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“Enemy troops! They are advancing from the barracks!!”
“What about the golems?”
“Small golems have been deployed to both flanks, and 40,000 soldiers are concentrated in the central army.”
One by one, the scouts from the marquisate rushed in with urgent reports.
“And they report that a wyvern is circling above the enemy’s central camp.”
“A wyvern? Does that mean the wyvern unit has joined the battle?”
“No, sir... But the scales of that creature are red, and it’s far larger than a typical wyvern.”
Hearing that, Bran Gamunt went pale.
“It can’t be…”
There was only one person left on the continent who rode a red wyvern.
“Does this mean the enemy’s commander is personally joining the battle?”
He hadn’t accounted for this possibility.
“What about reinforcements?” Bran urgently asked the subordinates who were busy operating the magic communication devices.
“Not yet, sir. We’ve contacted the imperial capital, but it appears the main army, which was scheduled to depart, requires more time to prepare.”
“What are they doing?! We’ve sacrificed our lands, and they should’ve been ready by now! Without our support, they would have been finished already!” Vestal interjected sharply, though neither Bran nor the communication officers paid him any attention.
“Hey, how dare you…?!” Do you know who the hell I am?!” Marquis Vestal snapped, grabbing...
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