Dark clouds churned above, and blood flowed on the ground below.
"Damn it..."
Wolman cleaved through a soldier in heavy armor with his double-edged battle axe, single-handedly. His own black scale armor had cracked, revealing numerous blurred wounds oozing blood. A bombardment from the ship cannons had turned one of his arms charred and rotten, while a cut on his calf from Horace's riding spear continued to bleed profusely.
He looked back and felt despair.
The battle line had actually been pushed back this far, approaching the Sea God.
Nation, land, hatred.
The homeland that could never be recovered.
In the great retreat caused by the ship cannon's bombardment, the main force and all the flank units had mixed together, including Horace's troops.
