POV Simeon
They cut through the desert like the wind. The cold midnight gave way to the refreshing dawn, then to the scorching heat, and finally, to a mild warmth, but the knights seemed to have forgotten their fatigue.
Simeon had often praised the Supreme: for the horses from select stables, for the knights chosen from the best squads, for the warriors who scorned weariness.
They raced forward. Dust and sand flew up from under the hooves.
The armor of Raymond, Eric, and Brion clanged heavily. The knights rode in full battle gear, not removing their helmets. Behind them followed the mage.
Occasionally, he would adjust his hat or fix his rebellious hair, now black with strands of silver. Jake's staff was strapped to his saddle, but Simeon knew that, in case of need, the straps would undo themselves, and the staff would leap into the owner's hands.
The rear was held by Menellanna, whose true elvish name was beyond the grasp of the crude human tongue, the grim Drewayne with his heavy crossbow, and Irwin with his cheerful smile. His attire—a simple shirt, loose pants, and light boots—easily deceived anyone unfamiliar with him.
But beneath the rough fabric lay chainmail, an enormous set of lockpicks, throwing knives, and daggers, and the cheerful, kind smile never left the specialist's face, even as he slit another monster's throat.
The party reached a new high dune, formed up in a row, and froze. Wherever they looked, the yellow plain stretched endlessly.
"Fifteen minutes," Simeon said amiably, dismounting. "The horses are tired. Jake, my friend, your spell. We'll stretch our legs in the meantime."
The mage nodded briefly and slid off his horse. He took the staff, aimed it at the horses, and began whispering a magical formula that replenished the animals' strength. The other warriors dismounted as well: the elf, the hunter, and the specialist jumped down easily, while the knights did so slowly, carefully, and heavily.
Simeon placed his palm to his forehead and gazed into the distance. On the left, many kilometers away, he saw a small gray spot.
"Menellanna, my dear, come here," Simeon called gently. The elf squinted in displeasure at the address but said nothing. She reluctantly approached the monk.
Simeon smiled good-naturedly.
"Your eyes are sharper than mine. Tell me, what do you see over there?" he pointed with a thick finger toward the spot.
"Ruins," Menellanna replied immediately in a clear, ringing voice.
"Ruins…" Simeon repeated. "The Temple of the Broken God. Congratulations, my children!" He turned to the squad. "In less than a day, we've covered nearly half the distance. One more night, one more day, and by the evening, we will arrive in El-Farrah."
Knight Brion raised his visor, gulped water from his flask, and then spat out a thick gob of saliva. Two other warriors nodded, the sound of their visors clanking. The crossbowman grinned grimly.
"Finding a beast's den is not enough. Before killing the prey, you need to lure it out."
"We'll lure it out," the monk promised cheerfully. "In El-Farrah, we have some of our people, not many, but they're there. They'll help us with the search."
At that moment, Menellanna noticed something. She gracefully removed her bow from her back and aimed. The string of the bow hummed melodiously, and the arrow soared through the air with a thin whistle.
The warriors turned at the sound, only to see the arrow strike an inconspicuous mound. The mound convulsed, and from the sand, a tail with a sharp stinger on a black tip fell helplessly.
"Excellent shot," Drewayne said seriously, "right in the heart."
"Bravo," Irwin said cheerfully. "Our sharp-eared one has struck another mamono. How many is that now? Three hundred?"
"Three hundred and forty-six," Menellanna replied haughtily and returned the bow to her back.
Knight Eric clapped his hands with a clang.
"Congratulations. At this rate, you'll soon catch up to me," he said with a grim smile.
Simeon scanned his squad. The fat monk had disappeared. Before the warriors stood the stern leader, the Junior Magistrate of the Holy Order.
"Why did you do that?" Simeon asked in a cold, metallic voice. "Did I give an order?"
"We are warriors of the Holy Inquisition," the elf said arrogantly. "Hatred for monsters runs in our blood. We kill any mamono we come across. We don't need orders. Or do you think otherwise, holy father?" she asked bitterly.
Simeon squinted darkly.
"Is everyone in agreement with her?"
"Yes," the knights replied decisively. The mage and specialist were silent—the former focused on the spell, while the latter smiled playfully, but his eyes were serious.
"Then it's no wonder we're losing this war," the Junior Magistrate said harshly. "If even the best of the best can't rise above hatred! I had a higher opinion of you. When we return to the Order's lands, I'll replace your spiritual mentors."
"Why?" Raymond asked, shocked. "It's simple. We hate our enemies and are ready to fight them to the end. That's the will of the Goddess."
"The Goddess is wise," Simeon confirmed. "Moreover, she is kind, for she gave us reason, so we could understand her will."
"Think with your head, think with your head!" The monk tapped his finger to his forehead. "And don't let emotions take over. Why do we fight monsters? Because the Supreme commanded us. And why did she command that? Because she loves her creations—insignificant and great alike.
She endowed us with free will, the freedom to do good or evil. Evil is rewarded in this life, good in the eternal life. And every one of us, every moment, makes a choice—to rise or to fall, to fight our shortcomings or give in to them. It is in this struggle that our soul is forged. Even the most wretched person has a chance to take the difficult path of Light and walk it to the end.
Monsters, however, rob us of our freedom. Of course, mamono do not kill the body but limit the soul. They even make us 'kinder.' But their kindness is a lie! The kindness of incubi and corrupted girls is the 'kindness' of a slave bound hand and foot. Do we want to be slaves? No!"
A good reason for hatred, isn't it? But hatred is a poor adviser. Alexandra Corbett, who stole magical weapons, hated monsters fiercely, fighting them as viciously as you do. Her every action was driven by emotion, not cold reason.
She was too foolish to understand the essence of the holy war. Her anger clouded her vision. And when it faded, Alexandra became a traitor. By giving in to hatred, you step onto the same slippery path she walked.
The squad listened. Simeon's words seemed heretical, but he was right, a thousand times right.
"War with the mamono is a necessity," the monk continued. "We cannot coexist together while remaining ourselves. Yes, 'health.' Yes, a 'happy' life with a loving wife or husband. But that life is akin to death.
It's a very simple and bitter thought. Either we, or they, and there is no third option for us. Don't hate monsters. They are not to blame for what they are. Don't pity mamono.
We are not to blame for the impossible nature of this world. By destroying monsters, incubi, and their bastards, we are doing dirty but necessary work. And no one else will do it. When you understand this, and accept it with all your soul, you will become invulnerable to the dark sermons."
"Necessity, and again necessity!" Simeon said seriously. "As for you, Menellanna—your action was driven by hatred, not necessity. You wasted an arrow, and who knows, perhaps this very arrow, the last one, will be the one you lack in the final battle. We are not on a punitive mission! Our cause is much more important! In Alexandra's hands is a weapon the likes of which neither we nor the monsters have ever seen. And this weapon must become ours."
He finished. The silent warriors were deep in thought.
"I'll think about your words," the elf said reluctantly.
"Think, think, my dear," the monk said in a good-natured, oily voice. "Jake, have you finished?"
"Yes," the mage replied, lowering his staff. "The spell will last for a hundred or two miles."
"Then the break is over," Simeon announced, and they continued their journey.
'Eduard will hide the Whisper,' thought the monk, riding ahead of everyone, 'For safety's sake. He doesn't understand that only a miracle can save us. And if it doesn't come from the Supreme, then the Goddess wants the children to take fate into their own hands...'
"And we will take it," Simeon said with grim determination. "I will take it! With the ancient weapon, stained with the blood of past monsters, we will tear victory from the monsters' claws. The prophecy will come true, but only halfway. The great battle to come will truly be the last in history. The Whisper will put an end to the monsters. And with them—the war. I just hope we're not too late! I hope we get the Whisper!"
"Forward!" the Junior Magistrate shouted fiercely and spurred his horse.