frankish barbarians used some dreadful spell that fed on blood. They are incarnations of the devil!"
Still reeling from the shock, someone stammered, "We should never have provoked those devils. There were only seven of them, yet they routed our warriors as easily as chopping melons and vegetables."
"Holy Fire above, please burn away the cursed spell that has stained us."
The moment someone rushed through the camp gates, he dropped to his knees and prayed devoutly to the Holy Fire altar enshrined at the center of the camp.
Abud watched this scene with a grim expression. The anger and unease in his heart seemed ready to melt him whole.
Abud said sternly, "Have everyone prepare for defense. Bato, take some men and ready the offerings needed for the Grand Rite. I will hold a Grand Rite for