"Those Heretics didn't take the bodies away?" The unmistakable Circle Cult symbol was there, but without its wings. Clearly, the body had been left behind by a member of the Heterodoxy.
According to Martin, at least one night had passed between the moment they realized something was wrong and the moment they found the scene. Even if the other side was incredibly careless, there was no reason they'd leave behind a body that could expose their identity.
This was the heartland of the kingdom, where the nobles and the Church wielded the greatest power. Who would want to openly set themselves against them? If they really had that kind of power, they wouldn't be called Heretics. They'd have set up on their own and renamed themselves the New Church.
"Diego didn't give them the chance. That was the best thing he did." Martin looked at the body in the crate—or, more precisely, at the sword wound in its chest. "This was the most important one among them. Amid a bunch of cowardly bodies turned away from the enemy, Diego was the only one who pointed his sword at him."
"I want to know why an unarmed man could scare off soldiers carrying weapons, and why my friend had to kill him."
He knelt down. His armor made his movements awkward, but he carefully avoided the wound as he tugged at the cloth, stiff and soaked through with dark red and black. After a few tries, he tore open the clothing on the corpse's chest, revealing the wound more clearly. "That's when I found this. I haven't studied at the Medical School, but I know something's wrong here."
Kraft crouched beside him, took out a mask and gloves, and looked at the fatal wound.
From the outside, the entry wound wasn't