The refugee camp surrounding the front gate of Liedenstorm was large.

The since the gates had remained closed for a long time, that meant with more squads of the Crimson Crucible leading more and more of them everyday, it meant the numbers could only grow.

Looking down at the now very vast sea of bodies, a frightening solemn lingered in the gaze of a man wearing a red suit of armor.

Under his armpits was a helmet with two curved horns jutting out from it.

The face of the man was seasoned and his eyes told the story of a deep, unsettling exhaustion. He had a head full of messy dark hair and deep green eyes that contrasted with the dark forest backdrop.

However, his body was rather large in the suit of armor. If he was standing beside another human, the difference would have been striking, as he would have been almost twice as tall.

"It is such a shame that a purge must be. Such a thing is never a pretty sight to look at, Captain Orpheus."

The man's eyes twitched and his gaze shifted.

Beside him was a man a head shorter. With his crimson helm over his head, the visage of the warrior could not be seen, but the ferocity leaking off of him could definitely be felt.

Captain Orpheus was the Templar with the Horned helm beneath his arm.

He shrugged,

"Indeed." He said.

Then he glanced up and took in a deep breath. For some reason, his eyes seemed to glow with an austere light,

"The corruption of the world seems to be growing thicker. Strange things have also been happening recently."

"Ai. Strange things are always happening, Captain."

Orpheus chuckled,

"That is indeed the case."

He was silent for a moment.

Then he asked,

"What did the commander say, Mildred?"

Mildred was silent for a moment,

"He's given the order. But he seems a bit hesitant."

Orpheus frowned,

"Hesitant, huh... Could there be a reason for this?"

"Answers on the percentage of infected has not been given yet. Perhaps he's trying to consider if it would be worth it."

Orpheus snorted,

"At this rate, we won't even have to do anything. They'll all eat each other to death eventually, the damned wretched bastards."

He grimaced, "What does Strut think he's doing?"

Mildred shrugged, although it was hard to tell from all the armor covering him,

"If we begin a purge now, there will be a ton of collateral damage to those that are not infected or influenced by the corruption. Having to make the decision must be—"

"It is necessary. One does not become a commander in the cruelest Templar Order of the Church by having compassion and soul. It makes me wonder and judge his credibility."

Mildred seemed surprised by this. He turned over to face Orpheus.

The lazy look in the eyes of the man was replaced with a chilling gaze. Like that of a terrible, might predator.

A look destined for death that craving merciless carnage...

"We shall confront the Commander."

***

"That's enough!"

The sharp words seemed to cut through the pandemonium.

The one who had spoken was the older woman, Mira.

Her seasoned gave moved through the gathered,

"We shall be practical about this. The Vosche group has forty-three people. Beorstone has thirty-seven. Orm has fifty-two. Combined, we represent well over half this side of the camp's population. It's simple that we should receive a proportional share."

"Proportional," Obed said softly. But his gaze was anything but soft. "You mean the majority."

"If that's how the numbers work out, then yes."

Geor stood up from the table, his massive frame radiating barely concealed anger— No. Rage.

"You want to take food from children because you think your losses mean more than theirs?! Are you mad?!"

"We want what we're owed," Garren shot back, also rising. "Our people died for this. We're not going to watch it all get divided up while we look around like idiots. Such a thing is..."

The tension was thick enough to cut as the rising voices neared crescendo.

Nero sat frozen, watching it all unfold. This was what they'd come back to.

Not gratitude and certainly not relief. But rather, a terrible greed and resentment so deep, he could feel it in his bones, with the source of the inexplicable resentment being the greed.

"You all seem rather eager for a fight..."

The words, laboring words seem to cut through the... lively chatter.

For some reason, the gravitas behind the words seemed to create a dome of silence.

It was a miracle that the old man's dim voice had been heard even through the storm of noises.

The old man's gaze swept across all of them, lingering on each face,

"I've seen a lot of crap in my damned days in this horrible world. Nothing good comes of an argument such as this. You want to fight? You want to kill each other over who deserves more? Fine. Do it. But such a thing will yield no results."

He turned his eyes towards a man who had the knife on his waist drawn halfway,

"The moment you draw those blades, the moment you spill blood over this, you prove that you are a dimwit no better than the Abominations outside these camps. If that happens, I believe those damned Templars would eagerly strike us all down."

The man he stared at trembled and slowly sheathed his blade.

Nobody spoke.

The old man's breathing was labored, his hands shaking on his walking stick as he let out a sigh,

"But what do I know? I'm just an old fool who's going to die soon. We're all going to die out here. All of us. Whether it's from starvation or from Abominations or from tearing each other apart, it doesn't matter. We're all doomed."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Mira was the first to speak, her voice slightly less cold than before,

"You're right, old man. Violence solves nothing."

She looked at Obed. "But the question remains. How do we divide the supplies fairly?"

Aldric nodded reluctantly. "My people did lose eight. Their families need to eat too. That's not greed."

Garren grunted in agreement.

Nero looked around the table, at all these people who were just as desperate and scared as he was. At the leaders who were trying to protect their own.

There was no good answer here. No solution that would make everyone happy.

Someone was going to go hungry no matter what they decided.

The question was who.

And who got to make that choice.

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