A trace of gloom crept into the corners of Brando's brows. "How many troops did Madara send this time?" he suddenly asked.
"Six, as you can see." Bai wore an utterly disdainful expression, but had no choice except to answer. "They're all here, human."
"Six?"
Bai gave a cold snort, her gaze falling on Klot nearby. "Ask him whether I'm lying."
Brando looked at the woman suspiciously. He actually knew she wasn't lying, and she had no reason to lie about something like this. He had already guessed what might be happening. He was merely curious why this woman was pretending to be furious. She had been creating this false impression from the beginning, but the real Tiamat was nothing like this. The Black Knight never got angry and rarely lost her temper. How could someone who disdained emotional thinking allow anger to dominate her mind?
Bai clearly had no idea how familiar the person before her was with her. If she knew that Brando and Bai Jia regarded her current performance as clownish, she might truly become furious out of embarrassment.
That intense unease rose in Brando's heart again. Memories of the Land of the Dead Moon remained vivid: the lightless mountains of Alqash, the undead covering the land, the battles that raged day and night, and corpses strewn across the wilderness. Madara was not the only place with undead. Countless souls slept in the mountains east of Mehotofen. They were not merely the remnants of the Holy War decades ago, but also of every war since then and the great battle more than a thousand years ago. Countless Cruzian, Fanzan, elven, and other warriors had been buried there.
Some necromancers who had lived in seclusion there since ancient times had built secret lairs deep in the mountains. Even