As the sky darkened, the Slavic army camp gradually fell quiet.
For now, it looked as though the storm had passed.
But the Zion agents grew even more tense. The old hands of the Martial World urged everyone to get some sleep while they could, but here and now, how many of them could actually manage it?
Pan Long was one of the few who could. He took things in stride: the fighting hadn't started yet, and he had eaten and drunk his fill. What else was there to do but get a good night's sleep, build up his strength, and wait for the coming battle?
Worry? Tension? Would either make him even the slightest bit stronger?
He lay down on a rock, and before long, he began to snore. It wasn't loud, but amid all that tension, the sound was especially jarring.
Seeing how relaxed Pan Long was, the Zion agents gradually began to unwind too. After a while, one after another lay down and fell asleep.
They had spent hours fighting. Even those who hadn't joined the battle had been busy setting up positions and hauling supplies. They were exhausted. Now that they had relaxed, how could they not feel sleepy?
Gradually, snores rose together across Zion's position.
At Slavic army headquarters, the old general listened to the scout's report. His Hua eyebrows twitched. "Zion is impressive. A band of people from unorthodox backgrounds, yet they can sleep on the eve of a major battle. That man is not only skilled in the art of war, but also knows how to manage his troops."
One of the commanders asked, "Should we send a force to attack? At least we shouldn't let them sleep soundly."
The old general shook his head. "If we had another eight or ten days,