Two days slipped past quietly, almost unnoticed.
The temporary military camp had grown far busier than before.
Tents lined the dusty plain in disciplined rows, soldiers moved in constant patrols, and the sound of metal clashing against metal echoed from different corners where warriors practiced their weapons.
At the far corner of the campsite, away from most of the noise, a training ground had been prepared.
A group of soldiers had gathered there early in the morning, forming a rough semicircle behind one particular man. Their attention was fixed on the figure standing at the center.
Zorric.
The 3-circle realm soldier held an M-99 sniper rifle in his hands. The long barrel of the weapon glinted faintly under the sunlight while the heavy body rested against his shoulder. His expression was tense as he tried to steady his breathing.
