Scarecrow

When Lothar led his troops to Fort Natava, the soldiers on the walls were gathering the bodies.

The Double-Headed Eagle banner still flew above the battlements, though it had gained several arrow holes. Saracen arrows bristled from the crenellations like quills on a hedgehog.

Several burned siege ladders still leaned against the rammed-earth walls, blackened by war.

"My lord is here!"

"It's Lord Duke and the Winged Hussars!"

"Open the gates! Let my lord in!"

The defenders cried out in mingled surprise and joy, as if so long as that figure and his Winged Hussars were present, no enemy could pose a problem.

Lothar halted his troops outside the gates. More than a dozen Winged Hussars split into groups of three, each group accompanied by an unarmored light cavalry scout, and scattered to gather intelligence.

Several black dots could also vaguely be seen disappearing into the clouds overhead. From on high, they silently swooped down upon the falcons circling above the fortress.

With several shrill cries, those stubborn falcons that clung like a rash vanished without a trace, leaving only a few dark feathers drifting down.

They were gargoyles summoned by Fringilla.

And they were not temporary summons, but constructed magical creatures made in an alchemy laboratory from many spiritually infused magical materials. Soaked in the Sea of Blood from time to time, they could be taken out and used indefinitely.

These high-quality gargoyles possessed considerable combat power, but unfortunately, they had no intelligence. Lothar could communicate with them through Blood Magic and direct them in battle, but it was difficult to convey more precise orders. He could not share their thoughts as a falconer did with his hunting birds.

Lothar did not rashly enter the city. He looked up at the defenders, his brow unconsciously furrowing. "Where is the