Lin Mo finished his meal and walked out of the mess hall.
By then, the Dwarf Elder Thorin and the Centaur chief Grom had both hurried off to gather their people and discuss those astronomical procurement lists.
As the core commanders of the Expeditionary Force, Long Zhan and Zhao Gang were even busier. Soldiers certainly ate fast; they had long since thrown themselves into the final preparations before the army set out.
Instead, Lin Mo, the Commander-in-Chief, found himself alone, with nothing particularly urgent to do.
He decided to take one last walk around the camp before the Portal closed, checking for anything overlooked so he could fill any gaps.
The camp bustled with activity.
Soldiers maintained their weapons and equipment, while logistics personnel drove forklifts, precisely stacking crates of supplies in designated areas amid a chorus of beeps.
The air smelled of engine oil, vehicle exhaust, and earth, thick with the tension of an imminent battle.
Lin Mo had just reached a warehouse and was about to enter when two familiar voices, tinged with resentment, sounded behind him.
"Lord Lin Mo."
"Holy Son."
Lin Mo straightened and turned around.
Sure enough, Elder Muyu and Kael had somehow appeared behind him, one on either side, their expressions complicated.
"Is something the matter, gentlemen?" Lin Mo dusted off his hands.
Elder Muyu's face, etched with lines of wisdom, was now filled with grievance. Even his graying beard seemed to droop.
"Lord Lin Mo, does our Elves' friendship with you truly count for less than that of those uncouth Dwarves?"
Kael was even more direct, his voice carrying a trace of the grief and indignation of betrayal:
"Holy Son, you actually placed an order worth fifty-one million gold coins with the Dwarves!"
"But from us, you previously purchased a mere ninety thousand