Fifteen horses, the already poor road conditions trampled to an unsightly state by hooves.
Philip and his soldiers approached the Condell Garrison.
They weren't planning to get any supplies from the garrison; he knew all too well what was prepared for those lower-ranked soldiers stationed there.
Moldy black bread, potatoes, carrots, onions... not even a sharpening stone!
He was just here to ask about the situation, maybe do a simple investigation based on what's going on, just enough to get the job done.
One can't accuse them of neglecting their duties, since every soldier here would draw their swords and rush at traffickers the moment they saw them.
But solving cases and tracking, these trivial and difficult tasks surely sap motivation and breed laziness, which no one can avoid.
But just as the group got closer to the garrison's marked location on the map, a sharp-nosed soldier warned everyone.
"Hey, something's off! I smell blood!"
