The revolutionary army was a breath-taking sight.

Thousands of men, horses, and tents littered the valley behind the hollow mountain. Some wore green uniforms, some blue and some white. There were also many with different assortments of colors, belonging to the personal armies of the few nobles siding with the revolutionaries.

If one were to look from above, they would see an army of coloured ants marching around. And at the center of it all, there seemed to be some kind of disturbance.

Sayfire was on a black horse, a carefully-bred steed that made a beautiful contrast with her pale white skin. She was dressed in red leather armor, with a yellow cape behind her making her look like flames incarnate. The armor was covering most of her body, letting none of her womanly charms show. Indeed, right now Sayfire didn't want to be a woman. She wanted to be a commander.

On her waist were two sheathed swords, a long one and a short one. The long one reached to her brown leather boots, the left of which secretly contained a dagger under its fake bottom. She also had an extra sword tied to her back in a way that wouldn't restrain her movements.

The leader of the revolution was currently in the middle of the army, surrounded by her generals. Although she wouldn't let it show on her face, she was feeling distraught. For two big reasons.

The first was that all the troops here had been amassed not by her, but by the king, her enemy. Everything had seemingly gone according to his plan when one of his spies, who had been posing as her messenger, delivered an urgent message to Waterslide.

Supposedly, she was ordering her generals to collect the troops and declare their presence to the world, preparing the ground for the revolution to begin. The generals, convinced by Sayfire's family heirloom that the spy had managed to snatch, indeed declared the beginning of the revolution and summoned the thousands of their men to Waterslide.

When Sayfire arrived two days later, it was too late. The cat was out of the bag. All she could do was go with the tide and pretend those were indeed her orders. She even went so far as to keep everything about the king a secret, except for her closest allies. It pained her, but she couldn't afford to demoralize her soldiers like that.

All of a sudden, she felt not only completely outmaneuvered and about to lose, but that she was the bad side too! After all, almost everything she and her revolution had been preaching turned out to be a lie!

But she couldn't tell them, could she? A lot of heads would go flying if she did, including hers, and that was not a sacrifice she was willing to make, nor were her generals. Some would protest this decision, but Sayfire hadn't let them know.

At least the king did look like a bad guy. World domination? How many human lives would that claim? Not to mention how he didn't hesitate to let the kingdom fall into decline only to ‘catch the rats’, as he had said. His story didn’t add up too much. Heck, he was even allied with the elves!

Even though things were not as she originally believed, she was still convinced that relieving that back-stabbing man from his duties (and his head) was the right thing to do. Well, maybe not entirely, but she was actively trying to convince herself.

That was the main reason she was sad and confused.

The other reason was something much, much more urgent. Currently, in the very middle of her camp, without her permission, there was a black procession. Black as in, the people that made it up were all dressed in nothing but black cloaks, from the top of their heads to the bottom of their feet.

More disturbing than that was the raised platform in their midst, hoisted on the shoulders of eight cloaked figures. In the middle of the platform was a chair, on which sat a cloaked old man, the only person in the procession to have his hood down. Looking at him, Sayfire could sense an instinctual aversion, as if she was looking at something disgusting. His hair was white and spiky, a black shadow was applied to his eyes, and he sported a thin, short mustache. He was looking around haughtily, as if he was an eagle among chickens.

However, what left Sayfire shaking in her boots was not the man himself, nor was it the weird procession.

It was the emblem carved on a column right behind his chair. The image of a sword facing downwards in front of a big eye. The symbol of Madred.

The cult of Madred was the so-called religion of death. They worshiped the God they believed was buried under Mountain Death, and believed that life was a burden while death was salvation. They preached that one should kill when one wants to kill.

What they were most famous about though was not their outrageous beliefs, but the outrageous actions of the cultists. They pillaged, raped, and killed indiscriminately. They would attack random villages out of nowhere and massacre everyone, from old men to babies, all the while shouting about how they were saving them and how their victims should be thankful to the God of Death.

The only reason they hadn't been eliminated yet was that they knew when to back down. They would always go as far as they could, and no further, so that the Kingdoms didn’t consider it worth the effort to eliminate them. A few villages lost every once in a while was hardly worth thousands of strong soldiers.

The Cult of Madred was not limited to their Southern Human Kingdom, after all. It had spread across the entire Land of the Six Kingdoms and was firmly rooted in every one of them.

It was also a known fact that the Cult would unleash a crusade against any Kingdom or force that dared move against them. Its pope, considered one of the strongest wizards on the continent, was also a strong deterrent.

Fortunately for this Kingdom, the cult had begun in the Northern Human Kingdom, making the Southern Human Kingdom one of the least influenced yet. The Madred cultists here were more boogeyman material than an actual threat to the small villages.

Which is why, if one were to be less eloquent, Sayfire shat bricks when she saw them in the middle of her camp. The man on the chair, or rather the throne, was a high priest, as evidenced by the golden rims on his cloak, and there were supposed to be no high priests of Madred in their Kingdom.

If these people decided to become hostile and start killing people, what would Sayfire do??

Fight back? She couldn't afford to make enemies of the single most powerful non-Kingdom organization in the continent, especially given the current situation.

Not fight back? What sort of army would accept having their comrades slaughtered in front of them and not react? She cursed the scouts that had let them reach all the way here without alerting her, but they were probably too afraid to tell her. After all, another thing the Cult of Madred was infamous for was never, ever letting someone who had tried to go against them live, no matter how small or insignificant their actions.

Which explained why Sayfire was trapped in the current predicament.

The high priest looked around in excitement. He always enjoyed the looks of terror he was given.

"Stop and put me down," he ordered with a slightly more high-pitched voice than one would expect. His pious believers, his subordinates, scrambled to follow his orders.

"Now then,” he shouted as he stood up, "who's the leader here?"

His voice spread out among the surrounding soldiers but met no response. The smartest soldiers had already started to back away quietly, aware of the cultists' murderous habits. Many of them, however, didn't know or didn't imagine the Madred cultists would be so bold as to try something when surrounded, so they stayed to watch the show.

Just as the high priest was about to ask again, a steady voice rose from the crowd.

"That would be me."

Among sounds of salute, the soldiers hurriedly parted to reveal a small number of rough, strong-looking men and women surrounding an impressive young woman.

Her flowing yellow cape and red armor that made her look like human fire, her pale white skin and cascading black hair, the way she walked and held herself with authority, and the respectful looks she was receiving painted a picture of an extraordinary woman, one destined for great things.

However, the image the high priest saw was a bit different.

He didn't care about her potential. What he cared about was her beauty, and how her pale skin and black hair made her very much his type. He licked his lips. All her impressive visage meant to him was how much satisfaction he would get by violating such a powerful woman. Those who believed in Madred and followed his teachings believed the only crime was disrespecting the God of Death. Anything else was inconsequential, as it was all part of this big meaningless farce called life.

However, the high priest knew better than to try and assault her as he would have with almost any other woman that caught his eye. While he was aware of how much this army didn't want to go against him, he didn't want to push his luck by attempting to openly violate their commanding officer. That didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with her in other ways, though.

"Come here,” he said, trying, and failing, to make it sound more like a request than an order.

Sayfire grimaced. Obeying orders in front of her troops was very bad, but risking incurring his rage was even worse. He wouldn't hurt her anyway. Even he couldn't be that crazy.

Gritting her teeth, she separated from her officers and approached the platform. The black-robed cultists silently made way for her, making her feel very uncomfortable. Being surrounded by murderous, black-robed psychopaths would hardly be a pleasurable experience for anyone.

"What can I help you with?" she inquired, trying to maintain at least some of the dignity a commander should have.

"I never expected an army this big to be led by someone so beautiful," he said, looking at her up and down.

Sayfire didn't reply. At times like these, she wished she was wearing a helmet to hide her facial expressions. She felt deeply offended by the man's words, both because of how he put her identity as a woman before that of a commander and because he showed he fancied her. As if she could ever feel anything for a man like that, other than disgust.

And hatred, she quickly corrected herself.

She really, really wanted to respond with a fitting answer, but held herself back. She would endure no matter what he said. She had to endure, lest the revolution end before it even began.

Just then, as the high priest was about to continue teasing her, he caught sight of a more interesting spectacle.

On a wagon that had just approached their location, he caught sight of another girl. There was an older woman too, but he most liked young ones.

This girl was pale-skinned, although of course less so than Sayfire, and she had flowing red hair. The lecherous old man noticed her chest was well-developed and her delicate features were attractive to behold. It made the man imagine how perfect it would feel to ravage her and hit her until she passed out.

Thinking about that, the high priest couldn't help but grow light-headed.

"You," he shouted, raising an arm to point a finger in Heartilia's direction. "Come here immediately!"

The silence of the surrounding soldiers and cultists allowed his voice to reach far and be clearly heard by the red-haired girl, who widened her eyes in terror and realization.

The high priest was ecstatic. Unlike the female commander, he could probably take this girl for himself and do whatever he wanted! Who would dare provoke him over a random lass?

Surprised, Sayfire turned around to look in the direction of the man's outstreched finger, after which her eyes widened in surprise.

"Heartilia?" she mumbled, after which a warm smile blossomed on her beautiful face. If Heartilia was here, then...

"Ashter!"