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Ivo stuck the wooden end of his rake to the soil with force, digging it in a few centimeters. His hand clenched around the rake handle, the sinewy muscles of his forearm tightening as he exerted force. He grit his teeth as he felt an ice cold breeze s.h.i.+ft through him, stealing away warmth, leaving him at a s.h.i.+vering chill. 

"All ye faithful to the land, to our great lady Morrigan!" he shouted, his voice, a deep and booming baritone, projecting forwards and enveloping a crowd of men and women just like him. No, not a crowd, at these numbers, this was more like a small army. 

Men and women who had spent their entire lives tending to the land. They wielded various farming tools in their hands – rakes, ploughs, sickles, and the like – in their calloused hands just like him. They were cheap and ragged linens and leathers like him. But most importantly, they believed just like him.

Believed in the goodness of Morrigan, their guardian, their beloved, their hope. The source of the life flowing through their farms, the origin of the faith they had kept close to their hearts through their whole lives just as their fathers and father's fathers had before them.

"These foul winds!" Ivo pointed up to the sky. It was dark, the moon and stars choked away with black clouds full and heavy not with rain, but with pure darkness. "The blackened skies! All signs that the demons are upon us! With the adventurers falling, Riviera has decided to put up its walls, wis.h.i.+ng to cower while our great lady pushes the foul horde back. Will we be such spineless little whelps?!"

"Nay!" came the resounding answer in perfect unison.

Ivo nodded. He knew their answer. He could feel their emotions, their drive, their will to fight. They were all connected, after all. Joined in union to their belief in the great lady. And he was their center, the high priest of Morrigan, the center point upon which all other faithful relied upon. 

"They, those posh and prim city dwellers, those n.o.bles that know not the meaning of the land, call us weak. They say us untrained, wielding but dull farming tools. They say we are mad to leave the walls while the demons rage outside." 

Ivo turned, facing the great forests, the wondrous Violetwoods that had provided so much for all of them. Now, a dreadful aura settled upon it, the light of black flames emanating in the distance. 

"They are right. We cannot compare to knights and adventurers in the way of the sword or staff. But together, we are strong!"

Ivo took his rake and held it above his head. "[Roots of the Kindred One]!"

This was a spell he had personally learned from the great lady as her high priest. It was a power far beyond human means, but it was proof that she trusted him above all else to lead her flock. The ma.s.s blessing spread through the farmers behind him in the form of bright green roots of wispy energy.

 When a root latched onto a farmer, it used their life force to spring forth to another, and to another, until finally, all of them were connected.

Ivo's hand began to tremble with exertion, and he used his other hand to hide it, not wanting to show weakness. It was a miracle he could cast such a spell in the first place, a phenomenon made possibly only because so many of his fellow believers were willing to shoulder the burden of its cost. Even then, this was a spell meant for one of Morrigan's roots to cast, not a mortal like Ivo. 

Ivo knew that there would be consequences on himself for using a spell like this, but in the face of losing everything he held dear to him and everyone behind him, none of that mattered. 

"Now, brothers and sisters of the earth, we are bound not only by trade and belief, but by blood! We share between us not only our strength, but our wounds. Are you willing to make this sacrifice?"

"Been willin' the moment I stepped outta' the city walls," called out one of the farmers. "Speech is mighty nice, but we ain't got time to dawdle around while the great lady's strugglin'."

Ivo smiled. "And that is so." He took his rake and pointed it to the ominous, blackened form of the forest. "Then we march forwards! Slay any demons you see! Do not stop until you reach the great lady!"

Ivo breathed hard as he leaned against a tree trunk. It had been an hour of constant fighting now, of rabid struggle against countless monstrosities, and finally, they had made it to a clearing where he had decided to call a short break.

A much needed one. Wave after wave of imps, h.e.l.lhounds, blood fiends, spider-like bebeliths, and even an infernal golem had very much bloodied them. Ivo grimaced as he took a scanning look over his brothers and sisters.

Many of them were drenched in blood, open scars littering their bodies. The able bodied fed the weaker ones elixirs they had stockpiled for this moment, with the lesser priests among them liberally casting healing spells while seating the wounded upright, stopping them from drowning in pools of blood. 

[Roots of the Kindred One] connected all their fates, amplifying their strength and mitigating damage by spreading it all throughout them. A supremely powerful spell on a level that Ivo figured had not been cast in centuries at the least, but even that was not enough.

Individually, Ivo knew none of them could do anything against the demons, not even the priests among them such as himself. There was simply far too much of a difference in raw power between an individual farmer and an individual demon, and there were far, far more demons than there were farmers.

So Ivo had linked them into an unified unit, but this could only go so far. The wounds they received from all ends acc.u.mulated among all of them, and as more and more of them succ.u.mbed, the worse these wounds would become and the weaker they would get. 

Still, it was because of the great lady's spell that they had only lost a quarter of their numbers. They would have surely been wiped out to the last man by now without it, hunted down by h.e.l.lhounds or bludgeoned to death by flying imps. 

Ivo clenched his fists around his rake. The metal end had become warped and bent entirely out of shape from blunt trauma and extreme heat. He knew the great lady was still alive. He could feel her in his heart, though by the minute, her presence became weaker like a vanis.h.i.+ng mirage. 

His goal was to secure the great lady's safety, but to do so, he would have to get everyone to march soon, without proper recovery, condemning most of them to death. For almost a decade, he had led these very same people, nurtured them, guided them, told them when to plant, when to give offerings to the great lady, and now, he was telling them to die.

It felt so wrong. So awful. A knot twisted in his stomach, and he felt sick, wanting to vomit. 

"Thinkin' bout' something?" 

Ivo looked up between struggling breaths as the farmer that had responded to his speech from before limped to his side. The man was so young. Barely twenty, perhaps, with how there was still some youthful fat on his cheeks. Perhaps there would have been a rosy tint as well, but it was impossible to see through the blood caked on his face.

"Bernard, aren't you, lad?" said Ivo, his words coming out in a wheeze. "I recognize you. Have those wonderful berries by the eastern walls, aye?"

"That's me alright." Bernard coughed. A deep cough, the kind that rattled out when there was liquid in the lungs. In this case – blood. 

Ivo shook his head. "You're too young to be here. I thought I made meself clear – only those that left their farms, their ancestral lands, to the next generation were allowed to come."

"Don't matter no more, does it? I'm here now, and it's not like you can kick me out." 

Ivo sighed. "I suppose so."

Bernard made a disgusted face. "And I wasn't about to sit on my a.r.s.e while the demons made a mess of our lands. Those primal runes them Lakelies carved onto our walls are mighty impressive, but even an illiterate fool like me can tell it won't do no good against demons for more than a few days. Better to go out fightin' than getting hunted down in that cramped little city."

Ivo nodded, but he hardly listened, instead focusing on the battered and bloodied bodies before him. He had so little energy. His eyes felt heavy. His arms even heavier. He wondered if he could even stand up again. In the face of crippling mortality, doubt began to flower. If he was this weak, what right did he have to bring all his brothers and sisters out to a death march?

"Come on, old man, what's on yer mind?" said Bernard.

"Am I an old man already?" Ivo let out a weak laugh. "Perhaps so. Only a senile fool would have thought this a good idea." 

"This ain't a good look for you." Bernard lightly punched Ivo's shoulder. "Yer our high priest. Know more about Druidry than all of us combined. Morrigan herself might've fancied you for one of her roots."

"If only I wasn't so ugly, eh?" said Ivo, his smile baring chipped and crooked teeth. 

"Heh, the great lady's just picky is what I say. You got a lovin' wife, too, so you got no room to complain." Bernard extended a shaking hand to Ivo's shoulder and grasped it with a tight grip. But even as tight as the young man wanted it to be, Ivo could almost feel the energy just leaking out of the bloodied boy. 

"All of us are here cause' we're ready to die. Some of us are willin' to die for our great lady, others for their land, others like me cause' we wanna' return to the dirt on our own terms. But in the end, it's all the same – we're ready to die. 

But y'know, we wouldn't feel that way weren't it for you. High priest, you've led our harvests, healed our sick, and shown us the great lady's will more times than I can count. It's cause' of that that we trust you to make our deaths mean somethin', so what ya wanna do, just do it."