Rhode leaned by the window, gazing at the hazy square outside.
This was the first time in over a month that Rhode had seen such heavy rain.
The wind swept up the rain, driving wave after wave against the window and sending ripples across the glass.
Refracted through those ripples, the outlines of the square grew distorted in the morning light.
The houses and streets bent and warped as they stretched into the distance, losing their usual orderly appearance.
Without effective drainage, water pooled and flowed across the roads. From afar, they looked like so many rippling streams.
And in those "streams," the Beggar Gang's Musket Corps was still training in the rain.
The Musket Corps had now been divided into two squads. One performed routine formation drills in the square, while the other practiced shooting outside the city.
The main problem was that the square was too small. Once the dormitory building went up, there was little room left, and having a hundred men train together made it rather crowded.
They now wore matching uniforms, all sets of leather armor, so getting soaked in the rain would not hamper their movements.
Their matching outfits made their steps look even more synchronized. They looked more like a regular army now, rather than a ragtag mob of beggars.
Although this force had never fought a battle, it was the city's only musket unit, and it had already earned a modest reputation.
Lord Blackmoore naturally knew of its existence as well.
In fact, Blackmoore had learned about it the moment Rhode began forming the Musket Corps.
When the muskets from Dun Garok arrived at the Magic Tower, Blackmoore had been a little nervous, afraid Rhode was secretly plotting something. After all, he had already laid his cards on the table with him.