Thirty-Four Stratagems

Pan Long's estimate of the Fres Army's marching speed proved fairly accurate. After about three and a half hours, uneven footsteps, hoofbeats, and the rumble of wheels sounded in the distance. The Holy Legion of the Fres Army finally appeared on the horizon.

"They sure took their time! I even finished my daily Internal Art practice..." Pan Long shook his head and stood up.

He climbed a large tree near the village entrance and looked toward the Fres Army. At the sight of them, he couldn't help laughing scornfully.

"Looks like they didn't sleep too well last night."

Their equipment was reasonably orderly, but their condition was another matter. Their formation was a mess: spearmen and swordsmen with shields were jumbled together, heavy infantry mingled with archers, and cavalry were scattered throughout the column, some at the front and some at the back. How they had managed to march themselves into such an embarrassing state was anyone's guess.

Still, some parts of the army looked more reliable. The two carriages, for instance, followed the rule that spellcasters stayed in the rear. Both remained behind the main force. Had their occupants been trained better, or were they simply used to letting their comrades charge ahead while they stayed ready to flee?

Pan Long privately suspected the latter, given their habits. But judging by the situation this time... perhaps they simply couldn't stay any farther back?

Behind the two carriages rode about twenty cavalrymen. Fully armed, they wore armor that glimmered in the sunlight with colors unlike ordinary Jin. Their formation was tight, and they kept a man in magnificent robes protected at its center. Even from this distance, Pan Long could feel the menace radiating from them.

In this battle, they were the only enemies Pan Long was wary of.

The Holy Legion's guard knights were a force with an average level of around 40.

Every one of them worshiped Seles fanatically and would die for him at any moment. Killing Seles under their protection, seizing a chance to defeat the Fres Army, and saving Luna Village would be anything but easy!

So Pan Long needed a little trickery.

"About time!" He jumped down from the tree and punched himself in the face twice, leaving his face bruised and swollen. Then he clawed at his face and body until his hair and clothes were a mess and several bloody scratches marked his face.

That still wasn't enough for him. He poured a waterskin he had prepared over his head, soaking himself, then rolled on the ground several times. Caked in mud and dust, he looked more bedraggled than a rooster beaten in a fight. Even in a refugee camp, he would have been among the most wretched-looking people there.

Then he broke off a thick branch to use as a crutch and limped toward the Fres Army.

"Sirs! Sirs!" he cried at the top of his lungs while he was still some distance away. "You've finally come! Praise the one supreme God! I've been waiting for you!"

The Fres Army stared at the bedraggled man running toward them.

They had expected to come to Luna Village to suppress and slaughter heretics. Why, then, was someone who looked like a believer in the One God Religion coming to meet them in such a miserable state?

Pan Long kept shouting, delighted as though he had spotted his own family. As he hurried along, perhaps out of impatience, he fell flat on the ground. He struggled back up with his crutch, looking even more pitiful. Even the thugs of the Holy Legion felt a faint stir of sympathy.

They were all believers in the One God Religion. At the sight of his sorry state, many imagined what had happened without needing to be told: a believer had gone into a village of heretics, somehow gotten into a conflict with them, and taken a thorough beating.

Such things were hardly rare. They were commonplace.

In regions devoted to other faiths, the One God Religion's reputation was dirt beneath people's feet. Outside its missionaries and soldiers, ordinary believers had to pretend they did not follow it to avoid trouble.

But compared with the One God Religion's habit of cutting heretics down, burning them alive, or stoning them to death... what did a beating amount to?

Soon, two soldiers came over and asked Pan Long who he was.

"I'm John, nephew of Ron, the Village Chief of Luna Village," Pan Long said. "I used to be misled by the evil faith of the Moon God myself. But not long ago, while listening to the gospel, I saw the light and embraced the true faith. I thought more people should read the sacred scriptures, embrace the true faith, and find salvation for their souls. So I came to Luna Village to spread the word."

He paused. His voice turned choked and aggrieved, with anger held tightly in check. "But... but they beat me!"

Quite a few Fres soldiers burst out laughing. Someone muttered, "Another fool!"

"What's strange about someone turning into a fool after joining us? They're everywhere."

"Nothing wrong with a fool. Being simple is a blessing."

"True enough. Living like him must be pretty happy, really."

These less-than-devout remarks drew no rebuke or punishment from the fanatics at the Holy Legion's core. The One God Religion did not demand much devotion, especially from the cannon-fodder soldiers fighting for it. As long as they professed to be devout, that was enough.

To Seles, the "Most Holy," anyone willing to shout a couple of slogans before an altar symbolizing the "One God" and call himself a devout believer was an acceptable Warrior.

In fact, anyone willing to join the Holy Legion was a good Warrior in his eyes. Not just hoodlums and bandits, but demons that drew power from human suffering and death, Necromancers who defiled corpses and commanded the undead, and even Warlocks who sold their souls through pacts with devils.

As long as they joined the Holy Legion and fought for him, even the most heinous crimes could be forgiven. Seles had once explained it as "using the power of darkness to strike down darkness, thereby making the light shine brighter."

That was how it was, and Pan Long wasn't surprised.

People who could turn their blades on ordinary folk were capable of any evil. It was hardly worth remarking on. If they did something good, that would be worth putting in a newspaper and spreading far and wide...

"So what are you here for now?" asked a Fres soldier whose neat armor made him look like a squad leader.

"Got beaten up and came to us for help, probably," said one of his men.

"Then he's in luck. We happened to arrive. If it had been yesterday or any earlier, he'd have taken that beating for nothing."

"Damn, they really worked him over!"

"Hey, don't tell me you feel sorry for him and want to give him a share of what we loot later. Not happening!"

"Would it hurt to give him a share? Look what they did to him... The high priest would probably approve."

"Then wait until the high priest gives the order! Without one, you won't get a single copper out of me!"

"Yeah, I owe Flowers House plenty. If I don't make a big haul, they won't let me through the door anymore."

"Then you're in trouble. The woman who runs Flowers House is the high priest's relative. Stay in debt too long, and he might send you to the frontier to build walls. The hardship pay is good—just right for paying it off."

"Aagh! Don't say something that scary!"

The soldiers laughed and traded jabs, utterly unconcerned.

They had long since grown used to plunder and killing. Robbery and massacre meant nothing to them.

It was their work. It was their life.

Pity, humanity, sin... they had stopped caring about such things long ago. As for avenging a fellow believer, it had never even crossed their minds.

Seles had deliberately picked the worst villains to form this legion. Their cruelty and wickedness were exactly what he wanted to use. Honor, discipline, the army's reputation... he cared about none of it.

Within the entire Holy Legion, only his personal guard was an elite force made up of fanatics of the One God Religion.

The guard served as his bodyguards, enforcers of military discipline, and battlefield overseers. They had only two duties: protect him and ensure his safety, and execute anyone he ordered them to execute.

They performed those duties well, even at the cost of their lives.

Seles was not merely their legion commander. He was also the high priest of the One God Religion, the "Most Holy."

To these fanatics, Seles was the living embodiment of the "One God" they worshiped. At a single order from him, they would kill, set fires, attack the imperial palace, or even turn their blades on themselves without hesitation.

Even the emperor of the Empire was somewhat wary of Seles and his fanatics. The Holy Legion operated only outside the Empire's central province and had never been recalled to its heartland. Seles was cautious too. He stayed either with the legion or in a temple of the One God Religion, always surrounded by fanatics, and never went to the Imperial Capital.

Anyone could see that he and the emperor were wary of each other, even as they used each other.

In the game, that fellow's story continued much further. None of that had anything to do with Pan Long, though.

What Pan Long had to do was play the part of a believer who had been beaten for preaching: aggrieved and angry, yet full of admiration for the One God Religion's leaders and eager to pay homage to Seles, the "Most Holy."

Someone like that ought to have a chance to meet Seles and receive a word of praise from him.

Pan Long had no interest in Seles's praise. What he wanted was a chance to get close to him.

His night raid had succeeded, leaving this army with fewer than two hundred men. Even so, breaking through their defenses to kill Seles, who might be stronger than Pan Long himself, remained an almost impossible task.

So he resorted to a famous stratagem: the Self-Injury Stratagem.