Tyre! (XIX)

"Ah~~~~~~~"

Accompanied by a piercing howl, the last ghoul fell beneath the combined assault of several soldiers. Alan severed its head with a single stroke to keep it from rising again.

He had witnessed it before: a monster with a bullet through its chest suddenly leaping back up and pouncing on the enemy who had just knocked it down and let his guard slip.

That had also been the last time he saw the captain of his company.

Once the battle ended, they hurried back to Lorne, who was supporting the wounded soldier.

Brom retrieved his spear, but a string of red dots trailed behind him.

The wounded soldier panted heavily in exhaustion, heat rapidly spilling from his wide-open mouth. He seemed to have been injured when the ammunition depot exploded; Alan guessed that several of his bones were broken.

He could not help wondering what had become of the priest accompanying the army.

A priest was supposed to be wise. He was supposed to use his wisdom to guide and protect everyone's fate.

He had done a fine job of it. When the ghouls burst in, he had been completely at a loss. Afterward, he had remained clueless, using that worn-out chanting ritual to call upon the gods and beg them to descend from the higher realm and destroy those evil things.

Alan believed in the existence of gods.

He firmly believed in it—in the realm where gods dwelled, and the lower realm where ghosts went.

In the ever-changing kingdoms of the mortal world, those were the only spiritual havens people had.

But he was also a pragmatist. He knew that sometimes a person had to forge his own fate, especially in a life-or-death crisis.

Otherwise, he would never have yielded to the Orks' threat.

While stationed there, the