Chapter 93:
On the eve before entering the Blood Vulture Halls, the Witch Hunter camp was solemn and deadly silent. From Finoch Lawson, Lord of White Oak, down to all other members, everyone was preparing various items needed for the battle tomorrow.
The Witch Hunters who could be brought to Transia were the elites among those who survived the decade-long war, with the fewest missing arms or legs.
Err, except for Natalie’s squad who joined at the last minute.
These Witch Hunters no longer had any special feelings about war, viewing it as a daily routine, so they couldn’t be described as tense or anticipating it.
Around several bonfires, silent warriors were sharpening their weapons, mending their armor, and categorizing alchemical sword oils, potions, and bombs to be stored with members of different responsibilities.
Some chose to take a walk in the night.
Under the starlight, they prayed to Avalon, who no longer responded to them, or spent what could be their last night with their companions.
This was normal.
The Witch Hunters were human too.