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Ambrose had agreed without hesitation. The intelligence had been correct: so long as the price was right, this lich would do anything, even cooperate with the Lyon Empire.
No wonder the empire treated him differently. If properly handled, he might even become an informant within the ranks of the undead.
But such political maneuvering was not the Silvermoon Knight's concern. He was a general, a warrior who led charges on the battlefield, not a dabbler in court politics.
What he cared about was solely that the empire's new generation grow strong enough to face the crises ahead.
And yet these young paladins were profoundly disappointing. They had become intoxicated with triumph despite the hollow victory. Throughout Sandshadow, the Lyon forces exuded an unsettling restlessness.
It showed in the minutiae of their daily training. Their grips upon their swords were no longer as steady. Smirks often lingered on their faces. They fussed over their appearance, adorning themselves with useless decorative trinkets.
The Silvermoon Knight had long intended...
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