Ange fed the antidote to the last Black Scale Horse, gently stroking its mane to make sure it had fully recovered. The unconscious horses gradually woke, swaying as they rose to their feet, their black scale armor gleaming with a metallic luster in the morning light. Ange let out a breath of relief, but when his gaze swept across the grounds, pain stabbed through his heart—eight Black Scale Horses would lie there forever.
"It was that mage's wall of fire and fireballs..." Ange murmured, crouching down to inspect the fallen horses. Their burn wounds were obvious; they had clearly been consumed by flames while deeply unconscious. "At least they didn't feel any pain," he said softly, as though comforting himself.
He turned his gaze toward the more than forty surviving Black Scale Horses. They had already been tamed and showed no resistance as Ange approached. He swung onto the back of a large horse and experimentally tugged its reins. The Black Scale Horse responded naturally to his command. Ange nodded, satisfied, then took hold of the other horses' reins and linked them into a line as they slowly headed toward the soldiers.
"My lord, you're back?" From afar, a soldier spotted Ange and immediately came forward. Seeing the mighty line of Black Scale Horses behind him, surprise appeared in the soldier's eyes. "These... are warhorses?"
"Oh, these are my spoils of war," Ange said calmly, with a hint of pride in his tone.
The soldier did not ask further and continued his report. "Everything was normal last night. There were no unusual movements."
Ange nodded. "Good. Tell everyone to get ready. We'll be increasing our marching speed from here on."
"Yes, my lord!" The soldier immediately ran off to deliver the order.
Ange went straight to find the logistics officer,