Gray fog curled through the darkness.
Bunduk held a heavy crossbow in his hands. Expressionless, he glanced back at the hundred peasants and thirty bandits who had followed him all this way, his heart heavy.
This darkness had arrived very suddenly, along with the quietly emerging gray fog.
It seemed to have engulfed them in an instant.
It was extremely strange.
Fortunately, they had all lit the forty or fifty torches they had prepared in advance, illuminating the surroundings.
They could barely make out everything within four or five meters.
"Mr. Bunduk, something isn't right."
A Mercenary Crossbowman who had been following Bunduk raised his War Crossbow and warned him, "It suddenly got dark, and there's fog too. I have a feeling there's something bad lurking in the darkness around us."
"Yes, then stay alert." Bunduk nodded. He had the same feeling.
A very bad feeling.
And deep down, the sixth sense for danger he had developed after spending so long on battlefields across chaotic Calradia was warning him to leave this place as quickly as possible!
Even Bunduk felt a trace of fear in his heart.
But when he turned and glanced at the more than one hundred Swadian Peasants behind him, burdened with bags and bundles, leaning on pitchforks or wooden sticks in a miserable state, he could not bear to abandon them.
He remembered the principles he had once upheld, his compassion for civilians and ordinary people.
Bunduk still said solemnly to the Mercenary Crossbowmen behind him, "Tell those peasants to gather together as much as possible. Put those holding pitchforks, wooden sticks, and other long weapons on the outside, and have them work with the bandits carrying Slaughtering Knives. Whatever they encounter, they must not panic. Hold their ground and maintain formation. We'll go over and