The weary Crusader scouts stood on the hill outside Damascus City, bloodstains evident on their armor, marks of their skirmishes with Saracen scouts along the way.
Under the scorching sun, the tall and thick city walls of Damascus stretched out like a slumbering earthly giant serpent, tightly guarding the city within its embrace.
On the walls, a number of tall and sturdy towers were distributed in an orderly manner.
Dating back to the time of the first Eastern Expedition, Antioch had four hundred towers and twelve kilometers of solid city walls.
Although Damascus couldn't compare in scale to Antioch at its peak, it still had over two hundred towers, strategically placed so that any section of the wall facing attack endured crossfire from multiple towers.
"This is the legendary Damascus, the capital of the Saracens!"
Leopold and Losa, leading a few dozen Winged Cavalry, paused on a small mountain.
