This was information passed on by the kingdom's secret agents; there was no way it was fake.
The quality of such an army could well be imagined—if they still couldn't win, Montel might as well change his surname to Gallar!
"Good, you ungrateful little bastard, you…" Count Kazi, who'd come up from the ranks, flew into a rage and, not caring about anything else, yanked out his cane to start swinging.
The chiliarchs hurried forward. Four of them held Count Kazi back, three grabbed Montel.
One chiliarch was squeezed in the middle, his helmet knocked askew. "My lords! Calm down! If you keep shouting, the soldiers outside are going to hear."
Montel panted heavily, wrenched free of the chiliarch's hand, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists.
He glanced at the outside of the tent. It was getting late—only noon, perhaps, but it always took time to get a whole army on the move.
