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The situation was swiftly resolved.
By the time Hector regained consciousness, the Badniker knights had arrived.
"What in the world?" he exclaimed.
At the forefront stood a familiar face—the vice-captain of the Iron-Blooded Knights. He was a talented man who would likely become the knights' captain now.
Hector pulled him aside to explain the situation.
"A priest, the Young Dark Pope, and a demon king descended here... Young Master Hector, are you serious?" the vice-captain asked.
"I've only relayed what I saw and heard," Hector replied.
"Hah... For such a thing to happen in the Badnikers' domain..." Though reluctant to believe it, the fact that Hector had delivered the news forced him to accept it for now.
Was his skepticism an act? Probably not.
That meant the Badnikers had concealed their vile scheme so thoroughly that even the knights' vice-captain remained unaware.
"It might hurt a little," said the knight tending to me as he staunched the bleeding from my severed arm. "Where is the severed limb?"
"Why? Planning to reattach it?"
I immediately wondered if I should have spoken so informally. However, this knight looked younger than the others, likely no older than me.
"Depending on the condition, yes," he replied.
"If it isn't around here, a demon probably ate it."
"I see. That's unfortunate."
Just then, Hector called out, "Have you seen any of the other hero disciples?"
The vice-captain replied with a grave expression, "The survivors are at the training camp, but few remain unharmed."
"I see."
"Please follow me first."
We trailed the vice-captain back to camp.
The scene we reached within minutes resembled a war-torn battlefield.
"It hurts... Uh, uhh..."
"G-Gilbert, this isn't the time for jokes…"
"We're running low on potions! Does anyone have any to spare?"
The area around the instructors' building overflowed with the wounded. Knights and what...
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