Chers must have had a prophetic mouth, or perhaps Hudson's choices were cursed—the Fifth Army had run into trouble again.
Though they had not plunged headfirst into the hellish dungeon beneath the altar, running into a large force of Rebel Army soldiers was hardly a pleasant experience either.
They had looted their way along, and with one careless move, they had looted their way straight into the Rebel Army's command headquarters. Facing a group of soldiers who feared no death, anyone's scalp would go numb.
Reason told Hudson that the best course of action was not to attack, but to wait for the enemy's burst of courage to run out.
But reality did not bend to one's wishes. The Fifth Army might choose not to attack the Rebel Army, but the Rebel Army would not refrain from attacking them.
As far as the eye could see, there were unlucky fools hypnotized by the Blood Moon Horn. Bow in hand, Hudson could not find a single target worth shooting.
What was the point of killing ordinary soldiers? Knight Hudson had standards. Since he was personally taking action, he should at least kill one of their minor commanders.
Archery was physically demanding work. Those without great strength could not become archers. Most of the time, a military's archers were its strongest soldiers.
With a bow in hand, they were archers; without one, they were still the most elite soldiers. Anyone lacking stamina could never become an outstanding archer.
Every arrow consumed a great deal of strength. There were too many Rebel Army soldiers in the city—if he personally shot down everyone he saw, he would exhaust himself to death.
Left with no choice, Hudson had to become selective. Aside from occasionally firing an arrow to bail out his own men, he only