Three Questions

The heavy tent flap fell shut, cutting off Kevin and the others' hurried footsteps from the cold, damp morning mist.

Silence settled over the vast command tent once more.

Only two people remained: Bishop Castian in the seat of honor, and Shien standing straight-backed below the dais.

After a long while, Castian's face, usually as hard as iron, softened a little.

He tugged at his thin lips and forced something like a kindly elder's smile. It looked painfully stiff, like a mask crudely stitched together.

"Sheen Greenwood, in recognition of your aid to the Holy City Army last night, I'll grant you a privilege. You may ask me three questions."

Shien stood before him with his lashes lowered. There was no trace of gratitude in his eyes, only a flicker of clarity.

This was not a reward. It was a test.

If he asked something trivial or tried to flatter Castian, he would immediately be judged a disposable asset.

He had only three questions. He needed to use them to gain a real chance of survival.

His thoughts raced. Funding, weapons, soldiers... He discarded each obvious choice.

A few seconds later, Shien raised his head, silver hair falling across his forehead. Without testing the waters or laying any groundwork, he asked his first question.

"Leaving aside the polished battle reports, I need to know the real situation in the Graymist Defense Zone. What's the true threat?"

The strained warmth vanished from Castian's face. He narrowed his sharp eyes, as though seeing the silver-haired boy anew.

"The Blood Mist has eaten into the land for years, forming a dark-red crust of poison. Without sustained purification by a high-ranking Life Priest, any seed from the Kingdom will rot within three days of being sown.

"As for the threat, the Ghouls wandering beyond the defensive line are just carrion-eating trash. The real trouble is the Werewolf Tribe."

Castian leaned forward slightly, his shadow falling across the entire table.

"During last year's Blood Moon Season, the previous District Supervisor of the Graymist Defense Zone died like a fool. He thought a few walls and a few thousand Battle Aura warriors were enough to hold the line.

"But under the direct light of the Blood Moon, those Werewolves did more than go berserk. They began to organize. They drove Ghouls into the pits to fill them and sent their best fighters around the flanks to cut off supplies."

Castian continued, his scorn undisguised. "The night the line collapsed, the District Supervisor of Graymist and more than a dozen Long Night Lords had their heads torn off while they were still alive and hung from broken flagpoles.

"That Werewolf Tribe still hasn't withdrawn. It prowls beyond the Defense Zone and raids it from time to time at night."

The silence in the tent was dreadful. A tiny spark popped in the incense burner.

"The Graymist Defense Zone has become their hunting ground. They lurk in the shadows beyond the defensive line, gnawing on human bones and sharpening their teeth for the next Blood Moon Season."

Shien listened without the slightest change in his breathing. If anything, his ice-blue eyes grew calmer. Following Castian's words to their conclusion, he asked his second question.

"Then has the Church already given up on the Graymist Defense Zone in its overall war plans?

"Are we just a buffer thrown out there to buy time during Blood Moon Season?"

The incense smoke seemed to hang still in the air.

A wrinkle at the corner of Castian's eye twitched. As he stared at the boy, his gaze shifted.

A fourteen-year-old boy had dared to strip the Most Holy Church of its glorious disguise to his face.

After a brief silence, Castian said nothing more about faith or glory.

"The Church's Sand Table projections have always assumed that some Defense Zones will be swallowed up. As long as the entire Great Wall doesn't fall at once, losing a few positions and a few Long Night Lords is an acceptable cost.

"Right now, the Graymist Defense Zone is a rag stuffed into a gap."

The bishop's calm voice was merciless.

"The Church won't station its elite forces there for long. When Blood Moon Season erupts in full and the Werewolves tear through your camp gates, you could write your plea for help in blood and the Church would still run the numbers first.

"How much Holy Oil would saving you take? How many high-ranking knights? Would it be worth it? If the answer is yes, the Holy Knights will come. If not...

"Your letter will go into the fireplace. Your only value will be holding back a few more monsters before the Long Night swallows you."

With that, any hope that the Holy City Army would inevitably come to their rescue was shattered.

Eric or Thomas might have broken down at those words. Shien remained upright. Faced with that cold reality, he felt clearer-headed than he had in a long time.

Now that the cards were on the table, Shien no longer hid the chill in his eyes.

"If this pawn is destined to be thrown away..." He looked Castian straight in the eye and asked his final question:

"How do I stay alive?"

Castian froze for a moment. Then the old bishop, cold as he had always been, suddenly laughed.

"Hahaha... hahaha!"

His rough laughter echoed through the spacious tent, carrying a rare note of genuine pleasure.

When it faded, Castian's expression turned hard again. He slowly raised the Holy Silver Scepter and pointed its tip at Shien's chest.

"At the Eternal Night Wall, you could smash your forehead against the Holy Fire Altar and still fail to bring a single Church knight to your aid.

"If you want to live, prove one thing to the governor: you're worth more alive than dead."

He paused before continuing. "I expect this year's Blood Moon Season to unfold in three stages.

"Early on, the beasts will test us. The Werewolves will send low-ranking monsters against the defensive line to find its weakest point. Hold your position through that, and you'll earn attention.

"The middle stage is when the real war begins. The Werewolves' main forces will move, and the tribes will fight each other over hunting grounds.

"If you can still hold Blackpine Fief then, with your flag still flying from its walls, your name will appear on the Holy City Army's list of battlefield reports."

Castian fixed Shien with a cold, direct stare. "Only in the final stage will the Holy City Army have forces to spare from the core Defense Zones.

"The Defense Zones that have proved worth keeping will receive support from the Knights. The army may even redeploy forces across the entire defensive line.

"So your goal is simple: survive the early stage of Blood Moon Season, then keep the Werewolves from tearing you apart in the middle stage.

"And during that time, make yourself valuable enough to the Eternal Night Wall. When the gains you provide outweigh the cost of using you as cannon fodder, the Holy City Army will come.

"Make yourself a piece they can't afford to discard, and you'll live."

The conversation was over. Castian waved a hand, dismissing Shien.

But the haughty bishop had already reassessed one name.

Sheen Greenwood.

In Castian's mind, both the attention Shien deserved and his value as an asset had quietly risen several levels.

The tent's heavy flap lifted, then fell shut again.

A morning wind swept across the wasteland, its biting cold striking Shien's face and instantly driving away the last of the tent's warmth.

Shien stopped and looked back at the enormous tent, a symbol of the Church's power.

The path was clear now. In this world, being pitied meant nothing. Only those with value survived.

He had to seize every resource he could in this mad wasteland and carve out a path to survival.

Whatever it took, he had to make it through this year's Blood Moon Season.