The Furious Castian

Castian sat upright behind the long oak table, the Holy Silver ornaments on his robes flickering in the firelight.

He was waiting, or rather, the entire fortress, the entire Defense Zone, was waiting for the last heavy supply convoy to arrive from the Holy City and the heart of the Kingdom.

But we're already two full days late. If we don't arrive today, we might be too late.

The fine sand in the hourglass is slowly leaking down.

The Recorder in charge of the inventory were sweating profusely. Their quill pens hovered over the parchment, ink dripping down and spreading unsightly black spots on the paper.

Because everyone had the same thought in their minds, but no one dared to speak first.

Castian's face, however, remained expressionless.

He continued to peruse the Defense Ledger with his head down, his eyes scanning line by line the figures for material losses and reserves, and even took the time to correct the young Recorder's mistakes.

As the commander-in-chief of this Defense Zone, he cannot afford to panic, even if the sky were to fall.

"Bang!"

The heavy, iron-clad Oak Door was flung open, and a scout staggered into the hall.

He raised his hands high, with only a bamboo tube stamped with the sealing wax seal of the Holy City Logistics Privy Council in his palms.

"Sir... the convoy hasn't arrived." The scout's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice terribly hoarse.

"An urgent dispatch from the Holy City Military Supply Headquarters states that the allocation batch has been temporarily rescheduled, and the Kingdom's supply convoy has been ordered to temporarily station itself in the rear buffer zone, awaiting further orders..."

Castian finally stopped using the quill pen in his hand, and a drop of ink fell from the tip, landing on the ledger.

The commander of the Defense Zone slowly raised his eyes, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the scout's face.

Castian's voice was soft, yet it sent chills down one's spine. "Go and bring over all the logistical approvals the Privy Council issued to the Graymist Defense Zone in the last six months."

He first had to figure out whether this was a logistical lapse or a political maneuver.

Several rolls of yellowed sheepskin permits were quickly spread out on the table.

Castian's gaze swept across the pages, passing over the cursive signatures and layers of annotations.

The faster he read, the darker his expression became, confirming his suspicions.

The Archbishop under the Holy Temple dome ultimately took the sword of power struggle to the front lines.

The faction of Governor Yasol of the Tear Knight Governor is being driven to their deaths little by little by some people in the Holy City.

And Castian, along with the Graymist Defense Zone behind him, unfortunately found himself on this table, becoming a crucial bargaining chip.

He certainly knew what this Defense Zone looked like now.

Last year during the Blood Moon Season, the defenses here collapsed.

The camp is now crammed with new recruits and Convicts, and even most of the Long Night Lord are newcomers. The regular quotas are already so tight that they are barely enough to keep people alive.

The Holy City's attitude has always been ambiguous, and this area has long been secretly added to the list of places that can be abandoned if necessary by those shrewd accountants in the rear.

He had always known these things, but knowing them was one thing, and actually seeing the knife fall was another.

The fire within Castian's chest finally began to flare up little by little.

He had long anticipated infighting within the Church, but he never expected those bastards in silk robes to be so blatant and ruthless.

Every missing cartload of grain or every missing barrel of ointment ultimately amounts to more than just numbers; it represents human lives.

These are the mangled corpses along this defensive line.

Castian slowly gripped his Sacred Flame Scepter with his right hand, which was covered by a hard leather glove.

For a moment, he almost wanted to smash this symbol of the Holy City's authority directly into the Sand Table and destroy all the wooden carvings representing the rear fortress.

But the fire only burned for half a breath before he suppressed it.

Taking on the rotten meat of the Graymist Defense Zone was a major gamble he had already made.

Castian originally thought that as long as he remained in this position and personally risked his life on the defensive line, even if the Holy City wanted to take action, they would have to consider saving face and not do it too badly.

But he still underestimated the group's viciousness.

They didn't need to bear the infamy of defiling the Eternal Night Wall, nor did they need to send assassins, nor did they need to openly break ties.

Simply wiping away a fraction of the quota from each parchment would suffice.

This kind of strangulation, which doesn't even require getting your hands dirty, is more disgusting than the Magic Creature in the wasteland.

The parchment on the long table was laid flat again; it was addressed to Governor Yasol of the Tear Knight Governor.

He knew perfectly well that Yasol was in a higher position than him, and there would be even more hidden dangers lurking beneath the surface.

Sending this letter may not actually yield much in return.

More often than not, it's just a warning: the Graymist Defense Zone has already begun to be attacked.

Especially in situations like this, Castian's pen moves with increasing steadiness.

There wasn't a single unnecessary plea for help, nor any unnecessary anger.

He meticulously listed the details of the cut-off supplies, the shortage of Holy Silver ore, and the first Sacred Flame node where the Blood Moon Season might be extinguished on paper.

Only at the very end did he write the most crucial sentence.

Someone is deliberately manipulating the situation, trying to force the Graymist Defense Zone into a slow, inevitable process of blood loss.

In the end, Castian made only one request.

Governor, please do not abandon the Graymist Defense Zone and come to our aid when the Blood Moon is concentrated.

Or give me a definite answer: should we defend this Defense Zone to the death, or inflict maximum damage on the Magic Creature?

The pen tip paused for a moment on the last line of text.

A faint trace of sadness flickered in Castian's grey-blue eyes.

He knew that Yasol probably wouldn't have much spare strength to pull him up, but those words still landed steadily.

This letter is less like a plea for help and more like a bloody testimony.

Hot sealing wax dripped onto the fold, and Castian pressed it down heavily with his thumb, which was adorned with an iron ring. The moment the envelope sealed shut, his mind was completely at peace.

At this point, we can only fight the worst-case scenario and wait for someone to come to our rescue; only a fool would do that.

"Order the abandonment of the three observation posts north of the Black Needleaf Forest. All personnel must be withdrawn. Burn the outposts; leave no one alive."

The adjutant's expression changed, but before he could respond, another order was issued.

"Non-combat rations will be halved starting today. All the strategic supply boxes on the third underground level that were originally reserved for the middle of the Blood Moon will be opened. Holy Water and balm will be distributed to the lords now."

The newly arrived batch of exiled Convicts and defeated troops from vassal states were reorganized, dispersed, and placed into consumptive positions.

Inform the Falcon Knights to abandon the third buffer zone before nightfall and retreat to their defensive positions.

Each one was more ruthless than the last, practically like deliberately cutting off one's own flesh.

As the night deepened, Castian stood alone on the watchtower atop the ruined castle, the chill seeping into his boots through the cracks in the bricks.

The flame on the Sacred Flame Altar on the high ground suddenly flickered violently a few times, then abruptly dimmed.

This is a sign that the entire Holy Light Energy Network is beginning to decline as the Blood Moon Season approaches.

Castian as the crimson darkness slowly approached.

That letter might reach the Governor's desk.

Yasol might push the Holy Knight towards the Graymist Defense Zone ahead of time, or he might be unable to do anything at all.

Until that tiny glimmer of hope appears, this Defense Zone, locked in the Long Night, will ultimately have to bear the burden alone.