The air in the church was as cold as the howling chill wind over the Wandering Swamp, even though West Sail Harbor, deep in the tropics, had no winter.
It was all a price...
Everyone in this settlement.
Anwo's struggling gaze suddenly turned hopeless. Having lost all hope in the rebels, he raised his gun again, though he did not take off the safety.
"...I don't care about any of that. Even if we were used, give me and my brothers here a way to live, and I'll give you a way to live!"
"...If you hadn't interrupted, I was just about to get to that. Back to the earlier subject: if you want to survive, you'll have to pretend to kill them without actually killing them."
Isher shot a mocking glance at the cowardly wolf afraid of death, then continued at an unhurried pace.
"Don't just stand there. Go get some corpses from the harbor, along with carts to haul them. Lay the bodies out in the church, fire a burst at them, then drag them out."
Though it bordered on desecrating the dead, there was no time to worry about that now.
Staying alive mattered most.
Anwo asked nervously.
"Then what?"
Isher's mind raced, but his speech remained steady, without the slightest trace of panic.
"Then these survivors will have to suffer the indignity of lying with the corpses and leaving the city in the corpse carts. Make up some excuse. Say that those who died at Silver Moon Church must be buried... The rebels have no grudge against Father Melchior, so they probably won't trouble him. But Father Melchior will have to go along with this. There is still some risk—"
"It's fine. If it can save these poor people, this little risk is nothing," Melchior interrupted,