The people of Testu's Island have already been driven to chewing tree bark. With so few of them left, stockpiling excess grain serves no purpose.
In times of chaos, population and land are the most valuable resources.
"What about the children you brought back, and those innocent people in the camp?"
"Give them some runes and grain. Anyone who wants to go home, send them back. Those who don't want to leave can stay."
Hank paused for a moment, then nodded lightly.
"That makes sense. They're filled with hatred toward the Cuckoo. If they stay with the troops, their combat strength would be considerable."
Nolan didn't elaborate. He simply said, "Just give them somewhere to belong."
A flicker of surprise crossed Hank's face. In the end, he let out a soft sigh.
"I'll take care of it."
...
Three days later.
On Testu's Island, within the Caria military camp, gentle sunlight spilled across the ground, as though a thin veil had been laid over the entire encampment.
A priest who had traveled specially from the nearby town stood there in a spotless white robe, a heavy scripture held in his hands. His low, resonant voice carried as he recited the holy texts.
Before the towering mage tower, an atmosphere of calm and solemn peace slowly spread.
Countless believers bowed their heads, swaying like wheat stalks in the wind.
They clasped their hands reverently to their chests, lips moving faintly as they murmured prayers too soft to hear clearly.
Those whispers wove together, like a gentle breeze brushing past the ear.
Some prayed for divine favor. Some sought to console the bodies lying on the ground. Others confessed their sins, pleading for forgiveness.
In the Lands Between, the struggle of blood and fire had never truly ceased. To many, the gods had become the last refuge of the heart.
Relentless war reached every corner. Brutal slaughter tore families apart. The creeping spread of madness gnawed away at both mind and body. Bandits and rogue armies multiplied without end.
In such a hellish world, the gods became the final sliver of comfort buried deep within people's hearts.
The deeper they sank into suffering, the more fervent and unshakable their faith became.
When they realized they were powerless to change the horrors around them, they could only seek a rare moment of peace and release within their own souls.
Yet under the shackles of the Golden Order, no one dared choose death as an escape. To praise death itself was an unforgivable sin.
"To live is nothing but pain and torment, yet even death is denied. Marika, look at what you've done."
Nolan stood quietly to one side, his expression heavy as he watched bodies being carried away one after another.
As he silently blasphemed the great goddess in his heart, he still inclined his head politely toward the priest holding the scriptures.
In a world where gods truly existed, those who bore holy duties were, without question, the most devout believers—not something else masquerading beneath a sacred guise.
Nolan did not worship the gods. Having already committed the deepest blasphemy once, he felt no reverence for them at all. Even so, he did not dislike these clergymen who were willing to act and help.
Perhaps the world was not simply black and white, but he did not mind if there were more good people in it.
Under the gaze of countless eyes filled with longing and reverence, Nolan finally returned to his tent.
He did not immediately pull aside the curtain. Instead, he gently lifted a small gap and peered inside.
Just then, a clear, pleasant voice rang out from inside the tent:
"Apprentice, you're back?"
Hearing that, Nolan became uncharacteristically cautious. He crept into the tent on light steps, as if afraid that whatever lay inside might be seen by others.
A moment later, he let out a helpless sigh.
"Teacher, before greeting me, could you at least put some clothes on?"
As time went on, the temperature had been steadily rising. In the cramped tent, the heat had become hard to endure.
The beautiful Witch teacher was wearing nothing but a black bodice and a pair of short trousers, a half-transparent, light silk robe draped loosely over them.
"No! It's already hot enough. How could I wear more? That would seriously affect my ability to think!"
Sellen rejected his request without the slightest hesitation. She even pointed at the tightly sealed tent around them and argued confidently,
"Besides, this place is completely sealed off. No outsiders will see."
So she did have some common sense after all. She knew that a beautiful woman dressed so lightly in a military camp could easily cause trouble.
Not that she feared danger. Searching the entire camp, there were hardly a few people worthy of being her opponent. It was just that unnecessary trouble would waste time.
But if that was the case, why wasn't she afraid of me seeing her?
Oh, right. She had once said herself that I wasn't an outsider.
Sapphire and deep blue eyes met, holding each other's gaze for several long seconds.
In the end, whether out of sudden embarrassment or not, the Witch slowly averted her eyes and unhurriedly slipped into her Witch's robe.
With a solemn expression, she entered full lecturing mode.
"Apprentice, I've told you many times. Don't be overly concerned with the outer shell. It is merely a vessel for us to explore the mysteries of origin."
Then why are you backing down now?
Nolan rolled his eyes inwardly. He wasn't the one losing out here.
"If you think it's hot, I've been learning cold sorceries lately. I could teach you."
"I want to learn."
The moment magic was mentioned, the Witch's eyes lit up at once, like a starving wolf spotting prey.
But right then, a loud rumble came from her stomach.
"Apprentice, go cook."
Her slightly lazy voice drifted over again, and Nolan stared at her in disbelief.
"You only think of me when it's time to eat. If one day I'm not here, what are you going to do?"
"Then we'll just stay together forever," Sellen waved her hand dismissively.
"Then why don't you hire a cook?" Nolan curled his lips.
"I don't like how other people cook."
Nolan felt that his teacher was becoming someone who could do nothing but magic. In the end, he could only set up the fire himself.
Beef and mutton were the main dishes, accompanied by the shrimp and crab that followed the people of Liurnia throughout their lives, and of course the fruit wine that had now become indispensable at every meal.
Just as he ladled the steaming food out of the pot, a pale little hand reached out from behind him.
If it had gone for his neck or chest, he would have surrendered on the spot.
Unfortunately, this hand had a very clear goal, reaching straight for the plate piled high with food.
Just as it was about to succeed, Nolan let out a dissatisfied snort, startling it into retreat.
"Put your claws away. Use a knife and fork," Nolan scolded sternly.
"Tch, what a hassle. I hate all these formalities!"
Sellen frowned, clicking her tongue in annoyance.
She took a small, delicate iron box from the nearby cabinet, neatly filled with her personal utensils.
The Witch walked to the table and sat down obediently. When the brimming plate was brought up to her face, she accepted it happily, making Nolan suddenly feel as if he were raising a daughter.