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Thick, heavy clouds blanketed the sky. The setting sun could only slip through tiny gaps, casting streaks of crimson light like fish in a dark sea occasionally turning to flash their golden scales.
Dusk always came quickly in late autumn. Before the moisture raised by sunlight over the hills could disperse, the mountain wind swept through the valley with a deep chill, driving the white mist before it.
Things had gone smoothly in Darrowshire, but in Peace Town, they were going anything but smoothly.
It was as though all the Kingdom of Gilneas's good fortune had vanished.
Standing before one of the fortifications erected in Peace Town, Rex watched the streams of people busily moving back and forth.
Most of the people in Peace Town were young, able-bodied adults. None of them shirked their work, and all were sweating as they toiled. Yet Rex's expression remained grim, because the ogre army in the Alterac Mountains was advancing far too quickly.
Barely any time had passed, yet they had already covered a third of the journey.
At this rate, they would arrive in another day or so, by which time Peace Town's defenses would be more or less complete.
But Rex harbored a troubling question. The ogres were marching as though their lives depended on it, racing forward with all their strength, as if some primordial beast were chasing them.
They could normally cover a little over a hundred li a day, but they had forced that distance up to three hundred.
That