They watched warily at the vast area outside the city that was almost completely submerged in darkness—the outskirts, where over ninety-five percent of the city's population huddled, with only sporadic lights swaying in the deep night.
All the soldiers patrolling above had reached or surpassed Level Six.
Of course, at this level, it's enough to become a minor leader in the army.
Or join the meeting of some Lord and gain a piece of their own Knight domain.
But twenty years from now.
They could only become more elite Guards.
On a watchtower in the inner city, a young recruit wrapped his musty cloak tighter, uneasily pointing towards a direction deep in the outskirts.
"Sir, look at that square... so many torches! A mass of shadowy figures moving!"
His voice carried a hint of barely perceptible tremor.
Beside him, a scruffy, bleary-eyed veteran lazily glanced at the distant flickering lights, snorted disdainfully, and took a gulp of cheap ale.
