Hector's camp had been built around the captured Fortress Thirteen, and the castle's main hall had been converted into Marquis Blackflame's headquarters.
The fireplace flickered with orange-red light. The rare gold-grained olive wood released a distinctive, cool fragrance as it burned, keeping out the damp chill of late autumn in the Northern Frontier.
A snow-white linen cloth covered the long table, and polished silver candlesticks reflected Hector's pale, handsome face. He elegantly sliced into a lamb chop still bloody at its center, then forked a piece into his mouth and chewed slowly, as though he were attending a dinner banquet among the elite at some manor rather than sitting on a corpse-strewn front line.
The tall knight standing across the table bowed his head slightly, his metal armor plates clinking softly.
He was Baron Mordred, commander of the Imperial Royal Dragonhawk Knights Third Detachment, a knight with Level Five strength. His golden plate armor bore the lion crest of the Empire's royal house, radiating an imposing presence even in the dim firelight.
"Sir Mordred."
Hector put down his knife and fork, lightly dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and abruptly asked, "Don't you think this is taking too long?"
"...Do you mean the progress of the siege?" Mordred's voice was low, like distant thunder.
"Precisely." Hector nodded slightly. "Ever since their Flying Knights' order arrived, attacks harassing the Black Steel Constructs have become markedly more frequent."
He cut another piece of meat, his tone displeased. "They're like a swarm of flies we can't get rid of. They can't inflict fatal damage on the constructs, but they keep targeting the joints and observation windows. The constructs have to stop working repeatedly to drive them off, which is seriously slowing the demolition of the walls."
Mordred understood the implication