The twilight light poured onto the watchtower of Silver Creek Mines, illuminating the exquisite pipe seized by Count Albert.
He gently stroked the pipe's patterns, gazing beyond the tower eaves, toward the mine's plaza below.
Two armies were transitioning their defenses.
One was the legion formed from the fusion of the Red Tide and Northern Army, their black uniforms appearing like the Death God in the sunset.
Albert watched this scene, a feeling he couldn't quite describe surged within him.
A few months ago, he worried that the rigid nature of the Red Tide would grind away the fighting spirit of the Northern men.
But as they fought through battles, what he saw was not a tamed beast, but a pack of wolves that understood discipline.
This change brought him comfort, yet it also involuntarily reminded him of that rainy night ten days ago, their first battle.
Only then he realized the true strength of Louis's team.
Rain fell like a waterfall, crashing down from the sky.
