On the second day, at dawn, the sun had not yet risen, and the sky was just beginning to brighten.
Outside Revival City, many soldiers had been on duty throughout the night.
At the very front, the officers in charge of the checkpoint were two lieutenant colonels.
"Last night, Landolf didn't come back," one of them said, "I don't know whether he's dead or if the governor detained him."
"Did General Mondok get angry?" asked the other.
"No," the first lieutenant colonel replied, "The General was actually quite pleased when he saw that the governor's troops really had stopped outside."
"Pleased? But Landolf is his own nephew."
The former simply shrugged his shoulders, indicating that that was just the way things were.
"So cold-blooded, poor Landolf."
While chatting idly, suddenly one of them stretched out his hand, pointing towards the faint morning fog on the outskirts: "What is that?"
The other looked in the direction of the outstretched hand.
