Before the three armies could finish arguing it out, the Seventh Angel Envoy Corps had already caught up—only to be stuck at the very back!
"Fuck Miseria's petrifying gaze!" Samuji almost crushed the telescope in his hand. "What the hell is Cataloni doing?"
A Holy Alliance writer once wrote that a traffic jam is one man's private chaos of war.
Here in this small mountain foot, it was tens of thousands of private chaos of war piled together.
Horses trampling, bodies shoving, elbows flying; Knight swords and long halberds grinding against each other as they tried to move, even sparking off small-scale brawls.
They were wedged onto this tiny slope, like four blobs of Slime slamming into each other in a mud pit, struggling and tearing, bursting their guts all over the place.
"Send a Messenger over…"
"Wait." Just then, the adjutant suddenly pointed to the other side. "My lord! Look over there!"
Samuji followed his finger and saw a narrow path skirting the hillside.
