Alaron Island, five li outside Calidyrr, Luskan Temporary Camp.
Since yesterday, news had inevitably spread through the army that the Northlands Allied Army, formed by Water-Drawing City, the Silvermoon Federation, and Minas Tirith, had broken through Steepcliff Ridge and continued northward, pressing straight toward Luskan. The morale of the Luskans, already unable to conquer the Kendick Royal Capital after prolonged attacks, plunged straight to rock bottom.
Even during the ceasefire, one could still feel that current of anxiety steadily spreading through the camp.
Though their superiors had immediately requisitioned forces from other islands and assembled a fleet to reinforce Luskan, they still could not suppress that negative mood.
A Luskan soldier who had just collected his meal from the field kitchen chewed on his bland potato, grass-root, and fish soup while cursing the officers who had secretly docked military rations, his words muffled by food. Then his foot suddenly stepped on something squishy with a wet splat.
Thinking he had stepped in shit, the soldier slowly lifted his foot with a frown, only to see a frog he had crushed open, its eyes bulging and tongue lolling out in a comically miserable death.
His expression, which had looked as though he had swallowed a fly, immediately brightened. Chuckling, he picked up the unlucky frog, intending to wash it, skewer it, and roast it over the campfire as a little reward for his stomach after all its recent suffering.
Plop.
But in the next moment, the frog's corpse slipped from his fingers. He nearly spilled his potato, grass-root, and salted-fish soup, and covered his mouth in terror as he muttered:
"My god, what the hell is going on?"
Just as he voiced that incredulous cry, more and more of his comrades began shouting in terror.
Following his gaze, he saw countless