After long discussions about future strategies and the establishment of conventional plans for now, Cliff stepped out of his tent, flanked by Rakahn and Kyrian. They were heading to an event of crucial importance.
It was something Cliff, despite his usual confidence, could not afford to overlook.
The recent skirmish had dealt a severe blow to his ranks. The enemy, seizing the opportunity of his absence, had orchestrated a surprise attack. While Cliff struck one of their bases, the adversary retaliated, delivering a heavy blow to his forces—a wound that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
True, Cliff had inflicted significant losses on the enemy, but his own ranks, already stretched thin, had been gravely affected. Compared to theirs, his losses carried far greater weight.
Yet, he showed no regret for his choices—it wasn't in his nature. But deep within, a simmering anger stirred. Anger at himself, at his inability to be stronger.
