Thankfully, he hadn't gone in too deep—any deeper, and saving him would've been completely impossible.
General Northern Fist exhaled slowly, a quiet sense of relief washing over her like a wave retreating from the shore. But that fleeting peace shattered as another surprised shout rang out.
"Who are those warriors following behind the Crown Prince?!"
"Huh? Warriors?" Northern Fist's brows furrowed. She thought she had misheard, but instinct made her snap her gaze toward the horizon.
What she saw made her jaw drop.
A line of rugged men—tough-looking, scarred, iron-blooded warriors—trailed behind Damien like a disciplined column of soldiers. Each one of them carried a massive iron box strapped to their back. They didn't look like they had come by choice.
They looked like they had been tamed.
