Drip—
Drip—
The sharp sound of the whistle pierced through the entire camp, and commanders rushed out of their tents, searching for the enemy's position. Already on guard against a surprise attack from the Rebel Army, they instantly responded to the threat.
Looking around, there was no trace of the enemy to be found, leaving the commanders somewhat bewildered as they exchanged glances.
"The enemy is in the sky! In the sky!"
The Duke of Ivanovich burst into the artillery position, hoping to destroy the explosives carried by the Blood Tribe members as they took flight. He knew bullets couldn't kill the Blood Tribe, so his focus was solely on the bombs that might fall at any moment.
The gunners, hearing the general's command, quickly raised the muzzle of the cannon, but the artillery they were using could only be elevated to a maximum of 45 degrees. The fired shells couldn't possibly touch the Blood Tribe members hovering high in the air.
"Machine guns! Use the machine guns!"
