They kept on coming again and again.
Out of more than eight thousand knights, less than four thousand remained. Even the Temple of Light had suffered grievous losses. Many young talents had died. Others had been forced to mature in this hell.
Inside the main tent, Drystan looked toward Bob. "Any word from headquarters yet?"
Everyone looked towards Bob, who slowly shook his head. "I contacted them this morning. They said every front is experiencing similar pressure and told us to hold."
There was silence, and then…
BAM…
Bargo slammed his fist against the table.
"Hold? Hold?! What do they think we are? Disposable pawns? Do they think that we knights are expendable? Our men are exhausted. Even healing skills consume a lot of stamina. We are running out of supplies and replacements, while the demons supplement their numbers every damn week. In such a situation, how the hell are we supposed to hold?"
No one answered. Because everyone knew he was right.
