Alpheo reined in his horse as the walls of Arduronaven came into view, the fortified city standing tall against the horizon. The stone battlements loomed defiantly, but even from this distance, Alpheo could see signs of hasty preparations. His gaze wandered over the surrounding landscape, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noted a single, shallow ditch running along the city's perimeter, separating the inner city from the refugee camp huddled outside.
A leisurely smile crept across his face. The overcrowding outside the walls had evidently hampered Vroghios's defenses—flooded with peasants and refugees, they had barely managed to dig even a rudimentary trench.
Alpheo's sharp gaze traced the line of a half-finished ditch that stretched unevenly across the field, a hastily constructed second line of defense. It was clear that Vroghios had attempted to dig another trench after the first one, but the work was rushed and incomplete, ending abruptly midway.
