The Vanguard army carved a path through the jagged eastern mountain ranges over three freezing weeks. Snow piled against their iron boots while cutting winds howled across the narrow cliff faces, yet the infantry pushed forward without a single murmur of dissent.
When a transport beetle lost its footing on a slick patch of black ice, a dozen soldiers silently broke formation to brace the sliding wagon with their shoulders.
They strained against the crushing weight until the beast found its traction on the stone, and then they seamlessly filtered back into their marching lines.
Kronos trudged through the knee-deep snow alongside Krug, pulling his thick woolen cloak tightly around his shoulders to ward off the biting chill. He watched a frontline scout casually snap an icicle off his iron visor without breaking stride.
