"What do you think of them?" David Valemont asked, walking alongside Qingyi.
The king wore casual, light robes, as if he had just woken up, carrying a small metal container filled with rum in his right hand.
They stood on a platform in the capital's main, enormous barracks.
In front of them, tens of thousands of soldiers gathered.
There were almost fifty thousand of them, all the elite of the elite, provided by the southern allies who still remained loyal to David.
They were nothing compared to what the kingdom's army was at its peak, when it had just over four hundred thousand soldiers.
But still, it was a powerful force, both because of the individual power of each soldier and the experience they carried.
Honestly, Qingyi didn't think these soldiers would be of much use to him.
In the end, the battle would be decided between him and Lord Belgrath. Those below would be nothing more than insects ready to be exterminated.
But of course, not everything could be so simple.
