Chapter 518: Necromatic.
The sun had begun to burn away the morning mist, but the camp remained cloaked in an air of stillness. Two soldiers stood outside the Lord Marshal’s tent, their breath fogging in the crisp air. Their armor clinked softly as they shifted their weight, both visibly uneasy.
“Think we’ll get some leave soon?”
One asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
“I hope so, but knowing the Lord Marshal, he’ll have us patrolling the border again…”
He glanced warily at the tent’s canvas flaps. Their leader was inside, communicating through magical means. No sound escaped the thick material, as it was under a silencing enchantment. If someone were being murdered in there, they wouldn’t hear a thing.
“Yeah…”
They shared a brief, grim chuckle, but their amusement quickly faded. The Lord Marshal’s sternness was infamous, a subject of both dread and legend. They didn’t dare complain too loudly, not while standing so close to his tent. Even in whispered tones, neither was certain their leader wouldn’t hear them through the canvas walls.
Their uneasy conversation came to an abrupt end when the tent flap rustled - and then, without warning, the tent exploded. A powerful force erupted from within, sending the two men flying as a gale of wind blasted outward. Shards of dirt, cloth, and splintered wood flew in all directions, turning the serene camp into chaos.
The soldiers scrambled to their feet, coughing as a cloud of dust and debris settled over the campsite. A sudden, oppressive silence fell over the scene, save for the faint crackle of breaking wood. They stared wide-eyed at the remnants of the Lord Marshal’s tent, now reduced to a jagged ring of shredded fabric and splintered poles.