I had to put him in his place—a corporal who felt like a prophet, who would follow in these circumstances. But if I sent him to the clerics, they would surely want to capture "his valuable intervention." So I sent him to the forges instead, to help with the coal. We needed weapons, more arrows, and much armor. We of the advance team were at a clear disadvantage. A soldier arrived saying that the prophet Jamal wanted to see me. Of all of them, he was the one who caused me the fewest problems. I went down with the others, but instead of beginning to stone or inculcate our religion into the pagans, he spoke with them, asked them where and what they did. That was how I learned of the atrocities of a demon general. They called him Overlord, but that name meant nothing to our troops. We were tens of thousands of soldiers. It was true that only a few had disembarked, but soon all would be able to arrive, and it did not matter what defenses there were—we would take this continent.
The prophet's tent was dark. He always remained in shadow in a mode of isolation to communicate with God. That was convenient for me—many of the things found in his tent were quite unpleasant. I simply passed the curtain, and he greeted me. I thought that even if I saw him thirty times in a day, each time he would receive me with the same enthusiasm. Of all of them, he was the only one who had visions without the help of brews or smoking ridiculous things. After offering me tea—which I declined—he began to speak. He told me of the enemies who had fled, who had taken refuge at the forest's edge. I asked if there were villages nearby. He said there were a few heretics, and that there lay the center of their religion. I asked about defenses, but he did not know. Yet he had a truly worried look—so much so that without realizing it, I took the cup he had left abandoned somewhere... Ugh! I did not know what he used, but it never tasted good!
He calmed down and began to tell me of various revelations from God. These were, to a greater or lesser extent, things I had already done to fortify the coastal city. He also said it would be necessary to "baptize" the citizens who allowed it. Distractedly, I touched a mark on my neck—the "divine sign" tattooed when we were barely three weeks old, a sign that our family loved God and accepted him in every form of our life. Not many non-infants survived its placement.
I thought that was not the important thing—he would not have called me for something we always did in previous invasions. Finally, he told me. He said he had already notified the main ships for a massive disembarkation... Ridiculous! I told him. We did not have enough information about the place or the enemies. I could not imagine the logistical problems, the necessary materials. He told me that regarding materials, God indicated that the ships had to be dismantled—that we were not going anywhere.
That was dangerous—to have so much civilian population here, on the beach, without cultivation sites. But if it was the prophet's orders, I could do nothing more. Seeing my contrite face, he told me the reason. Apparently, we were not the only continent that had launched itself seeking new dragon-free zones. The southern zones, Volcania, and the northern Artich had received instructions from their demons—whom they considered gods. The landings were in full swing. He looked at me severely and gave the orders of the true God:
"He wants us to baptize everyone. He needs faithful. He needs the help of new believers. The war against God's enemies is near."
I think I did not even say goodbye. Upon reaching the beach, I thoroughly examined the surroundings. No one in sight outside our troops. The ships disappeared in the distance. How many were we in total? No one knew the exact count, but disembarking did not sound so unrealistic. Nearly a hundred head of cattle were consumed per day. The reserves of wheat, dried meat, and our liquid provisions would continue to evaporate without control. So I notified my superiors. The order would likely be obeyed—more because I suspected the prophets would have the same dreams and could give their support to this old man.
Outside, the first baptisms began. With a branch of a divine tree, the bark in the shape representing God—a beautiful dove with wings sheltering whoever wished. Upon touching the first man's neck—an old man—he writhed. I feared he had not accepted it. His eyes dilated and reddened as the mark consumed his body, determining he was not fit to serve God. Then came his grandson. This one felt no pain—his expression changed to happiness. It was likely God was speaking to him at this very moment. So I left him be. I headed toward the war, but seeing children receive grace gave me the will to continue. For a few baptized children, for our people in search of happiness, for them I would kill and die. Thus it was written, and thus it would be.