Dawn was breaking, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.
Fang Hao and his three companions sat beside the carriage, while the Elven young master Eugene, with over a dozen of his trusted aides and the middle-aged caravan steward, also rested nearby.
A campfire flickered before them, as they tended to each other's wounds.
For those already lying on the ground, cold corpses, these people were lucky.
At least they were still alive.
Of course, out of hundreds, it wasn't possible for all to die in battle. Some had fled during the chaos.
They were all hired mercenaries; when the going was good, so were they, but once they found themselves at a disadvantage, they dispersed like sand, melting away at a word.
A few coins for each mercenary; who would risk their life for such money?
"How did you manage it, within your team, to have so many betray you?" Anjia suddenly asked.
With that question, the atmosphere darkened even more.
