There had already been enough bad news lately, and now the most elite magical beast legion was gone too. Pope Pius VII nearly failed to catch his breath.
At this point in the Anti-Frankish War, none of the other sides had suffered much loss. The Church alone had been taking a beating.
Although the Church had been declining for years, it was still one of humanity's two greatest powers. Yet the gap between the two sides' battlefield performances was simply too vast.
When Port Saintes fell, they could still claim that their main forces had been abroad and that the Franks had caught them off guard.
After all, they had held the Holy Mountain. Though the defense had been difficult and the losses somewhat heavy, they had held it in the end.
But this was different. The Terrain Dragon Legion, hailed as humanity's most elite force, had been crippled in a single battle.
Any further excuses would have been too much.
Being ambushed on their own territory would only prove their stupidity if word got out.
"Pass down the order. Immediately arrange for men to gather the remaining routed troops and preserve as many seeds as possible! Notify the returning forces to remain vigilant and guard against the enemy using the same trick again."
Pope Pius VII hurriedly issued the order after recovering his senses.
They had already suffered the defeat, so they had to minimize their losses as much as possible.
No one objected to the Pope's caution.
Times had changed. After a string of defeats, the Church's upper ranks had lost serious confidence in their own army.
In theory, they still had several hundred thousand main-force troops, enough to keep all the Frankish forces behind. But no one dared gamble on it.
If they suffered another crushing defeat,