Chapter 342
As she surveyed the farmland, the princess spoke quietly but firmly, her gaze intense. "This land has yet to taste bloodshed, and I won’t allow that to change now." With that, she sank into the earth, leaving one final command behind: "Take care of these nuisances while I handle the priest."
Meanwhile, the priest, unburdened by the tree on his shoulder, moved quickly, retracing his steps. He went back beyond the boundary of the farmland, his sight shifted. Soon, he reached the town, only to find the bodies of his soldiers scattered across the ground, a familiar deep red mist curling over them. He felt a heavy dread at the sight of the Terra clan army amassed before him.
Looking at the army of Terra clan in front of him, The priest roared out loud to hype himself up as he ran towards them but instead of charging him, they parted, creating a clear path.
"Such arrogance," he muttered, taking their gesture as a sign of weakness, perhaps even an opportunity to escape. But after only a few steps, he stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching. A grim realization took hold, and a hollow chuckle escaped him, his voice tinged with bitterness.
There she stood in the center of a vast clearing that seemed crafted just for this confrontation. Walls of earth rose up around them, seamlessly formed by the clan’s magic, and as he looked closer, he saw the faces of the Terra warriors melding into the walls, watching him with solemn, almost mournful eyes.
The princess remained still, a formidable presence in the quiet. Her stance was relaxed, but there was a charged tension in her posture, like a coiled spring. She tilted her head as she studied him, and he tightened his grip on the apple tree. Her voice, soft but laced with authority, cut through the silence. "You took what was never yours to take. Did you truly think you could plunder this land and leave unscathed?"
The priest clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the trembling in his hands. He was a high priest, a leader of the faithful, and he would not be cowed by these heathens, no matter how powerful they were. Yet, a sliver of doubt gnawed at him. The circle of warriors, the faces in the walls, the eerie silence—it felt as though the land itself had come alive to judge him.
Taking a deep breath, the priest removed his blood-stained robe, each layer peeled back as he wrestled with a whirlwind of thoughts. When had his devotion wavered, his purity been tainted? He had once held unshakable faith, but now, faced with a moment every devout follower of Björn would covet, he felt no joy—only dread.
Memories surfaced of the woman who had been reshaping their beliefs. She had spoken of coexistence, of lives beyond war and bloodshed. Was she right?