Blood Sacrifice

Brendan and Roland worked with remarkable efficiency. Before long, they had selected roughly five hundred recruits from among those who had endured the bloody "baptism"—young people who had performed exceptionally well, with hatred and resolve burning brightest in their eyes.

These recruits were temporarily organized into more than a dozen squads of around fifty. They sat in circles on the open ground where the killing had only just subsided.

The blood of the Sauron still stained their bodies and faces, not yet dry, filling the air with a heavy stench. But at that moment, they were no longer slaves awaiting slaughter. They were aspiring warriors who had just slain their enemies and passed the most brutal trial.

The logistics soldiers brought them steaming food. It was no delicacy, but it was solid fare that could restore their strength: Black Bread and steaming meat broth.

The recruits tore into the hard but filling Black Bread with one hand while cradling warm wooden bowls in the other, gulping down the savory meat broth. Their faces held a complex mixture of exhaustion, exhilaration, and a budding sense of belonging.

For many of them, simply being able to sit like "people" and eat food handed out by "their own," rather than fight like livestock over scraps and leftovers, was an unprecedented experience in itself.

They ate and drank while speaking in low voices, their eyes occasionally darting toward the hazy outline of Tyrol Fortress in the distance, eager to try themselves.

At that moment, William strode over once more. His imposing gaze swept across the bloodstained yet spirited young people, and his booming voice rang out. "Warriors! With the blood of the Sauron mongrels, you have proven yourselves worthy of wearing the Carnford battle robe! From this moment on, you are no longer slaves