December 26, four o'clock in the morning.
Chunan Mountain Pass.
Among the rugged rocks, tents representing the Holy Alliance are pitched one after another.
Under the largest and broadest tent, a messenger from the southern army is being helped away.
Horn, however, says nothing, retracts his gaze, and continues to pull out his telescope to peer at the battlefield.
"Head south, Your Holiness!"
Watching the blood-soaked back of the messenger, Meng Sai on one side can't help but plead: "If we don't head south, our southern army will be wiped out."
"Indeed." Battle commanders and senior pastors nearby chime in, "The northern tribal army is on the brink of collapse, and unleashing a battalion against them could easily crush them."
Following the previous battles, as well as several bombings by the airborne fleet and raids by Shadow Crow soldiers, the northern tribal army is now as fragile as a paper tiger.
