North, Border
Dyson stood on a hillock in his black combat uniform. The biting wind whistled past, shaking the equipment on his body slightly and making a slight metallic clatter.
His expression was grim and stern, and he held his high-powered binoculars in his hand, his gaze, like a falcon piercing through the lenses, locked on to the area along the southern border. He was followed by the Army of the North. The soldiers were also dressed in modern combat gear, with bulletproof vests, combat boots and assault rifles. All of them, every one of them, was like a fortress ready for war, and there was an air of solemn tension about them.
Through his high-powered binoculars, Dyson saw deployed troops and patrol teams on the southern border. The corners of his mouth lifted a little, and he smiled a confident, cold smile.
