Late at night, Galos folded his dragon wings, hovering above the clouds.
His gaze pierced through the thin mist and darkness, overlooking the hills below.
Broken Ridge Hills—the territory of the Bone-Chewing Clan of ogres.
Six years ago, Galos had roughly explored this place, and now, while the general situation of the hills remained unchanged, the ogre territory was completely transformed, unrecognizable from his memory.
The once sparsely located ogre camps have now expanded into a sprawling cluster of tribes that stretch for miles.
Hundreds of tents sewn from giant beast hides sat like tumors on the earth.
The number of bonfires is more than ten times what he recalled, with each one surrounded by five or six bulky, strong ogres.
They wore necklaces made from the teeth of their prey, donned skirts of metallic texture, and beside them rested weapons like steel clubs, giant axes, and war hammers of considerable quality.
