Mid-August, several days after the assassination incident.
South of Shalin, in the Gray Rock Territory, within a military camp.
"Tap tap tap..."
"Hiss hiss..."
Soldiers ran back and forth, horses led here and there, intermingled with many shouting voices.
"Hey you, hurry up, move the box over here."
"That dead wood, don't really act like a piece of dead wood, come and help, clean up here."
"All members of the First Team Third Squad who are still alive, gather now…"
The camp was chaotic, dust flying, chickens and dogs running amok, making one frown upon seeing it.
Frank Dais was sitting on a box in the corner of the camp, watching all of this, through the chaos he sensed a slightly unsettling smell—the smell of war.
War was about to happen.
Yes, war was coming—he'd been notified earlier—not only was there going to be war, but it was going to be a big war.
To say the least, he wasn't afraid of going to war.
Truly, not afraid.
