At the break of dawn, Kyle's arrival at the army camp sent ripples through the troops.
His imposing figure stood against the mist, cloaked in a quiet fury that unnerved even the most hardened men.
The moment his boots hit the camp's dirt, the soldiers straightened with a mix of reverence and unease.
Something about his presence always felt larger than life—and now, it radiated with tightly restrained wrath.
The camp commander, a battle-worn man named Farlen, hurried forward, bowing deeply.
"Young master Kyle. We've managed to contain the situation. Only a few have collapsed, and we've halted all intake of supplies from the capital for now. The rest are stable, though furious."
He greeted.
Kyle nodded, his expression unreadable.
"And the source?"
Farlen grimaced.
