The man in white tapped his scepter against the ground again.
"Another unfortunate circumstance. But there are disasters we can handle, and those that we cannot. All we can do is pray and hope that their souls find so rest in this dark world."
Resource allocation.
Nero felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it down.
The discussion shifted again, this ti focusing on supply lines and logistical concerns. The Templars spoke of food shortages, dical supplies, and the difficulties of managing such a massive refugee population.
"We’re burning through Elixirs faster than projected," Markus reported. "Several squads have requested additional stocks to maintain operational effectiveness."
"Denied," the man in white said imdiately. "We can’t afford to deplete reserves. Tell them to ration carefully."
"Sir, with respect, asking them to ration while pushing this hard into corrupted territory—"
"Is necessary," the man interrupted.
The man in white chuckled again, that sa unsettling lightness in his tone. "Ah, but surely the Crimson Crucible doesn’t need such crutches. After all, you have... other ans of sustaining yourselves."
The tent fell silent.
Nero felt the shift imdiately. The air grew heavier, charged with sothing he couldn’t quite na.
The Commander’s voice was carefully neutral. "We do what is required."
"Indeed you do," the man in white agreed with a sneer,
"And the Church is grateful for your sacrifices. Though I wonder, Commander, how long can your brothers maintain their discipline?"
"As long as is necessary. You need not worry about us.."
"Even as your hunger grows? I would really hope there be no... incidents this ti."
Nero’s confusion deepened. Hunger? What were they talking about?
The Commander didn’t respond imdiately. When he finally spoke, his words were clipped. "My n are under control."
"Of course, of course." The man in white waved a hand dismissively. "I ant no offense. I rely wish to ensure that... incidents are kept to a minimum. The Church cannot afford complications at this juncture."
"There will be no incidents."
"Splendid."
The conversation moved on, but Nero’s mind remained fixated on that exchange.
He thought back to what he’d observed. The Templars never removing their helts. Their segregation from the refugee population. The way they spoke about certain things with careful ambiguity.
Sothing was wrong here. Sothing beyond the obvious dangers of Abominations and corruption.
The Templars discussed even more deploynt schedules, rotation patterns, and contingency plans for various scenarios. Nero absorbed as much as he could, committing nas and numbers to mory even though he didn’t understand most of what he was hearing.
Squad designations, with several specialized units operating independently. Tactical formations designed for urban combat, forest engagent, and open-field operations. Protocols for handling corrupted civilians, identifying Abomination nests, and coordinating with local militia forces.
It was a staggering amount of information, a glimpse into the inner workings of one of the most powerful military organizations in the world.
And yet, beneath it all, Nero sensed sothing festering.
His thoughts raced.
The discussion began to wind down, the Templars concluding their reports and receiving their orders for the coming days.
"Maintain current formations," the Commander instructed. "Continue monitoring the refugee population for signs of corruption. Report any anomalies imdiately."
"And if the transformation rate increases?" Markus asked.
The Commander was silent for a mont. "Then we do what must be done."
Nero’s blood ran cold again.
Transformation rate. They were tracking sothing happening to the refugees. Sothing that turned them into...
His eyes drifted to the corpse on the ground, the hollowed-out shell of the old woman.
Realization crashed over him like a wave of ice water.
They weren’t protecting the refugees from external threats.
They were protecting them from each other. From themselves.
The refugees were transforming. Becoming corrupted. Turning into Abominations.
And the Templars were culling them.
Quietly, without the rest of the population knowing.
The Wandering Spirit’s Journal’s words echoed in his mind.
"Everyone will die. A field of corpses."
How many had already been killed? How many more would follow?
And what would happen when the transformation rate beca too high to handle discreetly?
The purge.
Nero’s mind reeled. He needed to get out. Needed to think, to plan, to figure out what to do with this information.
But as he prepared to slip away, the man in white spoke again.
"One more thing, Commander."
"Yes?"
The man in white turned, his masked face seeming to sweep across the tent. Nero froze, every muscle in his body locking up.
For a terrifying mont, he was certain those hidden eyes had found him.
Then the man looked away, focusing on the Commander. "Have your n reported any unusual energy fluctuations in the area? Anything... out of place?"
The Commander paused. "Nothing significant. Why?"
"Curious. I could have sworn I sensed sothing earlier. Sothing faint, but present. Like a ripple in still water. Or the slightest aroma of the morning dew floating in the air."
Nero’s heart hamred against his ribs. The Veil of Darkness should have concealed him completely, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if this man in white had abilities beyond normal perception?
No, he certainly did. After all, he more likely than not, was of the Templar Order of the White Prophets.
"I’ll have the scouts investigate," the Commander offered.
"No need," the man in white said, waving his hand again. "Probably just my imagination. The darkness plays tricks on the senses sotis."
He chuckled once more, that disturbing lightness never fading. "Well then, I believe we’re finished here. I’ll return to my quarters. Much to pray about, much to consider."
The Templars nodded, and the man in white swept toward the exit, his robes trailing behind him.
The mont he left, the atmosphere in the tent shifted subtly. The remaining Templars seed to relax marginally, though their rigid discipline never fully broke.
"Dispose of the body," the Commander instructed, gesturing toward the corpse. "Burn it with the others."
"Yes, sir."
Two Templars moved to pick up the woman’s remains, carrying her out of the tent with the sa casual efficiency they might have used for carrying supplies.
Nero watched them go, his mind churning with everything he’d learned.
He needed to leave. Now.
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