Templars

The sun was already setting on the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red tones, as the last body was laid into the trench. Nine graves had been dug using tools brought from the wagons, which two Templars had pushed closer to the field of death. 

The task of digging fell to all those who were not on watch. Four bodies, however, could not be recovered. The proximity to Irmy made any rescue attempt a death sentence — no one dared challenge the rain of arrows that still lingered in the area. The collected bodies were stripped of their armor and weapons, laid on their backs with hands crossed over their chests as a sign of respect. João had to summon all his willpower to ignore the glassy stare of a young man whose skull had been brutally crushed. 

Rafael, with a grave face, began to pray for each of them, one by one, guiding their souls to Paradise. With each prayer completed, other Templars quickly covered the bodies with dirt. Simple crosses, made of rough wood, were placed above each grave. What should have been a solemn ritual was profaned by screams, curses, and blasphemies echoing from the direction of Irmy. 

Still, Rafael did not falter. He stood firm, praying with fervor, ignoring the provocations. Unknowingly, in that moment, he earned the silent respect of all around him. 

Afonso was present throughout the ritual, but his eyes were not on the dead. They were fixed on the distant city — and on the ways he might take it for himself. 

Rafael spoke the final prayer, standing before the body of a young man whose shirt was soaked in blood. Turning to the group, he said firmly: 

— May their souls find the peace denied to them in life. Amen. 

— Amen! — all repeated, almost in unison. 

Exhausted, Rafael brought the wine flask to his lips. No one judged him. 

With the ritual over, Afonso turned his gaze to the group. Before forty-eight warriors, his eyes burned with the fire of vengeance. 

— Tonight... — he began, prompting all to turn toward him — those responsible for patrol will scout the outskirts of Irmy. 

All nodded. João's stomach twisted — he was among the assigned. Afonso continued: 

— Form your pairs and come to me for your positions. Dismissed. 

The camp stirred as soldiers rushed to find their partners. João had barely taken a step when Pedro approached him. 

— I dodged it. — he said, relieved. 

— Me too. — added Miguel, appearing beside Mateus. — What about you? — he asked the young man beside them. Mateus just nodded. 

— Good for you... — João muttered. — Has anyone seen Isaac? 

With no one answering, João said his goodbyes and went looking for his companion. He found him leaning against a wagon wheel, sharpening his sword with automatic, almost hypnotic movements. 

Isaac's shield lay beside him, still pierced by two arrows. Long tears in the white cloak revealed he'd been hit — but the iron cuirass had saved his life. 

Upon seeing João, Isaac looked up and managed a tired smile. 

— And here I thought we'd get some rest today. 

— Don't even start. — João replied. — Don't you think you've sharpened that sword enough? 

— I don't want to take any more risks. — said Isaac, seeing the confusion on his friend's face, and explained: — During the battle, the blade was dull. When I struck an enemy, it barely cut. I had to use it like a club. 

João let out an involuntary laugh, which didn't go unnoticed. 

— You should use a mace. No need to sharpen it — just swing and done. 

— I'm seriously considering it... — Isaac replied, genuinely. — I wanted to be the elegant Templar with his gleaming sword, but maybe swords aren't for me. 

— Talk to Vicente later. I bet he has a spare one. 

— Good idea. — Isaac stopped sharpening and looked João in the eye. — You came to get me, right? 

— We've been paired. The city awaits. 

— What a joy... — he muttered without the slightest enthusiasm. 

João offered his hand and helped his companion to his feet. Isaac sheathed the blade in its hardened leather scabbard, and together they walked to the group gathering around Afonso. The leader waited for everyone to arrive before beginning: 

— Very well. Let's get to the point. — He walked among the soldiers, assessing each face. — The patrol will be divided into the four cardinal points: north, south, east, and west. No improvising. We're too few. 

Some murmured in agreement, but Afonso's sharp gaze silenced them at once. 

— Do not wear armor. A metallic glint or sound could be the difference between life and death tonight. Take only your swords — and only use them if absolutely necessary. 

Approaching the front of the group, he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and concluded: 

— If you see something suspicious, any strange movement... don't try to be heroes. Come back. We'll plan accordingly. Understood? 

— Yes, sir! — they all replied in unison. 

João and Isaac headed to the weapons cart to remove their armor. Everyone else was doing the same, helping each other, until only simple tunics and wide trousers remained. The strong odor betrayed the days spent inside the armor. 

— We're on the northern side? — João asked. 

— East. — Isaac replied, tightening his sword belt. 

João nodded, looking at the forest surrounding Irmy. The vegetation would provide the perfect cover to approach the city unnoticed. The full moon would shine high — not enough darkness to hide them, but they wouldn't get lost either. 

And so, under the veil of night and the omen of war, João and Isaac departed into the unknown.