Androlina, south bank of the Hoffenstan River, atop the lookout tower of Pascaler Fortress.
Narciso squinted his eyes, sizing up the demon army that was crossing the river ahead, his fingers unconsciously brushing over his own quiver. This was his habit when encountering an enemy—if the foes outnumbered his arrows, it was best not to act rashly.
But today, this habit might not apply, since the enemy far outnumbered the ammunition in his quiver, and Narciso and his companions had no room left to retreat.
Looking out into the distance, the demon army resembled a festering wound upon the land—merely seeing them filled him with extreme revulsion. Yet the enemy was still beyond his shooting range, and Narciso was already standing at the farthest spot from where arrows could be shot across the fortress.