The Swarm arrived even faster than Byron had anticipated.
It was only just noon when a vast, dark cloud, emitting an intense buzz, flew in from the depths of the eastern sea.
Before it had even touched down, the distinct acidic stench of insects permeated the camp established in the valley.
Looking at the explosive giant squid—his favorite dish, which Eight Fingers had just painstakingly grilled before him—Byron suddenly lost his appetite.
He could only reluctantly set aside the delicacy and quickly rose to meet the arrival.
Placing a hand over his chest in salute, he said,
"Teacher, you've arrived so promptly. I thought that even if you gathered your men as quickly as possible, the earliest you could arrive would be tomorrow."
Thousands upon thousands of dark, iron-hued locusts touched down, reconverging into the mysterious, black-robed figure of the Third Order Grand Wizard, Swarm.
"Heh heh, in urgent matters, one must be flexible."
