By the time the sun fully crested over the castle walls, the capital was in a state of organized panic. The Imperial Garrison had marched out of the western gates, leaving behind a trail of dust and deeply offended Northern citizens.
True to Cassian's orders, General Marcus and the City Guard had quietly and efficiently seized the Imperial supply depots before the retreating army could organize their caravans.
Elian stood on the battlements, watching the distant, retreating banners of the Emperor's men. The wind was biting, but he barely felt it. He was wearing the heavy charcoal Steward's uniform, and his mind was calculating at a thousand miles a minute.
[Current Hearts: 100 / 1000][Current LP: 100]
"We have the grain," General Marcus said, stepping up beside Elian. The old general looked exhausted, the weight of the incoming war settling heavily on his armored shoulders. "And the medical supplies. It will feed the conscripts for the winter."
