The wind still howled across the icefield, but it no longer carried the stench of death and decay.
Yarogluk Grace stood outside the temporary camp, his gray-blue eyes fixed on the southeast.
The frozen earth, repeatedly plowed by war, stretched out before him.
Behind him stood more than a hundred thousand warriors who had barely managed to regroup, along with tens of thousands of dejected remnants of Golden Fox's private soldiers, disarmed and under guard.
Every face bore the terror of surviving disaster, as well as uncertainty about the future.
The king... no, he should be called a grand duke now.
Yarogluk felt that his spine was heavier than ever.
The compulsory restraint of Loyalty left him unable to resist.
Following Zong Shen's instructions, he had just issued that humbly worded diplomatic letter in the name of the King of Vijaya.
But what came next?
What arrangements would that new master, who had already ascended to godhood and possessed unfathomable methods, make?
He recalled Zong Shen's final, unquestionable order.
"Gather whatever core guards you can still move, along with the surrendered remnants of Golden Fox's troops, and wait at the camp."
Wait for what?
Yarogluk did not know.
He could only stand there, letting the icy wind penetrate his heavy cloak and carry away the last trace of warmth from his body.
Time passed slowly amid the agonizing wait.
The sky was gray-white in the clear aftermath of disaster. The light was faint, yet remarkably steadfast.
It illuminated the horrifyingly enormous breach in the Wall of Despair.
Suddenly, Yarogluk felt a tremor rise from the ground beneath his feet.
It was not the violent shaking of an earthquake.
It felt more like a resonance from the earth itself.
And as time passed, the tremor grew stronger.
Even the battle-hardened warhorses