The defense line's scars and the beast of war

A cold wind poured down his collar, carrying a lingering stench of rot.

Shien sat astride his horse, with Ivan and more than a dozen fully armed guard knights close behind.

They followed Bishop Castian's party toward Tear Knight City, the heart of the Tear Knight Defense Line.

The wilderness had only just endured the Blood Moon Season, and everywhere along the road lay appalling devastation.

The once-impregnable Long Night Fief had been reduced to stretches of blackened ruins, burned to the ground.

In the muddy pits beside the road, stark white human bones picked clean of flesh lay half exposed, half buried in the muck.

Most chilling of all were the Lesser Sacred Flame Altars erected along the route.

Their holy silver bases, symbols of the Church's glory, had been utterly destroyed by powerful acid and brute force. Broken metal supports swayed precariously in the cold wind, no longer capable of kindling even a spark.

Bishop Castian slowed his horse to ride beside Shien.

The iron-willed old bishop surveyed the ravaged wilderness, the lines beside his mouth looking deeper and more weary.

"Five years ago, the Tear Knight Defense Line was the toughest nut to crack among the Twelve Wall Sections." Castian raised his riding crop and pointed toward the distant ruins.

"Over the past few years, for some reason, the Blood Moon Conference has focused all its attention here.

"High-ranking members of the Blood Clan, werewolf chieftains, and other evil Dark Races have all been putting pressure on this stretch of the defense line.

"They spent lives and blood to wear it down, gnawing this iron bulwark into the wretched state you see now."

The bishop already regarded Shien as his student. There was no lament in his voice; he sounded as though he were dissecting a specimen,