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These few minutes passed in silence, only to the anxious sighs reverberating in the back of their heads.

The monster was very close: even the carved scales on its thick flanks could be seen. The smell was nasty: rotten, musty, and lifeless, and it made the horses in the vanguard roar and sprang to their feet. Nauseating. Well, on the plus side, they hadn’t all eaten in twenty-four hours.

Around the monster, the Duke of Krumland’s mercenaries and bandits stomped in close lines. Pitchforks, spears, and axes were what this filthy rabble carried as weapons. Yes, their combat was not intended to be noble, so…

But the instigator himself is nowhere to be seen. He probably keeps his witch to himself, too.

Ugh, what a mess! What a mess!

The dragon panted, releasing a jet of swampy yellow fire from its ajar mouth: two hundred yards away from the ranks of the palace and the kingdom’s defenders, ready to attack. A little more… and a little more…

The trebuchets surged forward, sending a small citrus cloud that seemed incapable of even tickling the skin of the creature crawling at them.