The Troll King's city stood exceptionally imposing in the afterglow of the evening sunset.
With neck drawn in, Danamu leaned against the parapet, gazing blankly at the vast expanse of land in the distance.
King Okamoto's expeditionary force, which he personally led, had been gone for over twenty days. It was uncertain if they had successfully reached the North Territory.
If it hadn't been for the arrow that hit his kneecap, Danamu would have joined this expedition to the south.
Compared to anxiously waiting for an unknown fate in the rear, Danamu would prefer to fight on the frontlines, even dying in battle, without any complaint.
For a veteran like him, dying in bed was a disgrace.
He tightened his collar, the howling cold wind causing the dozens of old wounds on Danamu's body to ache subtly. He shook the snow off his body and, dragging his disabled right leg, began to patrol the city wall.
