701. The Great Fungal Fortress Marches On

At a certain border fortress in the east of the Empire, pressed close against The Mountains.

The Dwarves were scattered in twos and threes across the streets, using battle-axes to pry open tightly shut doors and drive out the remnants of the garrison cowering in the corners.

Those old and frail Demon Race soldiers raised their hands and were marched under guard through streets littered with rubble, heading toward the temporary prisoner camp set up outside the city.

General Dvalin stood in the square at the center of the fortress, one foot planted on a shattered military banner bearing Duke Levi's crest.

He looked around, his brows knotting tightly.

This fortress had fallen too easily.

The defensive runes had only been breached by a small portion, and the moment the Dwarves climbed onto the battlements for the second time, the defenders collapsed.

Once they entered, they found that almost all the Demon Race soldiers inside the city were old, weak, sick, or crippled.

After questioning the prisoners, they learned that the main force that had been skirmishing with them before had been transferred to the rear three days ago.

Dvalin could not make sense of it.

A city of this level would normally take at least a month or so to chew through, with casualties in the thousands.

But now? Levi had simply handed the fortress over to him? What kind of logic was that?

Dvalin was somewhat worried this was Levi's scheme to lure him into a trap, and he replayed everything in his mind again and again, wondering whether he had overlooked some crucial piece of information.

Just then, a messenger came sprinting over from the city gate.

"General! Urgent report!"

Dvalin took the metal tube and pulled out the parchment inside.

His gaze swept over the first