The Battle Aura System

On the second day after the insect disaster, before dawn had fully broken, a layer of stench hung over the camp and refused to disperse.

Bishop Castian had ordered the entire army to rest in place for a day. Officially, they were tallying losses and repairing armor.

But out in this wasteland, anyone with half a brain knew the swarm that had erupted inside the Eternal Night Wall last night could not have formed naturally.

The air between the camps was taut as a fully drawn bowstring. No one dared say it outright, but everyone was quietly probing.

Had it been a freak occurrence, or had someone been pulling strings in the dark?

The losses were too heavy. Apart from Sheen's camp, the other four newly appointed lords' encampments had been reduced to something close to mud pits.

Broken supply wagons lay crooked in the mud. The wounded groaned without pause, the army physicians were run off their feet, and even the coarsest linen bandages had nearly run out.

A full quarter of their people had vanished overnight.

Roland Augustine's camp had suffered the worst. Aside from the Holy City Army, it had taken the fiercest blow.

Half an hour earlier, searchers had used a spear to fish half a cloak out of a bog half a mile away.

Insect acid had eaten it to rags. Its color was gone, and only a Lineage crest remained, barely enough to identify its owner.

Roland himself was missing.

They had not even touched the bricks of the Eternal Night Wall, and already an appointed lord had been lost.

This was no mere accident. The swarm had retreated, but another storm was only beginning to bare its fangs.

The other camps were still carrying bodies in numb silence, their air thick with char and rot. From Sheen's camp, however, drifted the rich smell of sizzling fat.

At first, the soldiers huddled behind the wagon barricade thought some knight was secretly cooking himself an extra meal.

Only when the quartermaster led men out to set marching pots over the open ground did they realize it was their lord's order.

Shien stepped onto a section of fallen wooden palisade and stood in the middle of the wagon barricade. He swept his gaze around, made sure every bloodshot eye could see him, then spoke.

"Last night was our first battle." The young man's voice was not loud and held a cool edge, yet it cut cleanly through the murmurs around him.

"We held the line. No one trampled anyone else. No one shoved a comrade forward to take a blade. Most important of all, our fire did not go out."

Shien's gaze settled on several young soldiers in the front row.

"I know some of your hands shook around your spears last night. There's no shame in that. If you held your ground, you did well. It was because you held the line that we won an unprecedented victory yesterday.

"So I've decided everyone gets an extra meal today. Keep up the good work."

With a casual wave, he finished. "Eat."

At the command, the camp erupted as if someone had put a torch to it.

Army blades hacked dried salted meat into thick chunks. Rough white bread was torn apart, and jugs of ale passed from hand to hand through the crowd.

By custom, the knights received their portions first, then the infantry. Even the Convicts who had handled logistics last night got twice their usual rations. No one was left out.

A grizzled halberd veteran took a piece of meat dripping with fat. His Adam's apple bobbed hard.

He straightened abruptly and roared through a hoarse throat, "Long live our lord!"

Soon, someone beside him clenched a loaf of bread and joined in. "Long live our lord!"

The cries began scattered and thin, then swelled in an instant into a roar like mountains calling and seas surging.

It was not mere flattery. More than anything, it was the instinct of people who had escaped death.

They had come through last night with every limb intact. In this wasteland, that was the firmest ground a person could stand on.

Other camps were digging graves. Shien's men were eating meat around their fires.

That bloody contrast persuaded more powerfully than any doctrine.

Deep in Sheen's vision, colors churned violently. Pale green rapidly darkened, and spots of deep blue even appeared.

+6, +13, +21...

The numbers kept leaping like sparks, until they blurred together.

Shien knew perfectly well that a bowl of stewed meat and a narrow escape from death could not, by themselves, account for the surge in Grace Value.

What had truly moved their hearts lay deeper.

Last night, knights and Convicts had held the same line. This morning, nobles and Convicts shared the same reward.

That was a rule. It was also a small measure of certainty Sheen had forced into existence in this crumbling world.

Shien stood where he was and listened calmly to the cheers for a while.

He said nothing more. The moment was right; another word would only spoil it.

"Rest after you eat. Sharpen your weapons and prepare to break camp tomorrow."

With that, Sheen stepped down from the palisade, leaving the clamor behind him.

After rounding several supply wagons, Sheen stopped in the open ground before his tent.

Fabien stood beside the Holy Fire Altar with his eyes closed and his hands clasped, reciting a prayer under his breath.

Firelight fell across the Church Knight's sharply defined profile, softening the stern, lethal air he always carried and lending him a touch of devotion.

At the crunch of boots on gravel, Fabien opened his eyes.

"My lord?" He turned, his tone noticeably more respectful than it had been a few days ago.

Shien gave him a gentle smile. "Knight Fabien, there's something I'd like to ask you."

The heavy canvas flap dropped sharply, shutting out the stubborn smell of char from outside.

Shien walked to the plain wooden campaign table and came straight to the point. "Fabien, those knights who crossed the line of fire last night to clear out what remained... how strong are they by church standards?"

Fabien stopped three paces from the table, his back straightening instinctively.

"They're Bishop Castian's personal guards." Undisguised awe flashed in the Church Knight's eyes. "The elite of his inner circle. Most have spent years consolidating their power in the Third Tier Resonance Realm.

"And the dozen or so who led them already have one foot in the fourth-tier Blazing Sun Realm. As for the ones on the perimeter who were thrown into disarray by the swarm..."

Fabien paused, a faint sneer tugging at his mouth. "They're only recruits in the second-tier Bodyguard Realm. They haven't even seen what the true Long Night looks like."

Shien raised his cup and took a sip, recalling the main ranks of combat power in this world.

In this wasteland oppressed by the Blood Moon, Battle Aura was the chief means by which mortals fought the darkness.

At the first-tier Rhythm Realm, one had only just knocked open the door to the supernatural.

Muscle and bone were forcibly awakened, and the five senses sharpened. It was enough to leave an ordinary mortal body behind.

At the second-tier Bodyguard Realm, Battle Aura began to spill across the skin and form a thin membrane.

That membrane could deflect stray arrows and, when the Blood Moon hung high, slightly slow the corruption that seeped into the marrow.

Only upon entering the Third Tier Resonance Realm did one truly qualify to take the offensive in the eternal night.

Battle Aura could flow into an edge forged from Holy Silver and unleash enough force to tear through heavy armor. A knight at that level could face a High-Tier Demonic Beast alone in the wasteland.

At the fourth-tier Blazing Sun Realm, Battle Aura underwent a complete transformation.

Every movement could inflict destruction across a wide area. One person could hold a stretch of trench as firmly as an iron nail driven into place.

As for the legendary fifth-tier Long Night Champions...

Once they unfurled their domains, they could even suppress the rules warped by the Blood Moon. Their presence alone was enough to steady the hearts of everyone in an area.

Of course, those rigid tiers had never been an absolute measure.

The depth of one's Battle Aura reserves and instinct on the battlefield were among the things that truly decided who lived and who died when fighters of the same tier clashed.

Some exceptional fighters also stood outside that system altogether.

Fabien, for instance, was one of the church's Holy Flame Knights. Years of bathing in the Source Furnace's blessing made him half a tier stronger than an ordinary secular knight whenever he struck.

Then there were Construct Knights, who forcibly grafted alchemical components into their bones, and Sourceblood Knights, who drank the forbidden Original Sin Blood. They fell even further outside the usual standards for judging combat power.

Shien withdrew his gaze and felt the faint but warm current inside his body.

That was his Battle Aura. He was only in the Bodyguard Realm, and his power was far from solid.

To make sure his illegitimate son met the minimum requirement and could fill a vacancy as a lord of the long night, Count Greenwood had forced him to swallow vast quantities of potions before his departure. With a secret Lineage art as well, the count had pushed him into the Bodyguard Realm.

His foundation was as flimsy as paper. One poke would tear it apart.

If he had not spent the past ten days sparring desperately with Ivan in the mud, then used the Canon of Grace and Righteousness to forcibly replicate those combat instincts, he would probably be little more than a target in fine armor.

He lowered his eyes to the recopied roster on the table.

These were all the pieces he had to play.

His forces were pitifully thin. Most of the ordinary soldiers and knights hovered between the first and second tiers.

His true core was the Resonance Realm knights like Fabien and Ivan. Counting every last one, there were only seventy.

If those seventy Resonance Realm knights returned intact to the heartland of the Kingdom of Austeria, they could sweep through several baronies.

But before the meat grinder of the Eternal Night Wall... that force would barely fill the gaps between its teeth.

Once the Blood Moon rose, those seventy elites would be no more than a few candle flames in a gale.

"This is all I have." A cold glint entered Sheen's eyes. "When Blood Moon Season comes, even with me included, we'll be nothing but offerings wrapped a little more prettily for the altar."

Just as he considered how to use last night's victory to get resources from the Holy City Army, the dull tread of boots sounded outside the tent.

"My lord," a guard reported quietly from outside.

A corner of the heavy tent flap lifted. A silver-armored messenger bearing a sun-shaped holy emblem on his chest stood at the entrance. His gaze passed over the guard and landed directly on Sheen.

The messenger bowed slightly. "Lord Sheen Greenwood, Bishop Castian summons you. Please come with me to the main camp at once."