"My... My Lord?"
"My Lord?!"
Covered in dust and grime, Roy brushed the debris from his face and stared at the figure emerging from the smoke. It was none other than their Clan Leader.
"Fall back."
Westheid spoke without turning around. "You've held the line well. Leave the rest to me."
He then raised his head and surveyed the scene before him—
Broken arrows jutted haphazardly from the earth. The land before the walls was pockmarked with craters from Magic-guided Cannons and Techniques. Slick entrails and mangled chunks of flesh were strewn everywhere, while rivers of blood, mixed with shattered bones and colorful mechanical components, flowed across the ground.
It was a scene straight out of Purgatory.
Westheid, however, was mostly used to it. The battlefields he'd fought on recently had been much the same.
