In that place, dust filled the air and warhorses thundered across the land.
A group of about a dozen people was swiftly approaching.
They wore uniforms similar to Taor’s soldiers, but their weapons were not standard issue; they were a motley assortment, including both melee weapons and firearms, with one or two individuals carrying several different weapons.
However, this did not mean that these people were a ragtag force.
On the contrary, each of them exuded an extremely ferocious aura, giving Jason a sensation of subtle pressure, especially the leader of the group whose glance alone made the hairs on Jason’s back stand on end.
The leader reined in his warhorse.
The man was in his thirties with long hair, very muscular, with shoulders about half wider than an average person’s when viewed from the front, especially those arms which, even within bespoke clothing, looked tight and strained.
The hands holding the reins were massive, resting on the neck of the warhorse as though he could casually strangle the animal with a slight squeeze.
For him, explosives were the most direct method.
But the Revival Society had a strong aversion to gunpowder.
It probably wouldn’t…