The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 44: The Maw Forest (6)

Izikel and Sophia found a spot near a broken tree stump, far enough from the main camp to be alone, but close enough that they could still hear the sounds of the Saints preparing to march. The stillness of the forest contrasted the quiet tension among the warriors.

They sat in silence for a while, just watching.

The men moved with quiet discipline, shifting from one place to another, checking weapons and repacking supplies. They were waiting for the move-out order from the First Captain. There was no idle chatter, no complaints—only focus and grim resolve.

Izikel’s eyes followed a young man no older than himself, adjusting the leather strap on his armor. There was blood on his sleeve that hadn’t been cleaned. He looked calm. Too calm.

"What’s the point in all this?" Izikel finally asked, his voice low but heavy. "I don’t get it. Why go out of your way just to put your life in danger like this?"

Sophia turned to him, eyebrows raised slightly.

"That’s like... what all those cave divers used to do," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Cave divers?" Sophia blinked. "What’s that?"

"Oh, right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not from here. Earth stuff."

Sophia gave a small nod, patiently waiting for him to explain further.

"I mean... why exactly did these men leave the comfort of their homes to die in a place like this? Are these crystals really worth it?"

He exhaled sharply, his words laced with frustration.

Sophia didn’t answer right away. Her gaze shifted to the Saints moving with purpose, their armor glowing faintly under the moonlight. Then she looked toward the Druids, some of whom were already breathing heavily from the night’s earlier ordeal. Finally, she returned her attention to Izikel.

"There are two parts of a crusade," she said quietly. "This is the first part. The brutal part. We have to go through it to reach the heretics."

Her voice was steady, calm. But there was an underlying emotion Izikel hadn’t heard before.

"The crystals we gather here will be taken back to the kingdom and sacrificed on the Altars of Flame," she continued. "Their sacrifice is what gives us the strength to move forward. It’s not just about the crystals."

She looked up toward the silver-lit forest canopy.

"There are villages near the Maw Forest. Simple people. Families. Children. The Heretics raid these places without warning, capturing innocent believers. Most villages only have a handful of guards—barely enough to fend off a wild beast, let alone an organized attack."

She turned back to him. Her eyes were hard now. Serious.

"We can’t protect every village. Not always. So we do this instead. We go into the forest and we cut off the Heretics before they strike."

"These men didn’t come here to die for crystals. They came to protect the innocent. To protect every believer in the kingdom."

Her words hung heavy in the air. Izikel found himself staring at the men again—at the weariness in their faces, the injuries they wore like second skin, the determination in their eyes.

No wonder the Saints were considered heroes.

He looked down at his hands.

"Lord Izikel," Sophia said gently, "I think you should wait here and return to camp with the others."

He didn’t respond at first. He thought about it—the idea of returning, of resting, of pretending none of this was happening.

It would be easy.

But he wasn’t the same person he had been back on Earth.

He had run from so many things in that world—conflict, responsibility, even the idea of death. But here, death didn’t wait. It didn’t care if you looked away. It would still take someone.

And maybe, just maybe, facing that truth... was what made a hero.

"No," Izikel said after a long pause. "I’m not ready to go back yet."

He thought of the Lyzah.

"If I did go back... what would that annoying brat say?"

Sophia gave him a short nod, understanding his resolve without another word.

The First Captain gave the signal, and the march began again.

The moons still hung high above, casting long shadows across the dark forest floor as they moved. Not once did they stop. Not even for a breath.

The Druids sustained them, channeling the Divine energy of their Altar to keep the warriors moving, their stamina always replenished. But even they had limits. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

They were far from their Altar now, and the distance was starting to show. The flow of energy had slowed, and the Druids’ faces were pale with strain. Their steps faltered. They leaned on their staffs for support.

Eventually, even they could no longer continue.

Izikel noticed something then. There were others aiding the Saints—not Druids, but believers of the Lunar Moon. Healers. Weaker in magic, perhaps, but still able to help. They did their best to patch wounds, mend bruises, and offer what little strength they could.

By the time Raynoel raised a hand and commanded them to halt, the sky was already beginning to shift. The first blush of dawn tinted the horizon.

"We shall rest here," Raynoel declared. "Gather your strength."

A Saint gently set Izikel down, much to his dismay. He had been carried for half the march, and though he had resisted at first, he eventually accepted defeat—Sophia had insisted.

He leaned against a tree, trying to shake off the fatigue, though his body didn’t ache nearly as much as the others. At least he had managed to close his eyes for a bit.

The Saints collapsed to the ground without hesitation, some already asleep before their heads even touched the grass. The Druids, even more drained, barely had the strength to sit.

"Lord Izikel," a voice called.

He turned to see Felvin approaching.

"Felvin. Where’s Lyzah?" Izikel asked, standing up quickly.

"She’s resting," Felvin replied with a soft smile. "I think she might have pushed herself a bit too hard."

There was something off about him.

Felvin’s face was pale, his posture slouched. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his breaths came slow and shallow.

Izikel narrowed his eyes.

"Are you okay, Felvin?"

Felvin let out a dry chuckle—but it turned into a cough that shook his whole frame.

"I’m fine," he said with a wave. "Maybe just a little too tired... I should rest while I can. If you’ll excuse me."

He gave a small bow and walked away, his steps uneven.

Izikel watched him go, frowning.

’That didn’t look like exhaustion at all.’

He turned his gaze to where Lyzah was resting, then looked around at the other Druids—exhausted, yes, but not like Felvin.

Whatever was affecting him, it wasn’t normal fatigue. Maybe he pushed himself too hard. That could be really dangerous for him.