In Odoche City, a sleepless Count John stood on the city walls, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at the empty land outside.
His family was safe. At the very least, he had sent two of its scions away to safety.
'Perhaps.'
Count John returned to his study and sank wearily into the chair at his desk, his gaze immediately locking onto the intelligence reports laid out on it.
There was no trace of sleepiness in his eyes—only a cold glint. He had exhausted every means at his disposal to gather this intelligence; every single line could represent the deaths of dozens of Scouts and riders.
The reports showed that Henry's army had swelled to sixty thousand strong—a huge difference from its numbers when it had first set out from Ximira Castle.
According to the reports, these new additions were mostly serfs, roped together, dressed in rags, and with faces full of fear.
