Meanwhile, a thousand miles away on the banks of the Myr River, the midsummer sun shone generously over the fertile land.
Liu Qian's army was like an efficient harvesting machine. After pulling out the final stubborn nail that was Highland Fortress, it swept across the southern bank of the Myr River with irresistible force.
When the slave guards hastily assembled by the Myrish saw Liu Qian's army take Highland Fortress and advance into the Myrish heartland, their morale had already collapsed, leaving them with no will to fight.
Even when they tried to resist on the open plains, relying on rivers and hastily built, crude rammed-earth defenses, they were like paper before Liu Qian's army and wildfire.
In less than a month, the vast, fertile lands south of the Myr River had all fallen into Liu Qian's hands.
Only after taking stock of the Myrish wealth did he discover that the spoils far exceeded his expectations.
Liu Qian was now in a luxurious estate at Myr River Bay that had been taken over intact.
It had once been the summer retreat of a Myrish dignitary. Its buildings incorporated the distinctive refinement of Myr, with white stone columns surrounding a central fountain and exotic flowers and plants from all over the world growing in its courtyard.
He sat on a terrace bench carved from a single piece of rosewood, toying with a piece of Myr lace, a spoil of war just brought out of the estate's workshop.
This lace was one of the brightest jewels in the crown of Myrish craftsmanship.
As thin as a cicada's wing and as light as mist, it had been woven from the finest lambswool yarn using an ancient technique that was all but lost.
Its patterns were exquisitely intricate, its fine mesh adorned with miniature