The stench of smoke, acid, and scorched earth strongly clung to everything.
For the past three hours of marching and fighting, the thousand-strong company had been carving a brutal path through the Reaper Forest's last stretch of hell. The trees had thinned. The sunlight had started breaking through in slivers. Birds, actual real ones, could even be heard somewhere in the distance.
But still, no one felt relief.
They were running on fumes, they are already exhausted.
Only two hours left to the forest's edge, at least that was what the fedora-wearing scout estimated after triple-checking their location, runes, and several cursed moss patches that may or may not be alive.
Two more hours.
That was all need to get out of this damn cursed forest.
And yet every step felt like dragging a broken cart through tar and mud.
