Lysandra lifted the ladle, scooping steaming soup from the massive pot the merchants had offered.
The aroma was rich, spiced, and very inviting.
It was no wonder many of her soldiers couldn't wait to taste it…
Unfortunately, there were too many of them, so only about thirty or forty would be given… Lysandra watched as some soldiers had bowls in hand, eating without hesitation.
Still, Lysandra's sharp senses caught the faint undertone beneath the flavor… There was a bitterness that didn't belong. She tasted it once, twice, then laughed softly.
"Drugged," she muttered.
Around her, the survivors exchanged knowing glances. They had noticed too. Yet none of them panicked. These weren't ordinary soldiers.
Every one of the four hundred people in her convoy had consumed strengthening potions brewed from dragon blood, or had been enhanced by super soldier serum, or had simply reached high levels.
At level forty‑five and above, their bodies were immune to such petty attempts.
