The Ratfolk's first night assault left more than a million corpses behind, yet somehow the defenders seemed to be the ones who had lost...
The Ratfolk's little "greeting" had nearly punched through their defenses.
Whether the Ratfolk had realized there was no need to take Hell Mountain, or something on another front had drawn their attention away, the warriors seized the chance to rest.
Belial crouched at the edge of the camp, staring into the shifting darkness.
"What are you looking at?"
"Whether this is temporary or they've given up," Belial said without turning around. "We'd better pray they don't consider us worth their attention."
Belial's words were harsh, but Femi did not argue.
He was right. From the Northern Frontier to the Southlands, the Thirteen Ratfolk Clans had forced humans to set aside old grudges and form an alliance. What made them think they could hold off the McKennan Clan? Five thousand ordinary people who only knew how to pull a trigger?
The rangers had stopped firing volleys. Their fingers, cut by bowstrings, were slick with blood. No mages came to heal them, because the mages had borne the greatest pressure and suffered the worst injuries.
If Fel Energy struck the camp, everyone would lose the ability to resist.
The mages were gulping down potions, with no telling whether they would recover before the Ratfolk attacked again.
Then Goblins emerged from underground, carrying Magic Scrolls and recovery potions. They tore open scrolls as if they cost nothing, restoring the warriors' spirits, and handed potions to the exhausted Cavalry.
Femi understood more deeply what Lord Annan meant when he kept saying, "War is fought with money."
It should have been fought with lives...
Broken Fang and Miller had hidden in the underground warehouse all night, but they could not resist