The Iron Empire retreated from the valley before the sun climbed too high. Their supply lines were crushed, their formations shattered. All that remained were broken ranks fleeing back toward the ridge—the only place they still considered safe.
The command tent. Grigori's last remaining sanctuary.
The morning fog was thinning, but the air remained thick, heavy with lingering smoke from the valley below. Rianor had marked this exact location on his map even before the battle began. He gave no order to rest, despite knowing his troops were exhausted and wounded. Opportunities like this didn't come twice.
The Dwarven forces moved out once more. The same three units—Riven taking point with the Golem, Borch and Thorne on the left flank, Naya and Dom on the right. This time, they marched on the ridge, where the gray canvas of the Iron Empire's command tent still stood behind wooden barricades and sandbags. Back at the makeshift command post, Rianor watched from a distance.
