Duke Daemon was a talented and wise man who knew a few things about warfare. His idea to keep the enemy on edge the whole night was brilliant. But he failed to realise that if he considered himself a schemer, Sylvester was worse—a scum.
Both sides knew that attacking the enemy at night was not good. Because if the other side retaliated, then it would lead to a messy situation.
But what if the attack is committed by a bunch of undead? Who can be blamed if, in the middle of the night, because of ominous luck, some creatures of the night attacked a random camp in the middle of nowhere?
Could Duke Daemon blame anyone? No, all he could do was stand on the terrace of his double-story tent and look at the chaos as his soldiers ran around, trying to either kill the undead or run away because they were scared.
Gritting his teeth, he could only hope that the sun would rise quicker so that he could fix the mess and prepare for the war.
…
