In the enemy camp, far from the tumult of the besieged town, the commander of the enemy forces, Commander Karn, lounges in his tent, his posture one of utter boredom. Surrounded by maps and plans of conquest, he finds little satisfaction in the current campaign. "Goddamit, why am I here in this place?" he mutters to himself, his voice tinged with frustration. "I'm a goddam elite, and then they put me in this place. Even if I successfully conquered this town, no one will really care."
The tent flaps burst open, and a soldier rushes in, panting from exertion. Commander Karn's eyes narrow in anger at the intrusion, his voice cold and menacing as he addresses the soldier, "You better say anything worth, or else..."
The soldier, trembling under the general's gaze, manages to stammer out his report. "I-I'm sorry, commander. There's an elite on the enemy side," he says, barely able to keep the fear from his voice.
