The morning sun rose beyond the gaps between the branches and crowns of the forest trees, while the dewdrops on the leaves refracted multicolored light beneath the dawn. A party was trekking through the wilderness. At its head walked a young man in a black woolen coat, the fabric soaked with overnight dew. A fir emblem adorned the silver clasp at his collar. He held a sharp sword and frowned at the densely forested valley ahead. This man was Brando. He had led the Eluin and Cruzian people through the hilly region north of the Roccozi Highlands and was now approaching Rune Port, less than a day's journey away.
As expected, they had encountered little trouble along the way, save for the occasional Jorgendigon scout. The Jorgendigon army seemed intent on heading north toward Yasa and had not devoted much attention to the port city in the south. They still did not know what the situation was like on the plains, or whether the villages and settlements scattered around Rune Port had been attacked by the Jorgendigon. However, there were no black pillars of smoke in the northern sky, a common sight in the Valgas Region, so the situation was probably not too bad.
Brando was waiting for a report from the scouts ahead. His gargoyles circled above the clouds, but intelligence from the mountains and forests still had to rely on scouts with legs. That was the limitation of flying creatures.
But the White Lion Infantry were not professional scouts, and Rogers and his palace knights were only half-trained at best. Naturally, it took them more time. Brando grew somewhat restless as he waited, but he dared not show it on his face. He knew that the Cruzian people and the others in the delegation were relying on him