Dickens was very cautious. When faced with an unknown enemy, his first thought was to preserve himself, then slowly probe the enemy. Only after learning the enemy's true situation could he decide whether to fight a decisive battle.
This conservative approach to warfare was sound, but it could also mean missing a golden opportunity.
The enemies across from them needed to stall Dickens. They wore gray-gold cloth robes, pointed hoods, and mottled gray badges pinned to their chests, hiding within the shadows.
One of the gray-gold-robed men extended a withered hand and said in a hoarse voice, "I've investigated him. Dickens is cautious by nature and rarely takes the initiative to attack. We've laid out a maze of false trails. As long as we hold out until the ritual begins, we'll have completed the task entrusted to us by the leader."
"Hehehe, looks like you're full of confidence."
The shadows stirred, and a graceful figure emerged. She chuckled in the darkness. Though her tone was somewhat disdainful, it inexplicably made those who heard it itch with desire.
"Witch, what are you doing here?" the hoarse voice said with disgust, carrying a faint trace of apprehension.
"Me?" The graceful figure slowly stepped out, her posture seductive as she softly said, "Of course I was ordered to come help you."
"Get lost. We don't need your 'help.' Don't try any little tricks—I've been watching you all along!"
Ignoring her inborn allure and the sounds of people swallowing behind him, the hoarse voice spoke coldly.
"That really breaks my heart. You used to call me sweetheart, yet now you're telling me to get lost..."
The graceful figure's voice drifted near and far, gradually fading away.
"Pull yourselves together! You actually let a witch bewitch you—are you not ashamed before our supreme Lord?"
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