Kronos frowned and stepped up to the stone railing. He stared out at the distant fog clinging to the eastern valleys, his expression tight with unease.
"The Morval kings are pragmatic, but they are also incredibly prideful," Kronos explained. "They wield a unique brand of magic, wearing crimson robes that constantly radiate an aura of psychic dread. They abandoned Voranthar because they recognized his madness was destroying his own military assets, not necessarily because they feared your forces."
Kronos gripped the stone edge of the balcony. "They serve the God of Valleys. The borders of their kingdom are entirely saturated with mind-altering magic designed to shatter an invading army's sanity long before the soldiers ever reach the capital. They might genuinely believe their psychic defenses can repel you."
Krug scoffed. He tapped the thick star-iron plating of his chest piece, his slit pupils narrowing as he studied the distant fog.
