The white cloth army camp was shrouded in fog by the burning smoke and dust. The chill of autumn entangled the edge of dawn. In the air, there was a strange and pungent smell, inexplicably evoking feelings of familiarity and fear. The mountain wind faintly brought the sound of desperate sobbing and hoarse shouting.
"Almighty! Please! Save us... from the demon's hand! Save us!..."
The cries came from the army camp but were blocked by guards in armor. Leaves fell, brushing past their solemn and cold faces, the burning torches held high, and their grayish cloaks marked with crosses. Amidst these guards were two figures—one old, one strong—the highest-ranking individuals in the entire Crusader camp.
