The freezing rain in Gray Rock Province during winter was relentless.
Rain mingled with unformed wet snow fell layer by layer from low-hanging gray clouds, turning the roads at the edge of the Mist Swamp into a mess of cold mud.
The gray mist reduced visibility to an extremely low level, where even the torchlight at a slight distance would be swallowed, leaving only a vague shadow swaying in the wind.
The marching line stretched long.
The heavy wheels repeatedly sank into the mud pits, followed by suppressed curses.
The wounded were placed in the middle of the formation, wrapped in soaked cloaks, leaning against the edge of the wagon, their breaths betraying evident pain.
Occasionally, a sharp and short whistling sound would come from afar, ripping through the fog, and quickly disappearing.
That was the sound of Magic Explosion Bullets cutting through the air.
Each such whistling would take away several knights.
Every occurrence made the entire line involuntarily tense up.
