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The elite troops led by Duke Kundeline crossed the mountain range in the blink of an eye and entered Sefira’s territory. No matter how lax the watchout had become, a border was still a border. There was a fortress, and thirty sentries were standing guard with eyes wide open.
Since this was not a prearranged visit, lighting signal fires or beating war drums to warn of an enemy incursion would have been the proper response. Yet for some reason, there were no signal fires or thunderous drums.
“This can’t even be called a sentry,” muttered one member of the Black Serpent Unit as he looked down at the arrow lodged in his shoulder.
It wasn’t a fatal wound, but he could no longer move his arm. If he did, the muscles and nerves bunched in his shoulder would be torn apart.
“No matter how much the captain forbade killing… to be taken down by an arrow of all things.”
The Black Serpent Unit was Kundeline’s shadows. They were all Master-class warriors individually, and seven of them had moved together to neutralize Sefira’s fortress. Yet, in the process, three had been wounded. That alone was a blow to their pride.
“I thought bows were the weapons of the weak.”
The Black Serpent Unit had wondered why Kundeline held Sefira, the Masters of Archery, in such high...
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