Chapter 129: The Purist's Pride
The frontline was an absolute nightmare of sound and fire.
Lord Sylas Vane stood inside his heavily fortified command pavilion. The ground beneath his polished silver boots trembled violently.
The deafening roar of the Forge's artillery echoed across the plains. The air was thick with the unnatural and disgusting scent of burning coal and sulfur.
A battered Elven scout rushed through the tent flaps. His elegant armor was coated in black soot. He collapsed to his knees while gasping for air.
"My Lord!" the scout cried out.
"We just received magical transmission from the rear! The primary supply camp has been completely obliterated! A catastrophic explosion wiped out the entire valley!"
Lord Vane froze. His piercing green eyes narrowed.
"And Commander Ovaris?" Vane demanded coldly.
"Dead, my Lord," the scout whispered in absolute terror.
