The call to battle in the Astral Realm swept like a gust of wind across every corner of the Old Continent, even as preparations for war raged across the New World. The Transians' resolve and fervor were merely one facet of the many faces of life.
For the people of other "normal regions," the arrival of yet another war was hardly good news.
But the cruel thing about this was that when war broke out, those who opposed it had no choice—just as they had had no choice in every past war involving Chaos.
They might survive by fighting alongside the forces of Order. But if they tried to escape in search of a peaceful life, or yield to Chaos in exchange for a night's rest, their own people would brand them traitors. Before Chaos could corrupt them, the forces of Order would be the first to punish them.
Even punishers had their principles.
Yet once those who wanted to stay out of the conflict had been condemned, it was easy to reach the grim conclusion that the forces of Order were no better than the forces of Chaos.
Take what was happening near the Great Wilderness of Nordtov, for example.
Marshal Baldwin sat in a carriage as it traveled through the streets of Borisgrad. Through the window, he saw prisoners being tied together in a line by soldiers and escorted out of the city to be executed.
They were not from wealthy families. They were dressed like the most ordinary farmers, and among them were even children and elderly folk who could barely walk. Yet as they were marched along in bonds, they were unusually agitated. They cursed at the soldiers and shouted inflammatory words at the people along the street, until the soldiers whipped them to make them