An unconcealed glint of greed flashed in Craig's one eye. "I've heard all about it. They say that new garrison commander is quite resourceful. He's made Lakefront Town so prosperous it's overflowing with wealth. I hear their warehouses are piled high with grain, their mines yield top-grade iron ore, and the town's shops even sell Elven crafts and dwarven spirits—uh, what's it called again? The Water of Life..."
He licked his chapped lips. "Didn't we all come this far to strike it rich? If we keep moving this slowly, what if they get wind of our approach, pack up their valuables, and flee? We'll have come all this way for nothing!"
Angus listened, his expression cold.
For this operation, the order their combined force had received was to "capture Lakefront Town."
But in reality, these gathered "allies"—including the five hundred men Craig had brought from Sardinia—were almost all here for Lakefront Town's wealth.
In these chaotic times, loyalty followed the food.
