After the Knights were defeated, they attempted a night raid twice again, but were discovered and repelled by the alert War Cultivators.
Although it was daytime, the sky remained a grim white, and the wind felt damp on the face.
Wearing a greasy apron, Decrama stood on the third floor of the fortress, stirring the ladle in front of a large pot.
The murky, greasy, overly salty meat broth was nonetheless essential for everyone to replenish oil and salt.
With a fake smile on his face, Decrama handed a bowl of meat broth to the sweat-drenched worker.
"Uncle Decrama." A young man wearing a wolfskin hat and a coarse cloth jacket greeted Decrama, "I'm here to cover for my Papa."
Passing the large ladle to another foreman, Decrama wiped his hands with his apron and looked up and down at the familiar but unrecognizable face: "Which family are you from?"
"Uncle Decrama, I'm Pete from the Hochte Family." The young man pulled down the hat from his head and greeted Decrama politely.
