Pale, snow-covered woods... a jarring Rat Tide... a bitter wind...
The musketeers stood among the undulating wooden stakes, their breath misting white as they waited for the gray-brown Rat Tide to approach.
"No matter how many times I see it, it's still terrifying," Luoxi murmured, gazing at the writhing black line.
The beat of wings grew louder as a Blue Dragon and thirteen White Dragons swept over the stakes.
Visibility was decent today, so Annan could just make out the size of this Rat Tide, despite its repeated losses. It stretched for more than ten miles through the snowy woods. Were there five hundred thousand of them? Six hundred thousand...?
Even if every musketeer killed a Ratfolk with every shot, each would have to kill three hundred to wipe out this wave.
The only good news was that this wave had no elite troops. At most, a few Half-Elite Ratfolk in leather armor and carrying pitchforks were mixed in. For a musket, killing unarmored enemies was as easy as Annan borrowing money from a Blue Dragon.
The White Dragons circling above the Rat Tide began to dive. As the weakest dragons, White Dragons endured plenty of ridicule. They were called a disgrace to the Dragon Clan for still fighting with tooth and claw, for having been enslaved by Frost Giants, and for being less intelligent than Goblins despite brains larger than entire Goblins. Killing an adult Black Dragon would take at least a squad of Master Level Professionals alongside a Blue Dragon; a squad of Elites would suffice for an adult White Dragon. But those comparisons were with the dragons who stood at the pinnacle of the Allen Continent. Against Ratfolk, creatures nearly seven meters long when fully extended and weighing hundreds of pounds could wreak havoc just by diving.