The army moved like a wounded animal—slower than before, limping but determined.
Liam rode near the front of the column, his left arm bandaged beneath his armor, ribs bound tight enough to make breathing uncomfortable.
The medics plus his passive healing had done what they could in the three hours Lilith had forced him to rest.
Day four of eight.
Sixteen hundred and eighty-three dead.
The numbers haunted him even as they became just another line in the ledger of necessary sacrifice.
"Supply report," he said to Lieutenant Zara, who rode beside him with her ever-present collection of dispatch scrolls and tactical assessments.
"Worse than projected," she said bluntly. "The assault consumed more medical supplies than anticipated. We're now operating at approximately seven days of food reserves at current consumption. That's assuming no further major engagements."
