After my rebirth, Miss Saint turned evil

After all, this might be the last day—his chance to hear the Saint's voice.

Not only the Heraldic Cult generals, but also the Gasalia generals listened to Madia's voice in silence.

"Please tell the soldiers. Don't make a single mistake."

Mattia said as if in a declaration.

"This is not a holy war. Our God wishes us to be filled with regret and make our own choices. In other words, this war is undoubtedly of our own will. So why did we choose to take up our spears and paint the earth red?"

Mattia knew that her voice was trembling, which shouldn't happen. As a saint of the Church of Heraldry, this was the most embarrassing thing.

Her voice gradually rose as Madia made her announcement.

"It's for our compatriots behind us. For our parents, for our brothers and sisters, for our children and grandchildren. For the day when they can live with their heads held high, we hold the guns - think about it, compatriots. Why are we here?"

In the eyes of the person known as the Saint, there is a color of faith, a tone that can even be said to be fanatical.

Madia's cry, along with her high-spirited posture, reflected in the pupils of the generals and captains.

This is the last thing I can do. If this doesn't work, then I can only take the last resort, right?

Looking at the frenzied generals and captains around her, Mattia sneered at herself inwardly.

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That day, the weather was clear, the wind blew from all directions as it pleased, and the sun was as bright as usual.

And right in the center of the Shanio Plain, the Armorial Army and the Templar Army were baring their fangs at each other.

On the battlefield, there were screams that were hard to tell whether they were the sounds of killing or strange noises. No one could catch the true nature of those sounds.

The axe tip drags out the intestines, causing blood to flow everywhere; the gun, wrapped in the smell of iron, picks out pieces of flesh. The life and death of the soldiers are intertwined, creating a strange place called the battlefield.

Is the comrade next to me still alive? Is he still swinging his sword? Ah, am I still alive? Many on the battlefield can no longer figure out even this.

Swords, spears, and shields meshed with each other, making clanging sounds and playing a unique melody on the battlefield.

Everyone opened their eyes wide, following their fighting instinct and greedily devouring the enemy soldiers. Now was the time when life was put at the lowest price.

Both the Heraldic Church and the Cathedral deployed their forces across the plains. A combined force of over thirty thousand soldiers filled the battlefield with joyous songs.

If God intentionally implanted the instinct of struggle in human beings when He created them, it must have been for the purpose of listening to this music.

"—Is the battle going badly? That's only natural... I'm not happy about it, but there's nothing I can do about it."

Among the vanguard corps, Philos Tret muttered to himself as if complaining.

Under the monocle, the white pupils sparkled in the sunlight.

The enemy soldiers, the soldiers of the Heraldry Church, brandished their spears in the face of disadvantage, groping for a slim chance of victory with their own hands, and leading all of this was the witch Madia and the evil man Murphy.

I heard that they are the kind of people who like to manipulate others with their tongues and make them blindly believe in their abilities.

Perhaps because they were led by such a person, the enemy soldiers rushed towards the Philos army with the momentum of a flood, as if attracted by something.

On the other hand, the Philos City Legion could not possibly have the same momentum and courage. They just obeyed orders, raised their shields, raised their spears, and endured not to be pushed back by the enemy.

If we only talk about the momentum of breaking the enemy's neck, there is no need to say that the Philos Army is superior. Even compared with the Grand Templar Army, the Heraldic Army may be superior.

Philos couldn't help but smack his lips. It was precisely because of this that the veteran did the most taboo thing, forcing the friendly forces to serve as the vanguard, right?

The soldiers' violent roars irritated Philos' skin. This experience of being overwhelmed by human voices from head to toe was the first time for Philos.

Is the human voice so powerful?

"Lord Ferros, please step back a little. If you just stand there like that, it would be better to go to the Cathedral. You'll die."

The captain leading the city soldiers spoke in a slightly scolding tone, but the harsh words that came out of his tongue hurt Philos more than his frown.

As usual, he was the type who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut out of politeness and concern. Thinking of this, Philos raised his eyebrows slightly.

But, isn't this kind of personality hopeless? After all, this man had the same attitude when he was appointed captain and commander of the city soldiers.

I'm afraid he is the kind of person who will die if he doesn't say what he wants to say directly?

Well, it's much better than being full of bad intentions, Philos answered with a smile on his face.

"That won't do, because I'm the commander-in-chief of this unit. Besides, I was the one who sent them to the battlefield to die, so I can't just stay in this room by myself, right? I also hope to be the ideal commander."

The captain snorted in response to Philos's hypocritical words, as if he was unhappy with them.

Perhaps this is what it means to be free to do whatever one wants. Philos really envies him for being able to express everything he thinks like that.

The ruler of a city is actually further from freedom than one might imagine. If possible, Philos would really like to tell his past self this.

There is nothing good there, and no matter how hard you try, there is no salvation at the ruler's seat.

"Although we can still hold on now, we must not be careless about the enemy's core. As the enemy, they will definitely target this place."

The captain roared from time to time, commanding the soldiers while muttering to himself. There was no sense of crisis or anxiety in his voice, giving people a feeling that he could see through everything.

Although Philos knew nothing about the battlefield, in the captain's opinion, this might be what the battlefield was like.

White pupils stared at the waving flag.

Indeed, upon closer inspection, as the captain had said, the flags in the center of the enemy army were shaking violently, but on the other hand, the flags on their left and right wings were as firm as spears.

In other words, because our army is small in number, the enemy will concentrate the main battlefield in the center, preparing to tear our army into pieces and baring their fangs towards the cathedral main camp located behind.

On the other hand, if we can stop them and let the Templar army devour the armies on their left and right wings, we can win.

That job must be what the Philos Army, or the heavy infantry, are best at - holding on and waiting for the opportunity to win.

However, the problem was that although he was very good at his job, the number of soldiers Philos currently led was not enough to stop such a powerful enemy force.

There is no other way. In order to minimize the harm to the city itself and take the face of the Cathedral into consideration, we have to use less than a thousand troops.

Anyway, even if they win this war, Philos will still get nothing. After all, the rights and interests of Crossmaria are not so easy to obtain.

Moreover, with the arrival of the cold period, food has become increasingly scarce. How can we deploy a large number of troops in the city for such a war?

Philos licked his lips and made a sound in his throat.

"Stop what's necessary and don't let too many soldiers suffer casualties. Try to find an excuse to retreat from the Cathedral."

Filos said in a voice that no one except the captain could hear.

For Philos, what is necessary is not victory but the least possible suffering.

Moreover, there are 20,000 well-equipped Grand Templar troops behind him. Even if his side collapses earlier, it will not affect the outcome.

In response to Filos's words, the captain leaned forward and said:

"...If you can, let's do it."

It was only then that the captain's voice began to sound tense for the first time.

There was no difference in the tone itself, but the faint rhythm had disappeared from the sound.

Philos's gaze passed through the broad figure in front of him and stared at the battlefield.

There were horses galloping across the battlefield, just like tearing a piece of cloth.

It looked like a unit, a group of the enemy troops that had foolishly broken out and broken through the line.

Normally, such troops would be devoured by the enemy in an instant.

Being isolated on the battlefield means death, and because everyone knows this, they march forward in an army.

However, that small force did not disappear no matter how much time passed.

Rather, one could even see that they were slowly approaching this side, and the other enemy soldiers were moving forward as if following them.

"Lord Philos, those reckless fellows have arrived! You're only a hindrance here. Please don't die so easily, run away!"

Sweat broke out on the captain's neck, and he slowly drew the sword from his waist.

Perhaps because he was shaken, as the surrounding soldiers roared and raised their shields, Philos also took a step back.

In Filos's white pupils, a threat was reflected crawling towards her.

Wearing a green military uniform, he crushes soldiers' heads with his horse's hooves and marches forward continuously.

I have heard of that man, and his posture has long been engraved in my mind. I also remember reading an article describing that man.

——The malicious eyes contained an immoral act that defied the gods.

Yes, there can be no mistakes, there can be no mistakes, those eyes that can trample someone to death without even a twitch of an eyebrow, and that kind of brutal behavior without fear on the battlefield.

Philos's eyes clearly caught that figure.

——That is, the evil man. The hero of the Heraldry Cult, Murphy.

Chapter 5 Two Wings

People, people, people.

Wherever I went, there was a group of people looking towards me with weapons in hand.

Anger, fear, hostility, the mixture of colors is really hard to describe in words.

Filia was brandishing her sword at the forefront of the battlefield, beads of sweat streaming down her face.

The spear tasted the internal organs, and the arrows pierced the chest like raindrops. Just one of them could easily cause death.

The thing that Filia thought about most on the battlefield was how fragile humans were.

Gathering together day after day, striding forward on the ground, as if the word death had nothing to do with them, they welcomed death as a matter of course in the space of the battlefield.

There was a "crack" sound, as if fingernails were scratching deep into her chest. The cruelty of the battlefield disturbed Filia's heart - should that guy be okay?

"Murphy, you actually let me do such a boring thing."

At the forefront of the right wing of the Heraldic Army, Filia muttered, and the horse under her neighed as if in response to her words.

It seemed like this horse was just as furious as she was. With this thought in mind, Filia gripped her beloved sword tightly, pouting her lips in dissatisfaction.

—Tied down the enemy on the army’s right wing, and then took the initiative to attack.

This is the task that Murphy gave to Filia.

Now, this mission is going smoothly to some extent, because the soldiers are also fighting a defensive battle, and there are no signs of serious losses at present.

Of course, the situation will get worse as time goes by, but at least it is bearable now.

However, even so, Filia did not feel relieved at all. Instead, she gritted her teeth impatiently.

Because it was Murphy who made the request directly, he accepted it readily. But, couldn't he have made a request that was more focused on the atmosphere? That man.

Filia frowned unconsciously and swung the sword. At first glance, it looked like she was swinging it vigorously, but the trajectory of the sword tip was quite slender.

Silver light drew a semicircle in the air, and in an instant, the enemy's helmet and head flew into the sky. The smell of iron made Filia's nose itch.

To be honest, I feel a little unhappy. Since we have to go to the battlefield anyway, it’s better to go to the battlefield with Murphy.

But now he was so far away, and when he was hooked by the fingers of the god of death, he couldn't even pull himself up.

Her gaze rested on the center of her own army, and once again, Filia heard the stirrings in her heart—was that guy injured? This invisible anxiety lingered in her mind.

If that's the case, should I just crawl into his arms even if it's unreasonable?

But every time she thought about it, the image of Murphy asking her for help would appear in Filia's eyes - the way he looked straight at her and said "please".

Oh, no, I really can't. I can't imagine myself refusing that request.

Is this weakness or strength? Is it due to one's own reserve or persistence?

——But, that bastard. Although he did take away my life, I still think he should give me some more comfort and praise.

Filia sighed with dissatisfaction at the man who had taken her life in Belphein, and shook the dragon horn sword.

Whenever it touches the battlefield, blood will pollute the earth and the soldiers' wails will shake the space.

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On the left wing of the Heraldic Army, the soldiers of the Elf Army simply drew their bows and continuously shot arrows wrapped in elven magic to pierce through the enemy soldiers.

Every time the arrows pierced the flesh, the soldiers of the Cathedral fell unconscious on the battlefield as if their heads had been ripped off.

That was the proof of the elves' curse, piercing the skin and invading the soul.

The existence of the incarnation of nature, on the one hand, provides protection to the elves, but on the other hand, it also brings harm to humans.

Casting a curse to confine one's existence to one's own domain, or harming another's soul with clear intent to harm, is simply how nature exists.

To humans, it is something closer to the devil than to God.

But there was nothing that could be done about it, because it was humans themselves who turned to pray to God and alienated the ancient elves.