The freezing rain fell mercilessly over Greyrock Province in the depths of winter.
Rain mixed with half-formed sleet poured in sheets from the low gray clouds, churning the roads along the edge of Mistmarsh into a cold mire.
Gray-white fog reduced visibility to almost nothing. Torchlight vanished a short distance away, leaving only blurred shadows swaying in the wind.
The marching column stretched far into the distance.
Heavy wheels sank into mud pits again and again, followed by curses that could no longer be suppressed.
The wounded were placed in the middle of the column, wrapped in soaked cloaks and leaning against the sides of the wagons, pain evident in every breath.
Every so often, a sharp, brief whistle came from the distance, tearing through the fog before swiftly fading.
It was the sound of a Demon Explosive Bomb cutting through the air.
Each whistle claimed the lives of several knights.
Every time it sounded, the entire column involuntarily tensed.
Raymont's army had long since lost its elite bearing.
Mud coated the knights' armor, and their faces were pale and exhausted.
The formation remained intact, but few dared raise their heads and look straight ahead.
Instead, their eyes instinctively searched the reed beds beside the road and the depths of the woods, as though something unseen might spring from the fog at any moment.
Duke Raymont stood on the command wagon, his brow tightly furrowed. The foul weather and the Red Tide Knights appearing intermittently had worn him down.
The elevated view did little to reassure him.
Sweeping his telescope over the stretch of road ahead where the advance had deliberately been slowed, he soon realized that continuing like this would only let the enemy whittle them down.
"We can't keep dragging this out." He lowered his telescope, summoned an