A massive, deadly web of death quietly unfurled in the darkest hour before dawn.
Around the river valley, Illiguo militia soldiers lay silently behind the dark rocks and mounds of earth, completely blending into the darkness.
Time crawled in silent waiting, each second stretched like a taut wire, straining the nerves of every lurking figure.
On the eastern horizon, that deathly gleam of white finally began to painstakingly penetrate the ink-like night curtain.
With this faint twilight, one could vaguely discern the outline of the Hamdaniye River Valley—steep, weathered rocky walls and low thorny slopes on both sides, with a relatively flat dry riverbed in the middle, like a fissure in the earth.
The roar of engines, growing from distant rumbles into deafening roars, shattered the valley's morning tranquility.
Kazal's pursuing convoy finally appeared at the northern entrance of the valley.
