It was the latter half of the night, the darkest and the most important moment of the cold season. The moon was covered by clouds, casting down layers of tree shadows that looked like vicious ghosts.
Many scorpions of varying sizes darted out from the hidden underground cavities, drenched and battered. Before they could relax, the beastmen army, dressed in armor, came crowding over from all directions.
Roar! [Kill them!]
The beast howls rang out in the forest.
One side was in high morale and high spirits, while the other was in a sorry state, thrown into disorder. When the two sides met, the winner was clear.
"This is bad! There's a sneak attack!" On the top of the cliff, Mitchell's face turned pale from surprise. He turned into his beast form and quickly rushed toward the ground.
Saint Zachary's gaze was fixed on the chaotic battlefield on the ground. He clenched his fists so tightly that his joints turned pale.
