Under the cover of heavy rain and night, Hobenstock led his six squad members and, in less than a few minutes, swiftly relocated to a temporary foothold they had chosen beforehand—a subterranean wine cellar beneath an abandoned merchant company in the south of the city, less than five hundred meters from the site of the earlier battle.
The underground wine cellar had two exits. Even if the exposed entrance outside was blocked, they could still escape through the other exit. That was why Hobenstock had chosen this place as the squad's resting point several days ago.
One man remained outside on watch, observing the situation beyond, while the rest entered the chaotic but temporarily safe cellar. Only after lighting the fluorite lamps inside did someone finally break down and sob quietly.
The battle had come quickly and ended quickly. In those brief two minutes, their squad had killed seven of the enemy, but they had lost three men of their own. In an instant, the squad had been reduced by nearly a third.
Those familiar faces—they would never see them again.
West, Sandor, and Naji...
Just half an hour ago, they had still been together, fighting shoulder to shoulder. During the day, they had even discussed drinking themselves senseless once the battle for Coldwater City was over. Yet now...
The atmosphere in the underground cellar was stifling. No one spoke. They sat against the walls with their knees drawn up, while the severed heads they had brought back looked especially savage beneath the pale green fluorite lamps.
They were human heads, but their faces, cheeks, chins, noses, even their foreheads, were covered in tattoos and markings of snake scales, spider webs, bull horns, and the like—hallmarks of Holy Alliance Empire warriors.
Under the rule of the Devil Race, all men