Late at night, a casualty report was delivered to Verlit, commander of the Seventh Legion.
In a single day, 1,237 soldiers had been killed, 557 had gone missing, 355 had been seriously wounded, and 2,525 had suffered minor injuries.
After treatment by the Life Priests, the more than two thousand lightly wounded soldiers would be able to return to battle in two days.
The enemy casualty figures, meanwhile, were estimates.
With corpses piled up like mountains, they could only be burned where they lay. The number of enemies killed was estimated from the volume of the bodies. This battle was expected to have claimed between eighteen thousand and twenty thousand enemy soldiers.
Verlit raised a hand and gently stroked the string of numbers on the document, a trace of grief in his eyes.
Behind those cold numbers stood soldiers who had died far from home.
Knock, knock, knock.
Someone knocked on the study door. Verlit put away his grief and regained his calm expression. "Come in."
Creak—
Sigrin pushed open the door. After closing it behind him, he stepped before the desk, bowed, and placed the document in his hand on the desk.
"Legion Commander, this document was sent by the corps. Please review it."
Hearing this, Verlit did not hesitate. He picked up the document and began reading it.
Three minutes later, Verlit closed the document, and every doubt in his heart vanished.
The storm was coming, and Bados City was the only beacon in the night.
He recalled what Commander Orlando had said during the war meeting: their legion had to remain nailed to Bados City for at least a year, drawing more enemies into Baimu Province so they could wipe out these living forces in one stroke.
After a long while, Verlit looked up at Sigrin and