Reidar leaned against the bark of a giant redwood. The fury that had pushed him from Havenwood had cooled down, leaving behind a bitter doubt.

He stared into the dense vegetation, as if that would give him clues about what to do.

Was leaving really the right thing to do?

He ran a hand over his face. Stupidity was a self-inflicted wound, and Martin Vance had been practically bleeding from it.

But the people of Havenwood… they weren't all accomplices. They were just survivors, caught in the crossfire of a war they didn't understand, led by a man playing a dangerous game of chess with pieces he couldn't afford to lose and a master player on the other side.

Did they deserve to suffer for their leader's idiocy?

He'd come here to help—a simple, almost foolish idea that felt stupid now. Martin's actions were like a slap in the face, a cold use of his good intentions.

Still, underneath the anger, he felt a grudging respect for the Church's cunning. They weren't just herding monsters; they were master manipulators who were slowly getting ahold of Havenwood and now its leader.

They'd planned Havenwood's downfall by just taking advantage of a lone survivor that came through their doors.

He still didn't know what "proof" Mara had shown Martin or what lie had turned everyone against him so thoroughly. But it worked. The church was a two-headed beast, just as deadly in politics as it was in battle.

A part of him, the part that had watched Silas walk away unscathed from a battle against hundreds of monsters, screamed that yes, leaving these people alone would be the best thing.

Every instinct inside of him said to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man, but most importantly between him and the toxic politics of Havenwood. A conflicting impulse within him, however, insisted otherwise, asserting that to walk away now would be to abandon them to a fate they had not earned. Reidar sighed, the sound swallowed by the immense trees.

<This is what happens when one doesn't have information…> He sighed. <This is what you deserve, Reidar… being played as a fool because you wanted to help. Serves you right! The next time, you should just say no!>

He clenched his hands.

The Church had been too clever. They covered their tracks so well there was no proof to expose them.

<But even if Martin had evidence, what could he really do?>

Nothing was the answer.

<The only solution was for Martin and anyone who opposed the church to leave. Those who stayed would have given Havenwood to Silas, but at least things would have resolved peacefully.>

In a sense, Martin was as stubborn as him.

<I wonder if all Martin's choices came because of his sense of duty or because he believes in what he is doing.>

The worst part was that they'd done all of this in less than a week. Less than a fucking week, and he had been the catalyst. What the church needed was simply for a new variable to appear to use it against Martin.

<The perfect scapegoat.>

Reidar doubted they would have been able to do this if he wasn't a summoner.

They had played him, Martin, Lena, and the others perfectly and used his power to first turn him against Martin, then against Lena and the others, and lastly against everyone else.

They weaponized his will to help. He had walked into their trap knowing that was happening, but he was unable to do anything.

<Fucking fuck! What did Mara say to Martin? What was this "proof" that he was behind the attacks?>

At that point he was just curious to know, but in the end, it didn't matter. The fact that it worked was what mattered. It showed a chilling level of coordination and psychological manipulation from the Church of Unbinding. They weren't just fanatics with clubs.

This situation wasn't really his fault either. He was an outsider, dropped into the middle of a conflict between two factions.

He stumbled into a game where he didn't know the rules or who he was up against, thinking he could just smash his way through. But he was learning the hard way that raw power didn't mean a thing against a clever trap.

In this whole situation, Reidar had asymmetric information, a disadvantage in any kind of conflict.

Without spies, without access to the inner circles of either Martin's council or the Church's hierarchy, he had been operating in the dark. He was asked to go there and do this, and that was what he did.

"I never stood a chance," Reidar muttered, his voice low and bitter. "How could I? Martin controls every word that leaves Havenwood, and Silas moves through shadows with eyes everywhere."

He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into the underbrush. "One man against all that. No allies. No way to spy on their councils, no path into their inner circles." Every move he made until that point was a reaction. And in a world where information was power, that made him powerless.

The defeat itself made him feel hollow.

"This is the last time," he swore to the silent forest. "The last time I will be a pawn in someone else's game. The last time I will be played like a fool. I can't avoid visiting the settlement if I want to buy skills and equipment, and for sure they will ask something of me in return. This is human greed, after all. But I won't let them use me anymore."

His mind, sharpened by anger, began to turn toward solutions. Martin had his people. Silas had his congregation.

<Who do I have?> His gaze swept over the Primal Pack wolves resting nearby.

<Yeah… That's right…> He could only rely on his summons.

That was his answer. If he couldn't trust people, he would have to create his own eyes and ears. He needed scouts that could infiltrate, observers that could go unnoticed, something far more subtle than a pack of wolves or a squad of clattering skeletons.

He needed a way to collect information without relying on a single soul he couldn't control absolutely. With no one being able to lie.

<It should work…>

On the other hand, this situation hadn't left him completely empty-handed.

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