Mikhailis sat on the plush sofa in the guest room, staring at the glasses on his nose while sipping tea from an ornate porcelain cup. He could see the moving feed from Rodion, and the display was like watching a poorly-scripted movie—goblins running about like headless chickens, trying to assault the wall in a disorganized manner. But despite their number, it was suspicious. His brow furrowed as he stared at the feed.
Mikhailis tapped his finger against the side of his teacup, a small frown on his lips.
Why only eighty? These guys have much more in their forces, and even if they were just testing the defenses, it doesn't make sense to waste soldiers like this.
