Prabowo and his troops slowly walked away, leaving behind the battlefield that had been reduced to ruins. Dust still lingered in the air, the scent of scorched debris mixing with the metallic tang of blood. In the rear of the formation, Al followed silently, his steps measured, his expression unreadable.
Whispers began to ripple among several of the soldiers. Their voices were low, cautious, as though even uttering such words aloud might invoke some hidden curse.
"Who exactly are those people…?" one of them muttered in disbelief.
"Why does the commander appear to be so respectful and almost deferential toward them?" another asked in a hushed tone, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"That woman… she looked like a sorceress. I never imagined, not even in my wildest thoughts, that there would truly be witches or magicians existing in our world."
