Back in the smoldering ruins of the Golden Camp, Aurelius was doing his own brutal math.
He stood in the center of the command tent, staring at his interface. The wailing of his sick Paladins echoed through the canvas. Six thousand men. Half his legendary army, crippled by a single, rotting weed.
"Heal them, sire," Sir Valerius pleaded, kneeling in his tarnished armor. "A mass [ MIRACLE: SOLAR PURGE ] will cleanse their blood! We can still march at full strength!"
Aurelius glared at his High Paladin.
"Do you know what it costs to cast a Tier 8 Purge on six thousand soldiers?" Aurelius hissed, pointing a trembling, golden finger at his DP counter. "It would drain my entire war chest! If I heal them, I will have no miracles left for the siege! When I face the Spiral, I will be fighting with a sword instead of the Sun!"
"But... they are your faithful—"
"They are liabilities!" Aurelius snapped. He slammed his fist on the map table, cracking the wood.
