He understood that a single arrow, laden with Trurian poison, could be the key to turning the tide of battle.
As the soldiers readied themselves, Vicar's gaze swept across their ranks with an air of both pride and determination.
They were not just pawns in his grand scheme; they were his instrument of vengeance, the embodiment of his desire to see his enemies brought to their knees.
With his every action, Vicar conveyed a message that resonated far beyond words. His icy determination and calculated movements spoke of a man whose purpose was unwavering, a leader whose conviction was ironclad.
As the sun began its ascent, casting long shadows across the battlefield, Vicar stood at the epicenter of a storm that was about to be unleashed—a storm that would herald the beginning of a battle for retribution, dominance, and the fulfillment of his vindictive aspirations.
